A/N: First of all, I'd like to apologize to you all. Thank you to everyone who has waited for me. I'm sorry for my lack of updates. I did have something done earlier, but it just didn't sit well with me, and I couldn't bring myself to post something even I couldn't approve of. Of course, I don't even know what you'll think of this chapter, but please go easy on me. I'm still new at this, unfortunately. Though I am, kind of, starting to get the hang of it.

Warnings: Fluff between Jibriel and someone who isn't Leon (feel free to gasp)! Grumpy, sleep deprived Myrddin.

Disclaimer: Blah, blah. You already know, and you know you want to start reading my shoddy work already, so let's ignore this.

Boy Bride: Chapter Seven

The sun was setting picturesquely over the ocean Pacifia, coloring the pale blue water gold and red. The skies were tainted with a blush of pink, prettier than the petals on a flower, and Jibriel watched the golden orb sink deeper and deeper into the sea, content.

He was seated on a wooden swing, built by his father, the village craftsman, when he was just a small child, so, together, they could watch the very sight that warmed him now. Of course, his father was long dead, with the Goddess, but he couldn’t think of that. Couldn’t think of anything but the cool breeze ruffling his hair, the feel of the hot sand between his bare toes, and the warm kiss the sun painted on his skin.

Footsteps, dampened by the sand, ambled up to him, the sound as quiet as the footfalls of a cat. Normally, he would not have heard, but these footsteps were as familiar to him as his own face, reflected gently by the waves so near, oft reaching out to touch his feet.

“Hamza,” he called, voice thick with emotion. There was a low rumble behind him, the sound of his betrothed’s laughter, and he shivered, though it wasn’t cold in the least.

“You always know,” the deep voice accused, though not unhappy, and Jibriel turned to take the other man in. His tawny hair, so reminiscent of his namesake, fell only beneath his shell shaped ears, cupping his strong, brown-eyed face, and ruffled in the breeze. There was a gruff, affectionate smile marring his dark face, and his broad chest thundered with more chuckles. He reached out a hand to Jibriel, and the boy took it gratefully, bringing it up to his lips. He placed the calloused appendage against soft lips in a tender kiss, smiling against the older man’s palm.

“Of course I know, brave heart. How could I not, with your love of sneaking up on me?” he teased, eliciting another laugh. Hamza was always so relaxed around him, his large body as graceful and sleek as a resting jungle cat’s, and that warmed Jibriel’s heart in ways nothing else could. His fiancé, though chosen by his mother and the Goddess, loved him nonetheless. He felt a spark of guilt, brief and untethered, shoot through him at that thought, and frowned. Hamza noticed, and, stealing his hand out of his intended’s grasp, tucked it under the boy’s chin, looking into his golden eyes.

“Yes, that is true, but perhaps we know one another so well because we’ve never been apart?” the blonde man mused, and Jibriel managed a nod, keeping his cheek tucked against Hamza’s palm. “If that is true, then just as you always know I am near, I always know when you are sad. What ails your heart, gentle one?”

Jibriel shuddered, and a few errant tears slipped from his eyes, dripping down onto Hamza’s hand. The man frowned, looking upset, but didn’t speak. He was a quiet man, and his nearness was enough to comfort Jibriel, usually.

“I-I do not want to think about it right now,” he whispered, burying his silver head against the other male’s bare chest. Hamza was wearing only a very loose pair of pants that cut off right below his sturdy knees, baring most of his lean legs to the world. This allowed for Jibriel to hear his resonant, comforting heartbeat without any barriers, and he almost felt lulled to sleep by the sweet lullaby that he hadn’t realized he’d missed so much. He was shocked out of this peace, however, when Hamza, albeit gently, pulled him back up again, tucking a hand under his chin and forcing him to lock his golden eyes with Hamza’s warm brown ones.

“I know it hurts,” the man whispered, pain luminescent in his tender brown orbs. He pressed his forehead against Jibriel’s, wrapping broad arms around the boy’s thin waist, and offered him solace. “I know. But you have to let it go.”

Jibriel watched him with wide, tear filled eyes, his full lips quivering with barely contained sobs.

“B-but it is so hard,” he whispered brokenly. “I cannot move on. It is not possible to love anyone as much as I loved—love—you, and it is not possible to replace my friends, my family...” now his body wracked with sobs, as he was unable to repress them anymore. He beat his small fists against Hamza’s powerful chest in a brief rush of anger. “When you died, you should have taken me with you! How could you leave me alone? How!?”

