A/N: I hate myself for jumbling all my writing together. It makes for difficult editing. I'm going to change my writing style to make things easier. I swear. Forgive any mistakes I might have passed over.

Myrddin: You may not have guessed, but he's not just a child, folks. He just looks like one, is all. Really, Myrddin is over a century old. He's an immortal Wizard in the body of a child. I wrote this to clarify, so no one else is confused.

Gods and World: The countries, if you haven't noticed, are named after Norse Gods. As such, Chad, the Bengali word for Moon, is the name of the Moon Goddess in the Southern land. The country is named after her as well. The world is called Gale, for no reason but that I like the word. It means a very strong wind.

Boy Bride: Chapter Two

A thin figure lay bowed in the center of a dark room, his shoulder-length silver hair forming a bedraggled curtain around his face, his arms tied behind his back. Tears ran down his honey colored cheeks as his lips and chin quivered, forming whispered words, prayers to his beloved Goddess. The room he was in was dank and small, with no windows and only one door, a door that was currently locked. It didn’t really matter, though, as he couldn’t escape even if it was unlocked. For nine days and nine nights, he had been forced to travel by ship, and his captors had not been kind enough to give him much food or water during the journey, sufficiently sapping his strength. His voice was scratchy and harsh as he prayed.

“Oh, Chad, Goddess of the Moon and Mother to all, please hear your faithful child; please tell me what I must do,” he whispered, voice breaking, and sobs tore through his chest. “My people are gone, and I fear...I fear that I am the one to blame. Please, Mother, impart onto me your infinite wisdom.”

His Goddess did not answer and he bowed his head further, only raising it when he heard the creak of the door. A large man came in and bent down to look him in the eyes.

“Come on now, up with ye. The Boss wants ta see ya!” A large hand pulled him up to his feet, which were shaking from lack of use, before the man led him out of the room and began dragging him down the hall. He kept his head bowed while the man spoke conversationally. “I heard the Boss wants ta sell ya. If it were up ta me, I’d a kept ya, if you know what I mean.”

The man waggled his eyebrows suggestively and the boy scrunched his face up in disgust. He was only partially paying attention to the man dragging him, however, because he was mostly preoccupied with what the man first said. The boss was going to sell him? He processed that for several minutes, wondering if it would be so bad. At least he would get away from the people who had slaughtered his tribe; what could be worse than that? Before he could think of an answer, the man holding his arm was tearing open another door and throwing him before the feet of the man he hated most in the world, the man who had stolen his loved ones from him.

“Hullo, Angel, fancy meeting you here,” the man joked, pulling him up by the hair roughly, and he shivered at the cool breath that puffed onto his face. The man began stroking his wet cheeks, and he had to bite his bottom lip to keep from whimpering. This man had already taken his life away from him, he wouldn’t let him steal his pride, too. “I love you so much, Angel...” He gasped when the scarred man pulled him up by the hair again to kiss him, sharp teeth slicing against his bruised lips and causing the wounds on them to reopen, before pulling away, leaving them both gasping for breath. Afterwards, the man gazed at him almost sadly, cruel red eyes filled with regret. “But, unfortunately, I’m a mercenary by trade and we love money more than anything else in the world, so I’m going to have to sell you.”

The boy gazed up at him with hopeful golden eyes and he eyed him with even more reluctance. “I really wanted to keep you, though. You’re so cute, and I heard you Southerners are really talented with your bodies... I wanted to see that with my own eyes...but the customer will be here soon and I don’t think anyone would pay for damaged merchandise. Ah well, there’s always next time.” He shrugged nonchalantly, the manner scaring the silver haired boy, but thankfully the man stood up to leave, beckoning two scantily clad women into the room. “Clean him up!”

“Aye, Boss!” both women said hurriedly, and the boy almost pitied them. It was obvious just how much they feared the other man and they, unlike himself, were stuck with him for an indefinite period of time. As soon as the man left, however, their docile mannerisms vanished and both flocked around him like birds of prey.

“So pretty,” one whispered softly, a petite girl with a head of tight gold curls, and her friend, a tall woman with flowing, sand-colored hair, nodded fervently.

“That mercenary wasn’t wrong when he told us that Southern men are as lovely as lasses,” one girl mused, grinning. The boy flushed at their whispered compliments, but was happy to know that they, at least, were not a danger to him. Both women began to pull the clothes from his body, washing the dirt and grime from his golden skin in an almost reverential manner, their blue eyes wide with wonder. They washed him in silence for a while, and he let them, but the silence was soon broken.

