For the first time in living memory, it rained in the Kingdom of the Fae. At some point, in the days of Fuiseog's seventeen-time-great grandfather, the weather was still variable and dictated by the laws of nature. The various rulers had come together and demanded uniformity for its people: eternal summer. Days not hot, but leaning towards humid, punctuated by cooling breezes, and lightly cloudy. And that's the way it had always been there after. Now Fuiseog wanted rain, and his will would be done.

The fae who normally wandered the streets rushed home, still screaming and laughing as they became drenched. The colorful pennants hung along the streets flapped wildly in the wind as best as they could now soaked thoroughly. From his perch on a castle balcony, Fuiseog watched his kingdom. He felt the cold rain on his face, but he ignored it. In every flash of lightning, he saw Oisín's face, and in every peal of thunder his laugh. When Fuiseog would walk the halls of the castle, he would see Oisín's silhouette duck around corners just out of reach. A sudden warmth would sometimes lie beside him in bed, only to be gone as soon as he turned over. The grief never let him rest. So neither would anyone else. Let them think this rain, too, was a novelty.

By the end of that week, the people no longer skipped through puddles. They wove, in morbid procession, through the gray-stone streets to the market and returned home without ceremony. The servants in the castle, what few there were, moped as well. Fuiseog rarely made an appearance, preferring instead to go between only his bedchamber and the library except for the occasional prolonged stay on the balcony. By day he slept restlessly, tossing and turning until eventually his body succumbed to fatigue, though that came only when he'd gone for several days without resting. He spent the rest of his time staring into oblivion or reading. Though he'd had ample time to go through all the books his mother kept as he grew up, she'd often scolded him for pulling down any book on war. This usually led to them arguing over why she kept old military manuals if they were never meant to be used, and she would say that it was heritage not encouragement.

Now it was encouragement. Fuiseog still meant to do this correctly, albeit a way that the fae hadn't considered for a long while. He'd imagined their prior warfare to be as boring and choreographed as their modern charade, but the gruesome guerilla tactics he found nestled into the pages of his books were enlightening. Had he been reading with a clearer mind, he would have found it overkill. It was nothing short of completely obliterating opponents, sending their souls through a shredder instead of passing peacefully. It was brutal, and exactly what he wanted. Already he'd heard news of soldiers and citizens flocking away from Duke Cailey. Few wanted to stand in the path of King Fuiseog, who they'd begun to call "The Butcher Bird" after his first all-out strike against his uncle. That battle had been a bloodbath, even to him. The duke's forces, still expecting the king's militia to fight fair, had been slaughtered mercilessly to a man.

"I wish you'd give up on this whole thing, sah," Graystar said.

The badger had snuck in at some point, and he jumped up on the table. He was the one person left in Fuiseog's life after his mother and Oisín that he still trusted. The servants by then had realized Fuiseog was no longer the cordial royal he'd once been, and he had no desire to converse with them except for the occasional command. Graystar alone could pick his mind.

"And what thing would that be?" Fuiseog replied. He closed his book and glared at the badger.

"Your mother raised you better, sah. She raised you to solve your problems like a right proper fae, hmm?"

"Of course. And she made the mistake of adopting a human knowing my nature would never change."

"Maybe, or maybe she saw in you something you can no longer find, sah."

"Don't lecture me, you little rat. Cailey brought this on himself."

"I won't deny that. Let Cailey suffer, then, and spare his people."

"And let them try the same? Evil should be pulled with its roots, like a weed."

Graystar just shook his head. They'd had this argument every day since Fuiseog returned from his brutal campaign. And it ended the same way every time, with the two left fuming and calling for a strong drink. How the badger could stomach fae liquor—for it was too foreign to Fuiseog to be enjoyable—was anyone's guess. He imagined, if nothing else, Graystar drank it for the same reason he did: it got the job done. By the second shot, neither one of them remembered what it was they were arguing about and instead shed tears over memories of simpler days. That night, however, some strange thought struck Fuiseog's mind, and instead of summoning a servant with the glasses, he simply shut his book.

"Fine," he said, and stared at the badger with a grimace, "Explain this plan of yours then, old friend."

The badger's head jerked, stunned at his liege's sudden willingness to listen.

"It's, uh, it's simple, sah. No one batted an eye at your duel with Ser Keir. It was unorthodox, for certain, but not unforgivable after losing your life partner."

"So, you would have me duel Cailey? The man can hardly even stand."

"Or use subterfuge, sah. Have him killed, as he had Oisín killed."

"By whom exactly?"