Hamza, patient as the cloudless sky, allowed him to throw his tantrum until he’d completely worn himself out. Then, he kissed the younger boy’s dark forehead, allowing him to rest his head against the crook of his shoulder.

“It may be selfish of me, and it may be unfair, but I could never let you die,” he whispered finally, solemn and determined. Jibriel found himself too tired to reply, so he closed his bleary eyes. “It was not your destiny to die, sweet one. Neither the Goddess nor I could allow it to be so.”

“T-then what is my destiny?” the silver haired boy managed, sounding a little petulant. This was torture for him, torture of the worst sort. To have what he wanted right in front of him, to touch it, but be unable to keep it. It made him hollow inside. Hamza pulled away from him to give him a pointed look, eliciting a flush. “W-what?”

“It never was your destiny to stay in Chad. You are too good for that, and you always were,” the tall man answered, half amused and half sad. Jibriel felt his heart tighten, realizing the reason for his intended’s mournful smile. “And you were never meant for me. I knew that immediately, as did our Goddess, but as Gods are wont to do, she thought it would be amusing to play around with my heart. Alas, in the end the fault is mine. I did not want to let you go, even if your heart belonged to another.”

“What are you saying?” Jibriel asked, horrified. “I l-love you, Hamza. I do.”

The other man gave him an amused, bitter smile. “You cannot even say it without a quiver in your voice,” he whispered, almost to himself. Louder he said, “You know what you feel is not love. I had but the honor of introducing you to the feeling, and protecting you until you realized that, and that was an honor I was willing to die for.”

Jibriel choked, pushing the looming man away, and pressed a small hand against his quivering mouth. He felt as if he would be sick. This couldn’t be happening. He just wanted to wake up now. He turned away from Hamza, intending to walk away, but the man caught his arm.

“You were not meant for me,” he repeated, strangely insistent. “But what you are meant for, you have to fight for. Do not mourn the loss of your family, for the Goddess, merciful Mother of all, is giving you a second chance to have one. Remember, Jibriel, that those the Mother loves the most are the ones tested by the most hardships.”

The silver haired boy could not deny this; it was a lesson they’d been taught since childhood. Tales of brave heroes, close to the Goddess’s heart, suffering and persevering, were told by his mother, the Shaman, to him even when he was still in the womb. But he didn’t want to suffer. He didn’t think he could persevere.

“W-what if I am not...strong enough?” he asked, about ready to collapse to his knees, if not for Hamza’s strong arms around his waist.

“You are,” the tawny haired man responded immediately, sternly. He’d only ever used such a voice with Jibriel when the boy asked stupid questions. Was he asking stupid questions now? Hamza suddenly seemed incorporeal in his arms, the scenery around him seemed muted. He realized, with horror, that his betrothed, as well as everything around him, his home, was disappearing again. He was losing his home again. “But you have to fight for it. Fight, Jibriel, you are strong enough.”

He disappeared, just blinked out suddenly, and Jibriel woke up, finding himself alone and cold in his large bed, in Höðr. Briefly, only briefly, he allowed himself a few tears, for all that he had lost, before grim determination took over. He would replace all of that; he would fight for his own happiness. If not for himself, then for Hamza. He owed his very first love at least that, and no matter what Hamza said, the other man was, indeed, his first love, and he would never forget him for it. Jibriel got up and prayed, for the first time, for his future, instead of reminiscing about the past he’d never return to.

Leonhart was having a surprisingly good morning. He’d gone to bed feeling oddly warm, and the loveliest dream, enchanting him with its sweet scents and song, had taken up residency in his mind. It felt as if he’d died and entered Valhalla. It was a wonderful feeling, and he slept through the night for the first time in many, many years without a single nightmare, only waking at the sound of birdsong during the break of dawn. Blinking bleary silver eyes, he sat up in bed, and allowed himself a loud yawn to shake off the last remnants of sleep.

“What was that dream?” he asked himself dazedly, but even as he spoke the last traces of it vanished. All he could remember was a sweet, ethereal laugh, dancing in the snow, and the softest, barest touch of a butterfly on his lips. It was like really falling in love. But even that faded away as the minutes drew on. Finally, he assented, somewhat regretfully, “I suppose it doesn’t matter,” and dragged himself off the bed.