“What’s your name?” the short-haired girl asked, and the question was so sudden that he nearly leapt out of his skin. The long-haired woman shushed her friend for asking, telling her that he might not even speak their language, but both waited curiously for his answer.

“My name? It is Jibriel...though my mother used to call me Jibri,” he finally answered, and the thought of his dead mother made tears spring to his eyes, but he was immediately distracted from his sadness by the loud squeals the women made.

“Oh, Lacey, isn’t that the most darling thing you’ve ever heard?” The woman, Lacey, nodded 'yes', her short hair bobbing up and down at the movement. The long haired woman swooned, and her friend had to catch her, fanning her face as she moaned dramatically. Jibriel blinked curiously at their antics, gazing worriedly at the fallen woman.

“Will she be alright, Miss?” he asked softly, and the women, now recovered, squealed again.

“Did you hear him? Miss, he calls us! And he worries for you, Marcel, how precious is that?” He couldn’t help but wonder exactly what was so precious or darling about himself, but chose to keep his curiosity to himself, lest they squeal again. His delicate ears could only take so much, after all. Thankfully, someone thumped the door loudly, yelling at the women to be quiet, and both women stopped their shrieks. “We’d better finish cleaning little Jibri before the Boss comes back or he might get angry.”

The golden-eyed boy flushed at their use of his nickname, but he didn’t say anything and neither did they, as focused as they were on cleaning him for their boss. The boy sighed and stared up at the ceiling tiredly, when they finally finished cleaning him and helped him off the floor, handing him his newly washed garments.

‘Please, Mother, let my future be bright,’ Jibriel thought, even as they led him out the door and back into the clutches of their cruel boss, but things were not so bad. ‘Perhaps my new master will be kind? At least one can hope.’ And perhaps the Goddess heard him—after all, she wouldn't abandon any of her children in need, would she?—because the next person he met was nothing like the master he'd imagined.

Myrddin waited patiently for his purchase to be brought out, large green eyes taking in the surroundings while he waited, sitting on top of a small wooden box and swinging his small legs. The Grand Market of the Njord kingdom was surely a sight to behold. Tents of all colors and sizes were filled to the brink with merchandise from all over the world. And the people—never could you see as many interesting people gathered into one place like you could at the market. He had stowed away on one of Leonhart’s caravans that the young Alpha had sent to the market for supplies. It hadn’t taken too long for the Alpha’s men to notice their little stow-away, but since they were used to his antics, they had let him stay on-board, even going as far as waiting for him to pick up Leonhart’s little gift before making their way back to the Höðr palace together. Myrddin grinned when he thought of Leonhart, wondering if the young man would be very angry at him for the stunt he had—and was about to—pull. The corners of his mouth turned back down when the man he was waiting for finally arrived. The man was huge—and while Myrddin categorized most people as huge, considering his own minute size—he really meant it when it came to this guy. He had no hair on his head whatsoever and his squarish face was marked with many scars, obviously attesting to his might in battle. His eyes were a deep, bloody red and his beard a similar color, though not quite as garish. If the boy wizard was completely honest with himself, he might even go as far as to say he didn’t like the guy, which was strange since he didn’t know the bald man, but there was just something about him. This was the kind of guy who kicked puppies and small children randomly while walking down the street.

‘Oh well, as long as he has what I want, does it really matter? Nope,’ he reasoned, giving the bald man his best ‘friendly’ smile, causing him to furrow his eyebrows in confusion before looking a little angry.

“Get out of here! I’m about to do some important business and I don’t need some snot-nosed brat messing it up!” the man shouted, waving dismissive arms towards him, and the little wizard saw red, gnashing his teeth together angrily as he gazed up at the scarred man. If there was one thing Myrddin hated more than anything else in the world, it was definitely someone confusing him for a child. He had no mercy for those people, especially since Nana wasn’t there to stop him. Only years of wizard ethics stopped him from pulling out his wand right then and blasting the man to the ninth level of the Hel. He took a deep breath, before stepping off the box he was seated on and glared up at the man.

“That is no way to treat your customer and certainly no way of treating Myrddin, the greatest magician in all of Gale,” he huffed, voice low and angry. The man blanched visibly and Myrddin smirked, puffing out his chest proudly. The other man had obviously heard of him because he was soon bowing before the wizard’s feet and kissing his small hands in reverence.

“I’m sorry for the mix up, Milord, it won’t happen again,” the man sniveled, the words pressed against the back of the wizard’s hands because of his kisses. Myrddin pulled his hands away in disgust, shaking the appendages to get off any saliva that might have found itself there.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll hold you to it,” he answered, annoyed. Curiously, he peered behind the bowing man, hoping to see what he had come to the market for, only to find that the shadows in the place made it too difficult to see through. “Come on now, get up! I want to see what I purchased!” The man was up immediately and nodding furiously.

