The ancient wooden wheels of the horse-drawn cart creaked and groaned as they trundled along the rutted dirt road.

Richard Ulrich sat atop the hay bales, his body swaying with each jolt and bump of the rough path. He squinted against the glare, his eyes watering slightly as he took in the unfamiliar landscape of Nowar Valley.

As the cart rounded a bend, a quaint stone cottage came into view, its thatched roof golden in the fading light. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney.

This was it. His destination.

The cart lurched to a stop, and Richard clambered down, his legs stiff from the long journey. A strong hand steadied him, and he saw an older man with salt-and-pepper hair. His dark skin is the same as Richard's.

"Careful there, young man," the man said, his voice rough. "These old roads can be tricky if you're not used to them. I'm Ode Osborne. Welcome to Nowar Valley."

Richard straightened, brushing hay from his clothes, now rumpled and travel-stained. "Thank you, Mr. Osborne. I'm Richard. Richard Ulrich."

A flicker of recognition passed over Osborne's face at the name, but he merely nodded. "Well then, Master Richard. Let's get you settled in. Thomas!"

At his call, a young man emerged from the cottage, wiping his hands on a well-worn apron. Thomas was tall and broad-shouldered. His light skin was tanned from working outdoors.

"This here is my son, Thomas," Osborne said.

"He will show you to your room."

Then Osborne gestured, "Thomas, this is Master Richard. He will be staying with you for a while."

Thomas's smile widened as he extended a hand. "You must be Master Richard. It’s a pleasure to meet you. We have been expecting you. Though I must say, you're not quite what I imagined. Please, let me help you with your bags."

Richard reached out to shake Thomas's hand, but as their fingers brushed, a spark of golden light crackled between them. Richard jerked his hand back, his eyes wide with surprise.

Thomas raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Bit jumpy, aren't you? Don't worry, I don't bite. Usually."

Richard fumbled with his worn leather satchel, his usually nimble fingers suddenly clumsy. "Oh, um, thank you. I mean, sorry. I mean... I'm Richard, yes."

Thomas raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Eloquent, aren't you? Well, come on then. Let's get you settled before you fall over."

As Thomas reached for Richard's luggage, their hands brushed momentarily. In that instant, Richard felt a strange tingling sensation, like a jolt of static electricity, but warmer and more... alive. He blinked, and saw a fleeting shimmer of golden light dance across Thomas's skin before vanishing.

Thomas seemed not to notice, effortlessly hefting Richard's heavy trunk as if it weighed nothing. "This way," he said, leading Richard into the cottage.

Richard only had a moment to admire the way Thomas’s trousers cling to his ass before the man turned around.

"Try not to trip over your own feet."

The interior of the cottage was cozy and warm, filled with the mingled scents of woodsmoke and freshly baked bread.

"Your room's up here," Thomas said, leading Richard up a narrow staircase. The wooden steps creaked underfoot. "Mind your head. Though I suppose you're used to bumping into things."

Richard ducked just in time to avoid a low beam, shooting Thomas a look that was part gratitude, part annoyance. "I'll have you know I'm perfectly coordinated," he muttered, promptly stumbling on the last step.

Thomas caught him by the elbow, steadying him with a strength that belied his lean frame. "Of course you are," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I can see why they sent you to us. Clearly, you're a prodigy."

The bedroom was small but comfortable, with a narrow bed tucked under a sloping ceiling and a small window that looked out over the valley. A patchwork quilt in faded blues and greens adorned the bed, and a simple wooden dresser stood against one wall.

"It's not much," Thomas said, a hint of apology in his voice. "But I hope you'll be comfortable here. Think you can manage without your silk sheets and feather pillows?"

Richard bristled at the assumption. "It's perfect," he said, meaning it. Richard set his satchel down, running a hand over the smooth wood of the dresser.

Thomas set the trunk down and turned to Richard. "Right then, would you like help unpacking? Let's see what you've brought with you. I do hope you packed something other than those rags you're wearing."

Richard hesitated, his fingers absently tracing the intricate patterns on his silk waistcoat. Before Richard could protest, Thomas had flipped open the trunk and begun rummaging through its contents.

His eyes widened slightly at the sight of a strange, black leather outfit beneath Richard's meager collection of fine linens and brocade garments.

As Thomas continued unpacking, more pieces of the ensemble emerged. Supple leather breeches, reinforced at the knees and thighs. Boots that looked suited for scaling a mountain than striding through a royal court. Fingerless leather gloves, allowing for both protection and dexterity.