He stretched like a majestic beast, gracefully unknotting himself and taking out all of the kinks in his muscled limbs and back.

“Today, I believe, I shall train with the troops,” he declared almost cheerfully, feeling years younger, though he was only just a man of twenty. He smiled sternly afterward, rebuking himself. “But only after a look through a few more documents. It is my duty, after all.”

With that, he got up and bathed, dressed, and headed towards his study. He paused to nod at the guards posted outside of his bed chambers, and smiled at the silent doors around his room. It was early, after all, and his little family, if it could be called that, was safe and sleeping. That thought made the odd spout of pride burst in his chest. He had protected them for another day, allowing them this sweet respite, and he was happy, though he wouldn't have been able to explain exactly why, if asked.

As he should have guessed, his brief good mood did not last. As soon as he walked into his study, he found a small envelope, addressed, formally, to Prince Leonhart Alexander, from the Council. His cheer died down almost immediately.

“What do they want from me now?” he grumbled aloud, unable to keep his heart from beating erratically. It wasn’t that he was afraid, per se, because he had no reason to be, being a seasoned warrior and the ruler of Höðr, but the Council had a certain hold over him. While he could veto any decision made by them, it would look bad to the people if he and the Council bickered amongst themselves. There were those that still thought him too young, that thought lord Hrothgar should have ruled in his place till he was truly ready for the responsibilities that came with sovereignty, and he couldn’t let his opposition get any leverage on him.

Also, there was the matter of his marriage. Peace was currently fragile in Gale, and many were worried that an assassination attempt might steal the reckless Alpha’s life, so the Council thought it was time for him to marry and sire a child. Leonhart wasn’t ready for that—could never commit himself to a woman that way, when he knew what he felt wasn’t love. It would be unfair to both of them, he and whatever foreign princess they forced into the agreement.

“Sjöfn, Goddess of love, spare me from a loveless marriage,” he prayed, before opening the letter. It was an appointment, set for soon after breakfast. Leonhart laughed humorlessly. “I suppose I won’t get in that training I wanted, after all.”

The mood was a strange one when Leonhart walked into the dining chambers. He took a look around, observing Nana’s worried look, Jibriel’s solemn look, and Myrddin’s angry look. The wizard was stabbing his fork down into his mostly full plate over and over, as if trying to re-kill his breakfast. Even a nervous maid stood over him, looking reluctant to offer him any mead.

“I don’t like eggs,” the little wizard complained, looking every bit the petulant child. His face was drawn and sickly pale, and there were bags under his tired emerald eyes. “All of the attendants know that, so why am I still getting eggs? Odin above me, is everyone in this palace an idiot?”

Never had Leonhart seen the normally jovial wizard act so antagonistic. The Alpha raised a questioning brow, and asked, “What’s wrong with you? Prophesies again?” He couldn’t keep the edge of worry out of his voice.

Myrddin glared heatedly in response, and Leonhart knew that if looks could kill, he’d be dead thrice over already. The thought made him swallow dryly.

“Prophesies? I thought you didn’t believe in my prophecies,” the emerald eyed child sneered, his pointed cap sliding further over his messy black curls. “And why are you acting so human all of a sudden, you block of ice?”

“Myrddin!” Nana gasped, shocked, and Leonhart froze, locking his eyes with the drooping wizard’s. Jibriel, too, was broken out of his reverie, and his pretty mouth hung open in shock before him. Myrddin noticed all of the stares and shook his head like a wet pup, looking a bit sheepish afterwards, and more than a little apologetic.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Leonhart, heartfelt, and all the Alpha could do was nod, feeling dumbstruck as he did. “I’ve not been sleeping well lately, and last night, especially, was terrible. If you had any meaningful dreams last night, you have me to thank. It was a full moon, and my power can sometimes surge out of control during that time. My own dreams were horrible, too. Recurring over and over, not letting me catch a wink of sleep.”

He bowed his head forward on the table, barely missing his dish of eggs, and rested his head on his arms. Because of this, for the first time, he missed the meaningful flushes that spread over both Leonhart and Jibriel’s cheeks. They both shared an odd, curious look, before skittishly turning away.

“Perhaps you should rest, Lord Myrddin?” Jibriel mused, silver brows furrowed with worry. The wizard raised his heavy head to smile.