“Of course, I’ll get to it immediately, Milord!” the bald man promised, before turning around and calling into the darkness. Myrddin heard a shy murmur and watched as the man before him growled, reaching into the shadows and dragging out a slender figure. It was a boy, obviously Myrddin’s purchase, and he had the olive colored skin that Southerners were famous for. His hair was short, only shoulder-length, but a silky-looking silver color that would probably be very soft to the touch. When his contact had first told him of a mercenary who had brought a Southern boy back from the Southern lands, he had been doubtful. The land of the Southerners', formally known as Chad, was a large continent completely separated from the Mainland, and the smaller islands that surrounded it, by a fortress of rock. Legend said that the Goddess of that land, the Mother of the Moon, also called Chad, built that fortress to protect the people of the island, her children. Myrddin didn’t think a barbaric mercenary and his idiotic men could pull off something as brilliant as capturing a Southerner, and obviously he was wrong. Said mercenary waited eagerly to hear his praise. “What do you think, Lord Myrddin?”

“You did very well–?” he began to tell the man, and then realized that he didn’t know his name. The mercenary introduced himself eagerly, looking somewhat, Myrddin mused, like an ugly yet excited puppy.

“They call me ‘Boss,’ Lord Myrddin,” he answered giddly, looking pleased with himself. The wizard stared at the man skeptically, trying to see if he was lying. When he didn’t get so much as a bat of an eyelid, he realized the man wasn’t kidding.

“‘Boss,’ huh? Well, I think I’m going to call you Eugene. Yes, that’s perfect,” he said, and with that the bespectacled wizard nodded, handing the man a bag of gold. “I suppose you did well enough.”

The man accepted the bag greedily, forgetting the wizard’s choice of name for him. Myrddin took the Southern boy’s hand and began to lead him away, shouting a goodbye to Eugene over his shoulder. Long after the wizard was gone, the man realized something.

“How in Hel did he know that my birth name is Eugene?” he asked himself in confusion, before shaking his head. “It’s probably just a Wizard thing. Mere mortals like myself wouldn’t understand.”

“He was more educated than most mercenaries,” Myrddin began conversationally, hoping to lower his companion’s defenses, but the boy beside him remained silent. Myrddin had already figured out that the boy was shy, as he didn’t raise his head even once, not even when Myrddin purposefully let him bump into another person to gauge his reaction. He was disappointed, because he really wanted to see the boy’s eyes, wanted to get to know the soul behind the pretty face, but couldn’t because his hair curtained them. After what felt like hours of silence, he shook his head in agitation. “Can you not speak our language? Or maybe you don’t speak at all?” he asked, lightly teasing, and the boy looked up in slight surprise. The wizard was pleasantly surprised to find molten-gold orbs boring into him. Everything about this boy was beautiful and Leonhart wouldn’t be able to say ‘no’ when Myrddin gleefully asked to keep him.

“I am sorry, Master, for not responding. It was very disrespectful of me,” the boy whispered, ducking his head down once more. Myrddin was surprised at his subservience, wondering if the boy was new to slavery, but was curious of his well-spoken manners as well.

“You speak even better than him!” the wizard declared, and the honey-toned boy flushed again. For the first time, Myrddin regretted his plans, wondering if this sweet boy would be hurt because of him. “You don’t have to be so shy, tell me about yourself. What’s your name? How old are you? Are you new to slavery? I'd like to hear everything about you!” The boy was surprised by his enthusiastic questions, but answered them dutifully.

“My name is Jibriel, but if you find that too difficult, you may call me Jibri," he began shyly, peeking at Myrddin through lowered, iridescent lashes. “My mother, the Shaman of my tribe, used to call me that. I was to become the next Shaman, the voice of the Mother, so I had to learn to speak in many tongues, which is why it is not overly difficult to speak yours. I rather enjoyed the learning of different languages,” he admitted, and his became so hushed that Myrddin barely heard him, apparently thinking that Myrddin would find his interests laughable, so the wizard offered him an encouraging smile.

“Go on, Jibri,” he urged in a gentle voice, as if speaking to a new pet rabbit who was still getting used to him. He'd had more than one of those, honestly, but they'd always run away from him.

