It was a strange start to a stranger night still. The antique dealer was surprised to see him approach, and Percy was surprised to hear himself ask, with a bluntness he did not know he was capable of, whether he enjoyed the company of his friend. The man had practically fanned himself into flames. He had declared that he did, um, sincerely enjoy the company of the lady, um, and hoped he had not caused offence by being, um, too forward. With a quick assessment, Percy determined the man was about as forward as a reversing carriage, and reassured him that he had not caused offence, and that the lady was interested in him, too. And then, feeling quite dazed, he walked away, casting himself adrift in the party.

He wandered for a while, meandering in and out of conversations. Sometimes the fireworks set off by Myrtle would burst within range of his hearing.

"Damn right!" interjected a maid who, as Myrtle told Percy later, had already been cursed with eternal sleep, then with eternal insomnia, then with eternal dance, then turned into a statue, then into a pig, and finally into the statue of a pig, all by jealous or scorned or simply bored fae who had sought to punish her masters and mistresses.

"Couldn't have put it better myself!" cried another, a young man dressed in smart clothes and a stupid expression, and who had said nothing less than the strictest truth.

At times, a few objections tried to dam the river. Percy heard the The Rabble-rousers' flutist pipe up:

"But what sense would it make for us to join a union when we're artists?"

"Begging your pardon, sir, I don't quite understand your objection" Myrtle said, leaning a little on the chair she had climbed on top of.

"Well, we're artists. We're individuals, that's how we make proper art. And if the whole point of us is that we're individuals, not much sense in joining a union."

"Oh. Well, I do suppose some people like that."

"Like what?"

"The pride of getting fucked over as individuals."

Percy drifted away once more. Evans' words from before the party returned to his mind. They sounded teasing to him now, though he knew that Evans had spoken with nothing but his usual stripped-bare honesty. He could also have fun. He could. Why had it seemed so impossible to him an hour ago, and why did it seem so inevitable now?

He relaxed into the cushions and the wine. The tide had somehow brought him back to Tombert's side. He had for the past hour listened to the astounding stories Tombert told about themselves, and the even more astounding stories others told about Tombert, with kings made to dance in village squares, and village squares that had crumbled to nothing-dust after everyone else had been compelled to join in.

There was no truth at all to the stories. Percy could hear its absence clearly: that was why they rang with the glorious emptiness of a brass fanfare in a hollow cathedral. But Tombert's initial protests and corrections – "no, that's not quite how it went; well, it wasn't really like that" – soon faded into a tired yet amused grin.

Something loud flared within Percy. Here he was, travelling with the chosen one, and that overflowing cup of oohs and aahs was not being filled with his stories, as it should be. What did the exploits of a bard matter when the chosen one's could be recounted instead? The state of things was far from how things ought to be.

Were it not for the wine, he would have stewed over it in resentful silence. But he had filled his cup three reluctant times now, and he felt capable enough of rectifying injustices.

"I have a story too" he sounded his trumpet at the first pause. "About riding with the chosen one to a sleepy castle, to break its curse."

It did not produce the effect he had expected: it was barely the tinkling of a coin falling on the floor. Perhaps he was not thinking big enough. After all, even the smallest, most harmless lie could ring loud in a cathedral. He would not have to lie much.

"And... now that I think back to it, there were also some stone gargoyles that woke up and came to life. They made a horrible noise when they grated their stone limbs together to chase after us. We had to put them back to sleep."

The nameless faces that surrounded him gradually honed their focus. They were becoming audience. Percy scoured his memories for more details from the castle. He would just stretch and twist them a little, and leave the rest unchanged. It would be truth enough.

He remembered the mass of sleeping creatures lining the castle walls, bugs, birds and bats. And, just before he spoke, the truth was trampled by an urge for the spectacular.

"And there were batdragons, too. Guarding the castle walls."

A few laughs of derision pricked at him. Here was an end to his venture into storytelling, he thought. But then he caught two pairs of glittering eyes, and all the laughs were forgotten.

"A batdragon? A dragon the size of a bat or...."

"... or a bat the size of a dragon?" asked the two pairs of eyes.

"Yes" he answered wisely.

Even the fools who did not believe in batdragons looked intrigued as he described them and the dangers they brought. But he was only halfway through his account of the anatomy of the creature when he felt his grip on his audience's attention loosen dangerously. Tombert, by his side, was grinning madly. What had the bard said earlier? The others were always so eager for a love story.

"But I can tell you more about the fire-breathing leaf-nose bat later. Once the chosen one defeated the dragon and woke the princess, she fell in love with him. But we had to move on in our travels, and he could not remain with her."

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His listeners melted in a drawn-out 'aaaw'. He could not remember the last time he had felt this powerful.

"And that wasn't the only time a girl he rescued fell in love with him. Not long after, in this quiet, cursed manor, in a city not far from here..."

He launched into their latest adventure with avid abandon. He recounted his night in Armand's mansion with rather prolific freedoms, cutting out whatever details displeased his storyteller hands, and stitching new ones back in. It was no doubt a mess of a patchwork; but only he could see the seams. His audience was altogether wrapped up in his quilt. He considered weaving a tale about Evans saving Valeria too, but he decided he should at least try to keep his story believable. His listeners, holding on to their wineglasses for dear life, seemed to especially enjoy the army of greenish fiends he introduced just after the sorceress' appearance.

"At this point" he pounced on his words, "the chosen one, remember, had one hand tied behind his back, because the sorceress had charmed the music instruments in the room to obey her command and shoot their strings at us. And yet, he fought off ten of the green fiends, single-handed, quite literally. I think that's when the girl fell in love with him."

They simmered and bubbled at the revelation of the second romance. Tombert, smirking, whispered into Percy's ear.

"Really? The 'defeated an army with one hand tied behind his back' classic? Even I don't resort to that one."

