Protocol Charity Fic: Wes and Lorne flashback

[thebratqueen]

Got another charity fic done. This one is for elfbystarlight who asked for a ficlet involving Lorne and Wes in the Protocol universe.

Other charity fics can be found here

Other parts of Protocol can be found here.



Lorne wasn't bothered by the Council per se.

Sure, there was culture shock. Move one dimension to another and there's a lot of things to get used to. Things like in the plus column: suits made out of the finest silks, linen, and cottons in every color of the rainbow. In the minus column: an overall dimension that was about as insane as the one he'd left behind.

But there was music, so that helped.

Demonic warfare wasn't completely unusual for him. In fact it was comfortably familiar in the sense that as soon as he saw it he knew immediately that his place in it all involved being somewhere safely the Tarkna elsewhere. A trip home was out of the question on every possible level, so next on the list had been finding a new job and new digs that kept him out of the firing line.

Narrowing down the ideal choice had involved a lot of travel, many failed experiments in attempts at forms of employment, and one incident in Minsk that he just didn't like to talk about.

Eventually his footsteps led him towards what he now knew was Council headquarters. Appropriately enough, since he'd nearly lost *his* head there, not that it would have mattered unless somebody told them to destroy the body, but fortunately dealing with reattachment issues had never come up.

Instead he'd talked quick, charmed high, and managed to get himself a job in the lower ranks thanks to the Council's own form of affirmative action, which was "if they're not killing us, then they can work like slaves." Which, for a Pylean, was all kinds of irony but Lorne could grin and bear it if it meant being able to take a breather from the chaos outside. The job wasn't fancy, but it was safe and Lorne figured he could move on if he had to.

***

It was while on the job that he met Wesley. Lorne had been shafted with dusting detail that day, and his stick and feathers had led him into a large study, in which was a sixteen year old boy. The kid was wearing a fancy version of what Lorne had learned was a special kind of school uniform, and he was frowning at a pile of fabric as though trying to understand it.

"If it was me I'd pick the burgundy," Lorne told him.

The kid looked up, blinking a pair of baby blues that could have stopped a drokken stampede. "Pardon?"

"Sorry," Lorne said, jerking a thumb back in the direction he'd just come in. "Should I leave you two alone?"

The kid frowned. "You're not making any sense."

"You and your pal bunch-of-cloth there," Lorne said. "Looks like a private moment for the both of you. But if you're trying to decide what to wear, I'd go with the burgundy. Much better for your skin tones than the magenta, and let's not even discuss the insult that is the saffron."

"I rather thought the magenta was pretty," the kid said.

"It is," Lorne agreed. "But it's more a me color than a you color. Unless you're planning on getting sick to your stomach tonight, in which case by all means let's go with something that'll match a green skin tone."

"Is this animal bothering you, your highness?" Rick, one of the castle servants who annoyingly had tenure, asked. He was standing in the doorway. Lorne mentally kicked himself for not noticing there was somebody else around, and not guessing what the extra fancy in the uniform might indicate. "I will take him away and punish him for this insult."

Deciding defense was the better part of not getting into trouble, Lorne held up his hands and tried to project a picture of someone who definitely did not need to get kicked in the heart. "Wasn't trying to bother anybody. My apologies for - "

"You will speak to the prince when spoken to!" Rick snapped.

"I *did* speak to him," the use of royal-voice brought Rick and Lorne both up by surprise. "And now *you* are interrupting *me*."

Rick sketched a quick bow. "My apologies, your highness. However, I don't recall hearing you invite this monster in."

"He is not a monster, he is a servant, lest you are questioning the Council's wisdom in whom they hire," the kid said. "And I don't believe I care for your implications that I am lying. Now you may leave, and he may stay. Am I making myself understood?"

Rick gave another quick bow. "Yes, your highness."

"I'm *real* sorry," Lorne said, as soon as they were alone again. "I'm new. had no idea. Look, don't mind me. I'll just take my duster and scoot on out of here."

"You're not like any other demon I've met," the kid said.

"Considering you just saved my heart when you didn't have to, you're not like any human I've met either," Lorne said.