His mind now working, Fuiseog only barely saw the glint of the knife as it approached and threw himself back with just enough time for it to drive into his shoulder instead of his neck. His spear was in his hand instantaneously. He grimaced as he pulled the knife out and threw it at the feet of his assailant who was now motionless. He quickly spoke a word of healing, and the bleeding stopped.

"You," Fuiseog spit as Keir stepped into the light, cocking their head at him, "You're meant to be dead."

"I was. Twice now, actually." Keir removed their helmet, revealing that same utterly ambiguous face. "Once by Cailey, and once by you."

"Have you come for death three, then?"

Keir shook their head and plopped down in one of the chairs. Graystar peeked hesitantly around once of the bookshelves, having scampered off as soon as he realized what was happening. The knight put their boots up on the table and leaned back as they crossed their arms.

"To be honest, I imagine Cailey meant for me to assassinate you."

"You're a terrible assassin."

Keir just scoffed. "If I wanted you dead, you would be, my lord. But Cailey made a grave mistake, if you recall."

Fuiseog didn't at first, wracking his mind for the details of his confrontation, and then it hit him. Keir nodded before he could say it.

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"He said, 'Ser Keir, at your service.' He didn't even leave enough consciousness in my husk to realize it at the time. When he tore my soul back from the afterlife again, and gave me my new task, that's when I noticed. His words didn't have the same effect as before. I felt a thread of sorts tugging at me, leading me directly to you."

"Yet you still insisted on stabbing me?"

Keir grinned. "Couldn't be too sure. But, as you noticed, my body wouldn't obey. Instead of hitting you from behind, my feet carried me forward too many steps, and you saw my attack."

"I see. Well then."

Fuiseog lunged, driving his spear towards the place Keir's chest ought to have been. Instead, the knight was suddenly behind him, bending so their backs touched.

"As rash as ever, my lord. But that same trick won't work twice."

The king spun, swinging the spear around as fast as he could. Keir was gone, now sitting on the table across from him. Fuiseog growled under his breath, planting his spear in the floor and placing a hand on his hip.

"So, what, you've come to plague me? To try and drive me mad?"

Keir just shook their head. "No. If you can believe it, I stand before you of my own free-will. Though, as the duke so elegantly stated, I am at your service. So long as that service means we get to destroy Cailey. If that's no longer your ambition, then please send my soul back. Gently, this time, if you don't mind. I may be twice dead but that spear still hurts, my lord."

Graystar bounded out fully then, jumping up beside Keir. He sniffed at the knight, circling them before climbing up in their lap and staring them in the eyes intently. Keir just raised an eyebrow.

"What, um, what is it doing?"

"A fair question. What are you doing?"

The badger nodded a couple times and plopped down beside the knight.

"They're telling the truth, sah. They do mean to take up your service whole-heartedly to take down Cailey."

Keir kept staring at Fuiseog, waiting for an answer. He sometimes forgot most people couldn't understand what the badger was saying.

"He says you're telling the truth."

"Well....I am."

"Enlighten me, then. How would you have me take down Cailey? This one," Fuiseog pointed at Graystar, "is of a mind for me to challenge the duke directly the same way I did you."

Keir sighed. "Gods, I wish it was that easy. I would pay an impressive amount of my non-existent wealth to watch you whip that obese shit to pieces. Alas, I can't imagine now that you've shown your hand, he'll ever let you that close again."

Fuiseog shrugged at Graystar. "War it is then."

The badger made to protest, but Keir spoke up first. "Even then, my lord, your chances are slim. Cailey has men all across the countryside, in places even I can't fathom. You could chase him for the rest of both your lives and never step a single foot closer."

"Then I repeat: enlighten me, Ser Keir."

Over the following hour, Keir quietly explained all that they had learned of the duke in their years of service, and between Fuiseog's own ideas and translating for Graystar's interjections, they drew up a plan Fuiseog admitted he wouldn't have come up with had he tried. Their main issue squared away, they got drunk.

---

Keir, it seemed, was as lightweight as both the king and the badger when it came to drinking. They swayed back and forth, eyelids fluttering slowly, as they listened to the king recount another tale of himself and Oisín when they were young. The knight was no longer fighting to keep from rolling his eyes.

"You're not even old," they said, "You're like, what, sixty-ish now?"

Fuiseog nodded. "Sixty-five. I'd be a grandparent or even a great-grandparent by human standards."

Keir just snorted. "But you're not human anymore. Queen Fódla was almost three hundred when she passed on."