“I just might do that,” he said, grinning wearily. “You and Leon are leaving again, right? You haven’t yet seen Skaði, the crystal city, nor any of the surrounding villages of Höðr. Nana can stay by my side, so please do go.”

Jibriel smiled and gave a faltering nod, but Leonhart frowned, shooting the boy a somewhat regretful look.

“I’m afraid I cannot join you today,” he said, shrugging, and took the letter out from within a pocket in his tunic. “I have a meeting with the Council, for whatever reason.”

At the silver haired boy’s disappointed pout, he faltered, running a sheepish hand through his brown locks.

“B-but...I suppose you could, if you want, take a soldier with you into Skaði?” he muttered, face flushed from embarrassment, and Jibriel only stared at him strangely, mouth set in consideration. Finally, the boy smiled brightly. “I-I mean, to get to know your surroundings, since it’s necessary.”

“Thank you for your thoughtfulness,” he chirped, offering Leonhart a graceful bow of the head. “I believe I shall take you up on your offer. You are a wonderful friend.”

Both Nana and Myrddin shared a confused look, the wizard having finally lifted his head, and stared at Leonhart, who looked even more embarrassed. Upon getting no reply from him, Jibriel’s smile wavered, but before he could say anything Nana took his hand and stood up.

“Let us get ready, then?” she decided, and dragged the boy along, leaving Myrddin, suddenly feeling more alert, and Leonhart alone.

“Friends?” the wizard asked, curiosity and amusement seeping into his tone. Leonhart colored and looked pointedly at his still half full plate. He began to cut up and place the food in his mouth hurriedly, trying valiantly to ignore the staring wizard. When he didn’t let up, Leonhart sighed.

“Just-just something I said yesterday,” he explained, wishing he could bury himself in a hole. Maybe he should’ve just skipped breakfast and met up with the Council, then had something later? Too late now. The Alpha sighed. “I told him we should be friends,” he assented with a grumble. “There, happy now?”

Myrddin stared at him like he was an idiot. He could only hope it was because the wizard was in a bad mood, and not because he really was an idiot. He scowled to block the thought, and asked, “What?”

“I’m just curious. Why did you say that?” the wizard asked, looking truly intrigued, as if the Alpha was some sort of undiscovered species. Leonhart frowned at the scrutiny. “Isn’t he pretty? I thought you liked men. He is a man, no matter how pretty. Or do you like them more butch?”

Leonhart sighed and stood up. He wouldn’t get to finish his breakfast, and he’d just lost his appetite, too.

“I really don’t want to have this conversation with you. I’m going to the Council’s chambers,” he growled, and with that the Alpha walked out, leaving Myrddin staring behind him.

“Some people,” the wizard muttered. “are just too proud—and idiotic—to accept help.”

Leonhart, dressed immaculately in a pale blue doublet with a white dress shirt underneath, ran a hand through his now tied back hair. Sighing, he dusted off imaginary filth from his knee-high breeches, and signaled to the sentinels to announce his presence to the Council.

“Enter,” an incorporeal voice commanded, and he had to roll his eyes. The Council could be so dramatic sometimes, but he couldn’t deny that they’d come through for him when his parents had been stolen away untimely. If it hadn’t been for the elders in the Council, his life would have been much worse, and he’d have been either a puppet ruler, or caught up in an endless power struggle between the noble families of Höðr. Or dead—that was always a possibility. They had cared for his country until he was ready to take over, and for that he’d always be grateful, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t occasionally irritate him.

‘I hope it isn’t yet another proposal for marriage,’ he thought. Though, with the way they’d been hounding him lately, it was almost assured that it would be. Still, one could dream. He smirked at the brief fancy, wondering if his pretty dreams were making an optimist out of him, and gave the huge chamber doors a push. They gave away rather easily, and he entered the shadowy reception hall.

“Ah, Prince Leonhart,” a soft, feminine voice greeted. Lady Yrs was his favorite out of the Council members; sweet and gentle, she always seemed happy to meet with him, and her reasoning always seemed to be for his sake. He smiled, just the barest upturning of his lips, and gave a faint bow in her direction. “Don’t you look handsome?”