It was unlike anything he had seen before – not the practical leather of a huntsman. This dark, richly oiled leather was something else entirely.

"Well, well, well," Thomas drawled, lifting the leather garment with two fingers as if it might bite him.

"What do we have here? Planning on joining a traveling circus, are we? That's... quite an interesting outfit," Thomas said, his tone carefully neutral as he held up the leather garment. His eyebrows raised ever so slightly.

"Ah, yes. That's... well, it's more for show than combat, really," Richard admitted, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "I... I rather enjoy dressing up in leather instead of intricate fancy robes. It's a bit of a personal indulgence."

"I see," he replied, coaxing and seductive at the same time. "And are you prepared to indulge further?"

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"No," he said firmly.

"Is that so?”

Richard felt heat rising to his cheeks. "It's not... I mean, it's for..." he stammered, trying to snatch the outfit back.

Thomas held it out of reach. "No, please, do enlighten me. Is this the latest fashion for the nobles? And here I thought you court types preferred silk and velvet. Or perhaps you fancy yourself some kind of leather-clad hero?”

"It's for protection!" Richard blurted out, immediately regretting his words as Thomas's grin widened."

"Protection?" Thomas repeated, looking Richard up and down with exaggerated skepticism. "And what, pray tell, do you need protection from? Rampaging sheep? Particularly aggressive butterflies?"

Richard snatched the leather outfit back, clutching it to his chest. "You never know what you might encounter on the road," he muttered defensively.

Thomas burst out laughing, a rich, warm sound that filled the small room. "Oh, my lord," he said, wiping a tear from his eye. "I think you and I are going to get along splendidly. In fact, I insist you wear that outfit to dinner tonight. I'm sure Father would love to see it."

"I will not!" Richard protested, but there was a part of him that couldn't help but smile.

The harness featured a series of adjustable straps and buckles, allowing for a perfect fit. This was no mere costume piece. The leather was thick and durable in key areas, offering real protection.

“It's quite remarkable craftsmanship." Thomas said, noticing the way Richard would run his fingers over the leather harness.

Richard's smile widened, becoming more genuine. "It is, isn't it? I commissioned it from a specialized leatherworker in the capital."

As Thomas carefully laid the harness out on the bed, Richard continued, "I've always been fascinated by the old tales – you know, the legends of great heroes and their quests. This... well, it lets me feel a part of that, even if just for a little while."

"I can see why, Master Richard," Thomas replied. "It certainly paints quite the picture." He paused, then added with a mischievous glint in his eye, "Though I must say, I'm having trouble picturing you as a dashing hero. No offense, but you seem more likely to trip over your own feet than slay a dragon."

"I'll have you know," he said, drawing himself up to his full height (which was still a good few inches shorter than Thomas), "that I'm perfectly capable of heroic deeds."

As he spoke, he felt the energy within him swell. The air around him shimmered faintly, and for a moment, the shadows in the room seemed to dance.

Thomas blinked, a look of confusion passing over his face. "Did you see that?" he asked, glancing around the room.

Richard froze, panic rising in his chest. "See what?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

Thomas shook his head, as if to clear it. "Nothing, I suppose. Must be the light playing tricks." He turned back to Richard, his cocky grin returning.

"Well, I'll let you get settled. Dinner will be ready soon, if you're hungry."

Richard reached into his satchel and pulled out a worn leather-bound book. It wasn't a journal or a ledger, but a collection of formulas – spells he'd been writing in secret for years.

He unpacked his meager belongings that he carried on himself, carefully tucking away his precious spellbook in a hidden compartment he'd discovered beneath a loose floorboard.

A soft knock at the door. "Master Richard?" Thomas's voice called.

Richard quickly replaced the floorboard and stood, smoothing out his rumpled clothes.

Thomas stood in the narrow hallway. "Dinner's ready, if you'd like to join us," he said, gesturing towards the stairs.

Richard nodded,

"Excellent! I'm starving. Come on, Richard. Let's see if we can get you down the stairs without incident."

A pot bubbled contentedly on the old iron stove, filling the air with the smell of warm stew. Ode Osborne sat at the head of a sturdy oak table drinking from a steaming mug. Three children were also at the table.

Ode’s wife, a kind-faced woman named Martha, ladled generous portions of stew into earthenware bowls.

"Eat up," she encouraged, placing a warm chunk of crusty bread beside Richard's bowl. "You must be famished after your journey."

As the meal wound down, the Osborne's youngest, a boy of about five, began to nod off at the table. Martha noticed and rose, gently scooping the child into her arms.