Both of them reflexively crossed their hearts, an ancient ward against invoking the dead queen's wrath at the mentioning of her name. Legend said fae, and royalty especially, had to respond when called. And though they knew it wasn't true, neither of them in their inebriated states wished to find out if it was the case for the former queen's spirit.

"And you're what," Fuiseog hiccoughed, "the same age."

"Hard to say being dead and all. But yeah, I was a couple years older than you."

The king laughed and licked at the rim of his glass. "How would you even know?"

Keir sighed and leaned back in their chair. The room was silent except for Graystar intermittently snoring in a corner. The knight began to tear up suddenly, and their voice broke when they responded.

"That's the worst part, you know. You don't even remember me."

"Remember you?" Fuiseog's brain would only let him echo.

"Forget it." Keir turned away and closed their eyes.

"Tell me."

They let their head lull over and opened one eye to stare at Fuiseog.

"We met both times. The first time, when you came as someone else, the queen gave you your name. You smiled so wide, and you ran off to play with the other children. I was younger than you then, our years aren't the same as a human's. I remember, I was sitting out because the older kids never wanted to let me join. I was different, kind of like you were. But you, you weren't one of them. You saw me staring, watching, and you came over and grabbed my hand. All the other kids tried to protest, but you just stood there, already starting to transform. Your voice was like thunder.

"What were they supposed to do? You were their new prince. Your words were law. So, you pulled me right on over, and you stood by me the whole time as we played so I didn't get picked on. And then you were gone the next day. Nobody knew where you'd gone, and finally I plucked up the courage to ask your mother. I had become a page by then, and I was serving her table one night. I said to her, I said, 'My queen, can I ask you something?' And the way she smiled, she must have known what I would say. 'He'll be back,' she said, without me asking anything, 'Bide your time, young one. For it will be a while yet. And when he returns, he will have need of a noble knight to protect him.'"

"I didn't..." Fuiseog started, but Keir just kept going, tears flowing freely now.

"And I did. I trained day and night for all those years, until the Feast of Goibniu, until I was the best I felt I could be. I was there, in the courtyard, when you stepped out a fully-grown man, in the armor your mother had had crafted for you. You were...beautiful if you'll forgive the odd compliment. I marched beside your palanquin down to the feast itself, and I stood just below the dais as your mother reminded you of your heritage."

Kier gritted their teeth, punching the table hard enough to splinter the wood, and startling Graystar awake for a half a second before the badger went right back to snoring.

"I served as your personal guard for three fucking years, Fuiseog. I was the one who stopped Earl Hatusha's assassins that night. And all I ever wanted was you to acknowledge me, to actually see me again like you had that first time. But you only had eyes for one person."

"Oisín," the king whispered, feeling a whole lot more sober all of a sudden.

"Oisín. The stable hand. And you know what I did? You know?"

Fuiseog shook his head.

"I bit my tongue and swallowed my pride. I was the one who helped Oisín sneak into your room at night. Didn't you ever wonder why your guards never stopped some random servant from coming to see you without your direct command?"

"I'm sorry."

"I don't want your pity." Keir poured themselves another shot. "I did what I thought was best for my liege lord. And then you and your companion became so proficient you didn't need a bodyguard. The queen gave me a choice: stay but in a different guard position or return finally to where I had come from. I chose to leave. I never did make it back. Cailey had planned your downfall longer than most. I died somewhere on the road, and when I came to, I was his puppet. His Keir Cú, the púca who could slip in unseen. Until you came back for me."

Fuiseog rose slowly.

"I'm glad you killed me, actually. Even then, even as a soul strapped carelessly to a corpse, I fought every single ounce of the command to kill Oisín. But Cailey's magic is strong, stronger than you can imagine. A man doesn't come to have as much influence as Duke Cailey without having some strong tricks up his sleeve. And now I'm here. Oh, happy days."

Keir downed the shot, and Fuiseog admitted to himself he needed another as well. At some point in the night, the two of them stumbled off into the palace, winding their way to Fuiseog's chambers. The king collapsed into bed, the room spinning around him and the contents of his stomach ready to rise. Keir tried to pull up a chair, but couldn't manage somehow to move it, and opted instead to just slump against the wall with one hand on his sword hilt.

"I'll keep watch, muhlord."

Fuiseog just groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes, and reached out to grab the knight's arm. Without much force needed, he pulled Keir into the bed.

"Jus' sleep," he slurred, "Sleep right here." And he fell asleep to Keir's hitched breath, and the gentle rhythm of their fingers tracing his knuckles.