“Thank you, Milady,” he replied, accepting the compliment with a flush. She smiled again, her pale face glowing within the shadows, and her long, silver hair brushed against her high cheek bones elegantly. He flushed again, suddenly and unexpectedly hit with the thought of Myrddin’s silver-haired guest. He couldn’t dwell on the thought, however, because of the bark he got from lord Hrothgar.

“Sister, now is not the time to coddle the boy!” the elderly man admonished, his tight lips blending in with his flowing, snow-white beard. Leonhart wanted to glare, he really did, but Nana had taught him to be polite and respectful towards his elders. As head of the Council, Lord Hrothgar was, supposedly, one of the wisest men in Gale. But the title allowed for him to be quite pompous, as well.

“You are right, of course, Lord Hrothgar,” Leonhart remarked, tone clipped, and wished that his hair wasn’t tied back so he could run his hands through it. The action was a favorite of his mother’s, and after her death, he’d taken it up as well, pretending she was still around to sooth him that way. “Now, I know I wasn’t called here for pleasantries; you obviously have something on your mind, so why don’t we get down to business?”

Lord Hrothgar seemed to be caught off guard at the Alpha’s matter-of-fact statement, and after an awkward moment of silence, they pushed the matter again.

“A-ah, yes, of course, Prince Leonhart,” said Hergar, brother of Hrothgar, who had also aged gracefully. “The reason we have called you here today is because-because, well, of some worrisome rumors we’ve heard.”

“Rumors?” asked Leonhart, erecting a brow.

“Yes, rumors,” answered the man. “You know that we wish for you to wed, yes? To leave an heir, should anything, Odin forbid, happen to you?”

“Yes,” replied the Alpha, irritation obvious. There was a brief silence.

“Well, one of the soldiers...er, shall we say, saw you with that woman,” Hrothgar ventured once more. Leonhart tensed at this, confused, but his face remained completely passive, the only things hinting at his swirling emotions was the furrow of his brow.

Yrs, ever the empath, sensed the tension in the air, and said, lightly, “We understand that this is a difficult time for you, Leonhart. As I said earlier, you are a very handsome young man, and as such, I can imagine that many a beautiful woman has been won by you. But, well, the reason we called you here, simply said, is because, while we wish for you to have an heir, we do not want his status disputed by political squabble over legitimacy.”

The Alpha quirked a brow, and asked, “And why, may I ask, do you think a child of mine would have his legitimacy tested?”

It seemed the Council members were really testing the waters with him. None of them immediately jumped in to explain, lest they offend the Alpha.

“We just think that, while we do wish for you to be happy with your partner, we also wish for you to be a tad bit more, ah, selective, I guess you could say,” Halga, who’d remained thus silent, now added. He waited briefly for Leonhart to take this in, carefully reading the Alpha’s expression, before continuing. “That is why we, the Council, have come to a unanimous decision...” He paused, and Leonhart’s frown deepened. Why did everyone like making him wait? Did he come off as a patient person? Well, he wasn’t. “We are holding a ball in the honor of your future spouse. It will take place in a month’s time, and you shall pick your Beta on that date.”

The Alpha’s expression remained surprisingly passive, the only showing of his discomfort being his ever present frown, and the Council members privately congratulated themselves. The boy, while often cool and collected, had quite the famous temper.

Anxious, lady Yrs added, "It is a dangerous time, my Prince, and though Versalis has signed the treaty, what would we do if something happened to you? We had to do this, for the people. You must understand.”

Finally, the Prince of Höðr sighed and said, “I understand,” and turned on his heels to walk out, the heels of his boots tapping smartly on the marbled floor. Once outside he whispered, “But I don’t even know how to dance!”

The sentinels posted at the door, though confused, sympathized with their ruler.

Jibriel could not help but make faces toward the broad back in front of him. The soldier, oblivious, did not notice at all.

‘Of all the soldiers in this land,’ thought the seething Southerner. ‘why this one?’

The soldier in question, Leonhart’s old ‘friend’ Beowulf, had hurt the boy’s feelings before, whether or not he wanted to admit it, and it still stung a little. Especially since the cheerfully whistling man seemed not to care at all.

“So, silver fish, we’re going to have to take a carriage to the crystal city,” the blonde man said, sounding almost affectionate when using his odd little nickname. Jibriel wanted to glower at him, but his own curiosity got the better of him.