"I think it's time we got these little ones to bed," she said.

"Ode, would you mind helping me?"

Ode stood, stretching his back with a satisfied groan. "Of course, dear. Thomas, Richard, make yourselves at home. There's more stew in the pot if you're still hungry."

"Thank you for making dinner," Richard said, rising to his feet. "The meal was delicious.

Martha beamed at the compliment. "It's our pleasure. Enjoy the rest of your evening, both of you.”

When the house had quieted, Thomas stood at the hearth, watching the meager fire lick at the iron pot suspended above. Steam rose lazily.

"Best get cleaned up before turning in ourselves," he said, stoking the fire and adjusting the iron pot.

"I don't suppose you have any spare clothes I could borrow?" he asked, plucking at his travel-worn attire. "This silk and wool wasn't made for hard riding, I'm afraid."

"Silk and wool? For a journey like that? Sometimes I wonder if you've any sense at all."

“One never knows when one might need to look presentable.”

Shaking his head, Thomas disappeared into the small adjoining room that served as his bedchamber. He returned moments later with a bundle of rough-spun fabric.

"Here," he said, tossing the clothes to Richard. "They might be a bit large, but they'll do for sleeping. We can see about washing your fancy duds in the morning."

Richard caught the bundle, nodding his thanks.

“I've got the tub filled for you.” Thomas said, gesturing to the tub. “I’ll get the towel and soap.”

Richard clicked his tongue, but complied, sinking into the tub of water with a grateful sigh.

As the water began to steam more vigorously, Thomas retrieved a couple of worn but clean towels from a nearby shelf. He dipped one into the hot water, wringing it out before tossing it to Richard.

"Here," he said. "Start with your face and hands."

Richard caught the towel and began to scrub away the grime of travel.

"Water will be ready soon," Thomas grunted, eyeing his friend. "Don't fall asleep just yet. You reek worse than a wet dog."

Richard cracked open one eye. "Your hospitality never ceases to amaze, Thomas."

"Hospitality's sharing what little hot water we've got. Now come on, up with you." Thomas returned moments later, a steaming basin in his hands.

Even as he grumbled, he continued scrubbing his body. It was his third change of bathwater, and he had washed away most of the grime, but the feeling of dirtiness still had not gone away.

“We do not have much hot water to spare,” Thomas muttered, setting the basin down. “But it’ll do for both of us, I reckon.”

“Always the practical one, aren’t you.”

Thomas grunted, dipping a cloth into the water. “Someone’s got to. Now hold still.”

With unexpected gentleness, Thomas began to clean the dust and grime from Richard’s hard to reach places.

“I could have managed,” Richard murmured as he closed his eyes, but there was no real protest in his voice.

"Like hell you can," Thomas snorted. "In your state, you'd likely drown yourself in the washbasin and take twice as long, no doubt. Besides, you look like you have been dragged through every bramble patch from here to the western sea.”

“Perhaps I have. The roads are not what they once were.” Richard chuckled, then winced as the movement sent a twinge through his aching muscles. His retort was cut short by a hiss of pain as Thomas's cloth found a tender spot on his shoulder.

"What's this then?" Thomas asked, probing gently.

Richard waved a dismissive hand. "Nothing of consequence. A disagreement with a low-hanging branch."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Did the branch come out on top?"

"You should see the branch," Richard replied with a wan smile.

As Thomas finished, Richard reached for the cloth.

"Your turn," Richard said. “I can't have you standing beside a noble looking like some wild man of the woods, now can I?"

Thomas grudgingly submitted to Richard's ministrations. But he didn't pull away, and if Richard's fingers lingered a moment too long while tidying Thomas's unruly hair, neither of them mentioned it.

"You know, for all your grumbling, you've a kinder heart than you let on."

Thomas scowled, but there was no negativity behind it. "Don't spread such lies. I've a reputation to maintain."

Richard laughed, the sound echoing in the small room. "Oh, of course. The fearsome Thomas, terror of... what was it again? Unruly chickens?"

"Oi!" Thomas protested, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I'll have you know those chickens were downright mutinous."

"Not bad," Richard mused, "sharing a pot of water between us."

Thomas grunted. "Not much choice. It can't be helped. Unless you'd prefer to sleep covered in road dust or prefer me to smell like a stable."

Richard nodded. "Though next time, perhaps we could splurge on some soap. You still smell faintly of chicken."

Thomas rolled his eyes as he dipped a cloth into the hot water. "One more word about those blasted chickens and you'll be washing in the creek."