The kid held out a hand. "Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, son of his majesty Roger Wyndam-Pryce."

Lorne stared at the outstretched offering of welcome. "I feel like if I touch that, Rick's going to come back here and cut off my arm."

Wesley smiled. "I outrank him. If he tries it, I can have him killed."

"No offense, your highness, but you guys are a violent people," Lorne decided to take the plunge and shake hands anyway. "Lorne."

Wesley's eyebrows quirked up with interest. "Just Lorne?"

"Krevlornswath of the Deathwok Clan if you must," Lorne said, "but I prefer the shorter version."

"And in your culture, 'Deathwok' means an understanding of color and fabrics?" Wesley asked.

"No," Lorne said, "in my culture it means the exact opposite, which is part of why I'm now in the middle of *your* culture."

Wesley gestured to the pile on the table. "I'm supposed to be picking decorations for a party. I don't suppose you could help?"

Lorne held up his feather duster. "Can I get out of having to use this for a while?"

"Certainly," Wesley said.

Lorne tossed the duster aside. "Alrighty then, your highness, let's get to work."

***

The party was the first of its kind that Lorne had seen since his arrival. It wouldn't be the last, and Lorne liked each of them about equally, which was to say he didn't like them very much at all.

It wasn't the concept. He was fine with the concept, honestly he was. Ritualized sex wasn't exactly unknown back in Pylea, and many was the time when the thought of it was almost enough to convince him to stay there. Sure, not everybody was lucky enough to be the subject of a Com-Shuk prophecy of their own, but the cloisters of Ur-gad were open to anyone who cared to pass through their doors with the intent of acting in a manner which blessed and befitted the higher powers, as well as having a 10% tithe in their pocket, or at least a respectable IOU for the same.

Still, point being it was what it was. There was no shame in the act of mating, or at least going through the motions whether or not you intended to fertilize anybody, because it was as much a way to honor the deity of your choice as killing your enemy and setting the body on fire while doing the dance of victory. Might as well ask a Pylean to be ashamed of eating, or dressing - though, given the clothing styles of choice, Lorne felt a *little* shame in that last one might not go amiss.

So to find out that Wesley was, for all intents and purposes, the Council version of an Ur-gad concubine, didn't change Lorne's opinion of Wesley or the Council in the slightest. In point of fact, it explained a great deal. Like the uniforms, and the choicer items to be found on the shopping lists for the supply closets.

And it wasn't the education per se. Again, Lorne figured it was part of the ritual. If you considered an act sacred then you considered it something worth doing well and it was hard to do something well if you didn't know what you were doing. Practice had to come from somewhere, right? Knights jousted when there were no pesky wars to fight, little kids got onstage and mangled lines from Shakespeare plays before they were considered experts at either drama or public speaking, and spouses in training - well, did their training.

It just *bothered* Lorne for some reason.

***

"I want you to be sure to spend time with *both* Lord Jackson *and* Lady Natalie this evening," Roger told Wesley.

Wesley looked up. Shock registered across his face before he could hide it. "I'm not scheduled to serve tonight."

Roger didn't look up from his paperwork. "Lord Jackson first, I think."

Wesley sat forward. He placed a hand on his father's desk to try to get the man's attention. "Father, I'm not scheduled to serve tonight."

"Lady Natalie second," Roger continued. "She prefers to mingle for a few hours before finding someone with whom to retire. When you speak with her, remember - "

"I know how to speak with her," Wesley snapped before he could control himself. "I have been with her already. I have studied her likes and displeasures. I know precisely the methods by which to approach her as I have done successfully *eight times* before. You don't have to - "

Roger stood up. The action was enough to immediately make Wesley quiet and sit back on his chair. "You would talk back to me?"

"I'm sorry, sir," Wesley said. His heart was pounding. He felt sick.

"You would dare speak, and call anything of what you've done a success?" Roger asked. "*Look* at me, boy, and stop squirming like a child!"

Wesley dragged his eyes up off of the ground. He fisted his hands in his lap, and kept the rest of his body still. "Sorry, sir."

"I am giving you an order," Roger said. "And this is what you give me in return? This is the training of which you are supposedly so skilled?"