"I'm not resorting to anything" Percy sniffed. "That implies I'm in some kind of scrape, or desperate, and I'm... not, I'm having a lovely time."

"That's the first truth I've heard from you in a while" grinned Tombert.

"Percival" interjected a woman with a shrill voice in his group of listeners, "you must have helped the chosen one so much on his adventures! I bet you were the one who freed him from those strings back there, weren't you?"

"Well – yes, I was..."

He was a little thrown off to realize that he was not, in fact, making that up.

"And where did you go next?" came another voice.

Here was the moment he had both dreaded and longed for. They had come here next; but he didn't have a story yet. He started spinning again, tentatively at first, weaving from stories he already knew: castles, curses, sorceresses. When he felt confident enough, he started working in new threads. People they had not met, but might have. Things they had not done, but could have. He took care not to tangle himself up in knots of his own making, and gradually took pride in a story that was wild and unbelievable enough to be entertaining, but not so wildly entertaining that it was unbelievable.

He took a deep breath, ready for his next tale.

"And then... there was this duck."

A half hour later, Percy relaxed onto the plush cushions. His job here was done. By now, the conversations that rushed around him were no longer about Tombert, but instead about how, in the concert, Evans had rescued every single person who had fallen into the lake, dragging three people at once with muscular arms that some described in extraordinary detail. It was no doubt an exaggeration of Evans' certainly very capable physique, Percy mused as he drank his second swear-it's-the-last wine glass. But it mattered little to him compared to the intense pleasure he got from knowing that, thanks to him, others were at last talking about what they should be talking.

His eyes swept across the crowded room, stumbling a little at times on the daze that was beginning to settle in him. In the furthest corner, shaded by the purple glow of a stained-glass lantern, he spotted Valeria embracing her gentleman with surprising fervour. Myrtle had somehow managed to attract an even larger audience: it swelled so much it seemed about to swallow her whole, and Percy had never seen her so ecstatic.

It took him longer to find Evans, but he spotted him at last, speaking to a tall, athletic man with golden hair. His expression sparked with enthusiasm. He certainly seemed far more at ease in social gatherings than he had before. Percy frowned as he tried to focus on the conversing pair. It barely occurred to him that just because he could, at least a little, read lips, did not mean he should. But he wanted to.

Before he could catch anything at all, a hand warmed his shoulder. It was Leo. He leaned close to Percy and poured his voice into his ear, sweet like wine.

"I can't believe we got Tombert to come to our party thanks to you" he grinned. "I'd love to thank you."

Percy thoroughly enjoyed being thanked. But there was also enjoyment to be had in looking like a noble and disinterested man. He had a vague, appeasing smile.

"Oh, there's... no need. I'm glad I could help."

Something in Leo's posture deflated slightly, but his smile did not falter.

"Well... I would still like to take you to that nook, the one over there, and share some pleasure with you, if you would enjoy that."

Percy went very still. First he assumed that Leo meant it as an invitation to drink something, or smoke something, or play something. But Leo's hand was on his knee, barely touching it with a delicate hesitation. They exchanged a look.

"I... can't figure out if you didn't catch my meaning, or if you did but are too embarrassed to say anything" Leo chuckled eventually. "They're both valid. Just tell me which one it is so I know whether to back off or move closer. I'm – kind of squatting on my heels here and it's a bit uncomfortable."

Just tell me. How Percy longed for a mountain troll, or a ravenous werewolf, or a mysterious dark knight with a murderous sword, or any of the other simple terrors he had been taught to face in his life.

The question was not whether he wanted to. He knew the answer to that. The question was whether there was any way to quiet this thing in him that only grew louder the longer he ignored it.

"I... don't know if I should..." he babbled.

"If you mean to say you don't want to, that's all good" Leo said with a voice that was completely, incomprehensibly devoid of resentment. "If you're worried about getting caught, everyone knows that spot there is reserved for more intimate things, so they wouldn't barge in carelessly. And no one here would think badly of it anyway. Unless... you would?"

Percy knew that Leo had not meant it as a provocation, but that did not matter. He felt the challenge embolden him. Of course he wasn't fearful of being caught, or embarrassed, or any of those faults of weaker men who were not brave enough to claim what they wanted. Every knight was chaste, until he was mocked for being a prude.

"No – no, of course I wouldn't think badly of it."

But Leo seemed hesitant now.

"Please don't do this just as a dare to yourself if you don't honestly feel like doing it, Percy. I think both you and I deserve better than that."

Percy thought back to his past experiences. They had not, perhaps, been ideal.

The first time, he had been too awed by the importance of the occasion, and his partner had been too awed by his status of chosen one. There had been too much awe all around for much pleasure to be gotten out of it. The second time, it had been too dark, too cold and too cramped – deserted coach-houses were better suited for other purposes – and it had dissuaded him from any further attempts.

He was still 'the chosen one' then. Leo would be the first person to know him for who he was, and most importantly, who he was not. Percy longed to see what that meant, what difference it made. He hoped that, were he called on to justify his actions later, he might be forgiven for saying, "just this once".

And then there was Leo himself to consider, his petal-soft skin, the smile hiding behind his every gesture. He was made in every way to unmake a man.

Aware that he would have to move quickly before he could stop himself, Percy nodded, took Leo's hand and stood up. As Leo guided him, the party around them unravelled in dancing, laughter and wine, and everywhere it spilled bright watercolours and lute-silk music.

They reached a secluded area a little away from the room, though the clamour of the party felt no less loud there. Percy watched as Leo parted the folds of red fabric and slipped past them. More than watched: he waited. He felt he was little more than a fearful child watching a friend dive from a tall cliff, to gauge how safe it was before following. After a moment's hesitation, Leo's hand slipped back out to pull him in.