“Why is it called ‘the crystal city,’ may I ask? That is not its formal name, from what lord Myrddin told me,” he asked, tilting his head inquisitively, and even let Beowulf help him into the carriage. It was a bit like the caravan he’d ridden to Höðr in; sturdy and made of some hard wood, with a horse and a rider in the front, pulling it. Beowulf chuckled at his piqued interest.

“You’ll see,” he replied, and called for the wall before the palace to be opened. Jibriel wanted to argue, but was immediately distracted. He’d never gotten as far as the wall in his mini tour, as it was just behind the barracks for safety, so any intruder would have to get past the soldiers before and after it. The opening of the wall was a marvelous site, and took many an able bodied soldier. This site captivated him briefly, but it was what the wall opened up to that really enchanted him.

“Goddess above me,” Jibriel breathed, taking in the crystalline spires and towers. The capital of Höðr was possibly one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. It was built entirely with what looked like ice, the crystalline surface reflecting back the pure snow. The buildings were built like spires, reaching higher and higher up towards the sky. The boy could not help but gape at everything in his view.

“The city is called Skaði, named after the snowshoe Goddess. I’m sure that little Wizard at Leon’s court told you as much, though,” informed Beowulf, smiling proudly. When like this, Jibriel found that he could almost like the man. He cared about his country, if nothing else. “What you might not know, however, is that the city was crafted entirely out of crystal by master artisans from all over Gale. That is why, though named after the Goddess, its common name is, simply, the crystal city.”

“It is very lovely,” Jibriel whispered honestly, smiling shyly up at the looming soldier. The man smiled back, his blue eyes glinting in the sunlight, along with the crystalline architecture around them.

“Yes, it is quite beautiful. And, as a soldier, I also appreciate how formiddable it is. Why, not even Balthasar’s entire fleet, were he still alive, could conquer our Skaði,” laughed the warrior, sounding kind of wild, and Jibriel stared at him with wide, confused golden eyes. Upon noting the expression, Beowulf’s overexcited laughter seemed to die down into sheepishness. He reached out a large hand towards the boy, making him flinch, but only planted it on top of loose silver locks to ruffle Jibriel’s hair.

“Er, I apologize, silver fish. You’re foreign, right? You couldn’t possibly know about our issues, eh?” The soldier chuckled, and Jibriel shook his head, furrowing his silver brows. “Doesn’t matter anyway. No need to bias your views of Mainland countries—in the case that you decide to, you know, leave. We’re here to shop, right? Let’s just get that over with, and keep you safe all the while.”

He turned away, seeming to focus on the ride through the city, and directed the driver. Jibriel frowned, bewildered again.

“Why are...” he finally asked, trailing off, and redirected the blue eyed man’s attention to him once more. Beowulf attempted to smile encouragingly, but his glinting white teeth seemed to make the boy shyer, as they looked so wolfish, even worse than when he'd first met Leonhart's pack. “Um, may I ask, why did you agree to come with me?” He turned his head away, tucking back some errant silver strands behind his ear. “I thought you d-did not like me?”

For a second, all was silent in the carriage, save the clip-clop of the horses. Then, Beowulf laughed, making Jibriel duck his head down further.

Beowulf said, “I suppose we did have a, ah, bad start, huh? Well, I guess I was, dare I say it, a little jealous.” Jibriel had to stare at that, but the soldier lifted a finger to stop him from speaking. “But, before I apologize, I have a very important question to ask you...”

“What is it?” Jibriel whispered, unconsciously fiddling with his hands.

“I just have to know...do you love Leonhart?” For the first time, the soldier was completely serious, and Jibriel swallowed dryly.

“I...” The Southerner paused, before taking a deep breath. “I do not know yet, but I...if I do fall in love with him, I will fight to keep him. I will not fear you, no matter how hard you try.”

The handsome warrior froze at his determined golden eyes, then, slowly, a foxy smirk spread across his face.

“Well, all right, then,” said the braided man, sounding truly happy. “If you’d said anything else, I might have had to ‘lose’ you, accidently, of course. But because of your honesty, and undoubtable cuteness, I deem you the only person worthy to rival me. But don't think for a second that I will go down without a fight.”

The man winked, and Jibriel flushed. After a while, time seemed to catch up again, and the carriage ride went as planned.

“Now that we have the heavy stuff out of the way,” Beowulf said. “let’s get to shopping. I know the perfect place.”