“I have already reached my fifteenth year, nearly the sixteenth, so I am considered an adult amongst my people,” he said, and Myrddin stored the new information into his mind, thinking briefly that fifteen was a bit young to be involved in such a shady business, but he didn’t ask anything further, only waiting for the boy to open up to him. The boy suddenly bowed his head again, his golden eyes sparkling with sadness. “I am new to slavery. My people...they were recently slaughtered by the very man who sold me to you, my lord, and I was...taken away...”

He looked ready to cry, and Myrddin felt guilt well up within him once more. He patted the other boy on the back awkwardly, trying to make the soothing nonsense sounds Nana used to make to comfort Leonhart as a child, and promised silently to have the young Alpha look into the bald mercenary’s endeavors. He had never really thought out this part of his plan; comforting a poor child who had literally been torn away from his mother's bosom just to be at another person’s mercy. If he was completely honest with himself, he might even say that he hadn’t cared about the lives of enslaved people, at least until that moment.

“I’m sorry to bring such a fresh wound out into the open,” he whispered, true regret coloring his tone, and the silver haired boy offered him a watery smile.

“It is quite alright, Master. After all, I am now your slave, so we can talk about whatever Master wants,” he said, mock cheery. That threw Myrddin off for a second and he blinked cutely in confusion. The Southern boy watched him worriedly. “Is something the matter, Master?”

Myrddin shook his head 'no' and smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just forgot to tell you, I am not your master. I’m just Myrddin, the friendly neighborhood Wizard,” the wizard said, pulling off his hat to take a sweeping bow. The boy looked confused and even a little sad, but the look vanished when Myrddin began to laugh heartily. “You don’t have to look so down, and don’t worry so much! The man I bought you for, Leonhart, he’s a good man. He would never hurt you, and will tell you as soon as you meet him to never call him Master. You don’t have to be afraid, Jibri, as I will personally make sure that no harm ever comes your way.”

The boy looked relieved again, his honey colored cheeks flushed with pleasure, and Myrddin smiled, tugging the boy's hand a little faster as the caravan came into view. One of the soldiers immediately came out to greet him.

“Did you get what you wanted, Lord Myrddin?” the soldier asked, gazing curiously at the silver-haired Southerner, who looked equally curious, tilting his head to the side like a perplexed kitten. The boy was taking in the wolf-skin coats and the boots that all of the soldiers wore with thinly disguised panic. Myrddin laughed as he remembered the rumors of how sultry it was in the Southern lands, and beckoned the soldier closer.

“Yes, I did, but, as you can see, his clothes are made for the summer, so get him some extra winter clothes, please,” he commanded. The soldier saluted, bringing the garments immediately for Jibriel, and soon they were off to the lands of Höðr. The ride mostly passed by in silence, until Myrddin remembered one last thing he had accidently withheld from his companion. “Jibri, I have to tell you something.”

The boy was watching the passing scenery, but turned to him curiously.

“Yes, Lord Myrddin?” he asked, so calm and polite, and Myrddin could only hope he’d remain that way after hearing the news.

“I, uh, forgot to tell you...your new master is sort of the King of the Höðr lands. No big deal, right?” he asked. For many awkward seconds, there was silence, and then, when Myrddin gathered the courage to gaze back up at the Southerner, he found that a rather blank look had taken up the boy’s face. “Hey, are you all right?”

“Fine, I just do not know what to say to that. A royal master...” he trailed off, and Myrddin nodded in understanding, sitting back to let the boy process, while he wondered what Leonhart would say when he saw the gift Myrddin had brought back for him. There would certainly be yelling, but there would be more, too. That thought made him giddy for hours, and he didn’t even sleep when the rest of the caravan stopped for the night. He was just way too excited.

A/N: This was originally two different chapters that I mushed together. That accounts for the slight oddness to the flow of the chapter.

Thanks: Everyone who reviewed, story alerted, or put this on their favorites. Also, if anyone hasn't reviewed, I plead for you to consider doing so. I love opinions, even if it's ConCrit.

Kiki: Sorry for not writing the big introduction chapter where Leon and Jibri meet. That'll come in a short while, so I hope you'll be patient and stick with me. I'm trying to take things slow and steady...that's how you win the race, right? And I'm really trying to win that race by not giving up on writing something. I always quit...because I'm lazy, forgive me. I even deleted a few of my stories because I can't think of what to do with them.

Snakesrcool: I like your penname. :) I couldn't thank you for putting this on your favorites, because you don't have a PM function, but thank you. I hope you'll review this chapter.

R&R: Please consider reviewing. I really love hearing everyone's opinions. Please don't think that I disregard them, or that I'm just hoarding them, because I'm not. I really, really like hearing everything you have to say. It always makes me laugh, if you're trying to be funny, or inspires me to write and update. Otherwise, I take a while.