"The *rules*, sir," Wesley tried to show that he *was* reciting his lessons. "I am sixteen. I've completed my requirements for this year *and* next."

"You think yourself too good for extra work?" Roger demanded. "Is that it?"

"No, sir," Wesley said. "There is a schedule. If I serve tonight I will take another student's spot in the rotation. I - our family will be seen as greedy, and uncaring of other's needs."

"I *don't* care for other's needs," Roger said. "I care about this family. You are a *prince*, Wesley. You have responsibilities. You have an obligation to your family and your title that the others do not."

"I was not aware that being uncharitable and unfeeling was such an obligation," Wesley muttered under his breath.

He was struck for his trouble. "You are in *training*, boy. And until such time as we can find some fool with standards low enough to marry you, you belong to *me*. Your duty is to me."

"Yes, sir," Wesley said. He did not rub his cheek to soothe it. Doing so would only have brought another hit. "Sorry, sir."

Roger shook his head at him. "By the way you act it's as though you do not appreciate the opportunity given to you, as though you do not respect the role you shall have in society."

Wesley shook his head at once. "No, sir. I do, sir. Please, I *do* understand it. This means more to me than anything, I swear it."

"Then *act* like it," Roger told him. "Dress for tonight, spend time with Lord Jackson and Lady Natalie, and treat this task as the *honor* that it is."

Wesley nodded. He did not stand up. He hadn't been told to. "Yes, sir."

Roger flicked a dismissive hand at him. "Now go. I don't want to see you until this evening. And, Wesley?"

Wesley paused on his way out the door. "Yes?"

"Have your boy correct that mark on your face," Roger said, indicating the bruise that his own blow had just caused. "You look common."

***

When Lorne saw Wesley around the castle, he didn't have the benefit of song to give him the full story, but he picked up vibes all the same. Vibes like how much Wesley genuinely liked his destiny-given profession, like how much Wesley wanted to do *well* at it.

But also vibes like a cloud of doom that hovered over the kid's heart, and wouldn't let go no matter what.

It was the latter bit that got Lorne a better job.

***

"Your highness?" Andrew tried to get Wesley's attention. It didn't work. Andrew tried again, waving his hand in front of Wesley's eyes and hoping like Hell nobody from the party was coming down the hall anytime soon. "Sire?"

Wesley was ashen-faced. His hand was clutched to his chest. Tears poured down his face as he struggled to breathe. "Can't - I can't - "

"I'll get help," Andrew said. "Just stay here, and I'll get - "

Wesley clutched at Andrew's arm. "No - please. I - God - *dying* - "

"No, no, don't do that," Andrew slid down onto the floor with Wesley as Wesley's legs apparently gave out on him. Fortunately Wesley had a wall helping him sit up. "Dying would be very bad right now. Can - can you say what it feels like? Maybe this is part of a potion, or a spell?"

Wesley shook his head vehemently. His body was shaking so hard that Andrew felt his own start to tremble in sympathy. "Can't - I can't - I *can't* - "

"Whoa, what happened here?"

Andrew looked up to see a green demon coming to join them. He almost stood up, ready to defend Wesley with his life, then he realized that it was only Lorne, who had helped with the decorations.

Even so, that didn't mean Andrew's job of defending Wesley was over.

"Nothing!" Andrew tried to position himself between Wesley and Lorne. "Nothing at all. His highness is merely… engaging in private, secret exercises to prepare him for the honorable duty of servicing the Council's guests this evening. These would be, uh, *private* exercises, so if you'd please respect the protocols and move right along - "

"He's so freaked out *I* can feel it and he's not singing a note," Lorne came over, walking around to the other side of Andrew so he could sit down and look at Wesley. Off Andrew's puzzled look he said, "I'll explain that psychic quirk of mine later. Right now we need to get him calmed down."

"Calmed down would be good," Andrew said, mostly thinking of his own fear as he watched Wesley become so bad that he couldn't speak, or even gasp. "Oh God - he's dying. It's a spell, or poison, or - "

"It's fear," Lorne reached out, placing a comforting hand on Wesley's shoulder. "That's it, isn't it?"