A/N: Ooh, just who are Versalis and Balthasar? What do they have in store for our heroes? Anyway, I told you Beowulf wasn't so bad. He just really likes Leonhart, but he realizes that Jibri's epic sexiness is too awesome to beat. Even if Leonhart is still in denial (glares)! Wait, who am I glaring at? I wrote the chapter, after all. xD But I have to feel bad for Leon. After all, Jibri's dreaming about another man. Still, I like Hamza. He's a cool, calm character. A good man, like Jibri said. Enough about him, though. He isn't one of the lead men. Leon is, and as such, does anyone sense some trouble in his future? He can't dance! Dun, dun, dun! That simply will not do.

Thanks: To every individual reader, reviewer, and those who added this to their story alerts/favorite stories, as well as LJ readers. You make Gale go round and round. Honestly, I just love to hear thoughts, opinions, and even concrit.

Grimm_psyke: I didn't even realize that till I read the whole thing over. Gah, it was so hard to read. I'm super sorry to everyone who had to read my atrocious writing. But I edited everything, and tried to make it more understandable. Tried being the operative word. You'll have to tell me whether or not I was successful. I'm bad at judging myself. But thanks for the concrit. You're a hero to future readers. I'm glad you think Jibriel is adorable. He does it unconsciously. :) Thank you again.

Adrish: I'm glad you liked the chapter and didn't think the kiss was too soon. Even though they mostly spent this chapter, and some of the next, apart again. The wolves are some of my favorite characters, and they'll definitely make reappearances. And you're right, Beowulf was, and is, jealous, but he's not a bad guy. Thanks again for reviewing. :)

Aviatorlisa: As I told you before, Wordperfect is okay, but sometimes I miss Microsoft Word. It was better with correcting grammar and formatting correctly. I thought Jibri's exploring the wintry palace grounds would be a perfect Christmas chapter, though I don't celebrate myself. xDD Glad you enjoyed the chapter. And I lovey, love, love your long comments. Trust me! ^_~ Thanks for waiting so patiently, and being the only one who thought it was okay for me to take my time. You get me, and I love you for it. Also, I noticed that our updates for our main stories always happen within days of each other. O_O Odd, but cool.

Tally: Unfortunately, they didn't get to spend much time together this chapter. Initially, I was going to make Leonhart ditch the Coucil to go with Jibriel, but he's a really responsible ruler, often childish or not, so it would be out of character for him. Also, I wanted Jibri and Beo to bond. I love the wolves, too, and they'll definitely be back, but don't worry, this chapter did have Jibri crying a bit, but he's okay now. And Beo's going to try and be a bit nicer to our dear boy. About the dress, he'll wear one soon enough. *Cackles* Like, next chapter, in fact.

CypressTiger: Thank you! I'm glad you like Leon and Jibri's relationship. They're my favorite couple written by me, because they never take the easy way out. xD None of them will be willing to commit until they're a hundred percent sure they're in love. Aw, how darling of them.

Dharmaserenity: I'm glad you like Beowulf. I think you're the only one, as of last chapter, who did, other than me. Jibriel...well, he's been sad lately. It hasn't even been a month since his family's demise. And in this chapter he shows that, while he's tried to smile and be happy, it's difficult because he loved everyone he lost. Also, as this chapter also showed, he's pretty naive on matters of love, and can be a bit spoiled, so he took what Beowulf said a bit too sensitively. But he's going to try to be more tough---though I giggle at the thought (sorry Jib). Thank you for reviewing, and I'm glad you've enjoyed the story thus far. Things have slowed down again, but they should speed up a bit in a chapter or two.

Special thanks to my real life friend Deadles, who never reviews, hinty-hint, but does give me the push I need sometimes. I'll see you in school, buddy. 8D

R&R: I'm sorry I took so long to update, and I hope I haven't lost any readers because of it. I appreciate you all, and as an apology, did you notice how long this chapter was? The longest yet, in fact. It's your reviews and kindness that inspire me, and I'm not just saying that to be nice. So, if you are still out there, drop me a line telling me what you liked, or thought could use improvement, in the chapter. I take ConCrit well, I'm proud to say, unless you say something immature like, "you suck" without explanation. Real concrit, the kind that points out mistakes and what I can do to improve, makes the story better, so I love it. So yeah, please review!!!