Wesley shook his head at once. Andrew saw him take Herculean effort to say, "N-no. I - I don't - *spouses* don't - "

"Tell it to someone who isn't connected to the mystic," Lorne said. To Andrew, he explained. "It's a panic attack. Something inside him went pop and now he feels like it's the end of the world."

Andrew thought of the apocalypses raging outside. "It's not?"

"Not in the way he's feeling," Lorne turned back to Wesley. "Your highness? I want you to try to focus on breathing *out*, okay? Don't worry about in, let your lungs take care of themselves."

"C-*can't*," Wesley said.

Lorne's voice was upbeat, and soothing. "Sure you can! Here, follow along as I do it, and then just focus on my voice, okay? Think about that and let the rest sit back and take a turn, okay?"

Wesley looked as unconvinced as Andrew felt but Lorne was undaunted by it. The demon took a deep breath in, then slowly exhaled it, motioning for Wesley to do the same. After a few tries of that Wesley was able to choke out a breath on purpose. Lorne encouraged him to keep going, and began to accompany him by humming a soft lullaby.

Finally, when it felt like hours had passed, Wesley calmed down.

"I felt like I was dying," Wesley said.

Lorne nodded. "They'll do that to you."

"How did it happen?" Andrew asked.

"I don't know," Wesley said. He looked down the hall, worriedly. "One moment I was at the party, and in the next I felt as though my lungs were frozen."

"This never happen to you before?" Lorne asked.

"Never," Wesley said.

"His highness is not usually bothered by such petty concerns," Andrew said, hoping to cover for Wesley's lapse in decorum. "Barring this one time, which was clearly the work of some outside, sabotaging element, for of course his highness would never, *ever* have want or need or - "

"Are you kidding me?" Lorne asked.

Wesley patted Andrew's hand, silencing him not unkindly. "There are rules. As a spouse in training, I am not to show want or need to anyone barring my servants, or my teachers. If it were to be known that you saw me like this - "

"Back to having my arm cut off, huh?" Lorne said. He then caught the look that passed between Andrew and Wesley. "Oh. Not *me* who'd be getting the punishment on that."

"I'm sure Lorne will manage to be quiet," Andrew said.

"I'm sure he will," Wesley said, "because I'm going to hire him as my second bodyman."

"As your what now?" Lorne asked.

"Personal servant," Wesley explained. "In addition to Andrew. Andrew is quite skilled with potions, but I could use someone with a good eye to assist me with decorum and appearances."

Andrew shifted nervously. "Sire, when your father finds out you've hired a demon - "

"He wouldn't like anyone I've hired," Wesley said. "And he's not going to like finding out what happened tonight either. But, I dare think, if we keep Lorne handy, perhaps he might not find out how often it happens again?" Wesley looked at Lorne. "This will happen to me again, won't it?"

"Hard to say for certain without you at least whistling a tune for me," Lorne said, "but general instinct says yes."

Wesley nodded, accepting that. He pushed himself up off of the ground and straightened his clothing. "All right, then. You're hired. Which means that you are now bound to keep my privacy. Andrew can fill you in on the rest."

"Uh, sire, not that I'm not flattered right down to my toes," Lorne said, "but aren't there bigger concerns here than privacy? Like your *health*, as a for instance?"

"There are bigger concerns," Wesley said. "Such as the fact that I have been absent from the party for far too long, and that I need to clean up my appearance before returning. My health is not a concern, Lorne, as you will come to understand. My role here is an honor, and a sacred duty. That is all that matters."

"I can run upstairs and get your toiletries," Andrew pointed down the hall. "You could hide in the powder room down there and I'll be back before anyone sees you."

"Thank you, Andrew," Wesley said. He gave him a nod, then Lorne. "And you. I'm sure this shall be a wonderful working relationship."

Andrew shot Lorne a worried look as Wesley left. "Is this really going to happen to him again?"

Lorne watched Wesley's back as it disappeared down the hall. "Is he really under that much pressure to get the job done right?"

Andrew nodded. "More."

"Then yeah," Lorne sighed, wishing he had some way to fix it for the poor kid. "It will."

***