I Found Shelter In This Way

[sizeofyourbaggage]

There’d never been a time where Sam hadn’t known he was a soldier. He was born with wings, and that automatically signed him up for training to see if he was suitable for the winged unit of the royal army - and of course he was.

He remembers his dad hadn’t wanted him to go, but he also remembers his dad dying when he was very young, before he could understand the reasons why or realize that there was an alternative.

Then he went to war. Then he found out that sometimes, he had more things in common with the people he was supposed to be fighting against than the kingdom he was supposed to be protecting. Then his wingman was killed, in an explosion that damn near broke one of Sam’s wings in half.

He isn’t surprised when they remove him from active duty. To heal, ostensibly, but there’s murmurs that Sam isn’t in his right mind anymore.

If anyone believes them, it doesn’t stop his superiors from assigning him to the royal guard. All Sam knows is that he doesn’t have a reason to fight any more.

At the palace, no one seems aware of the war going on outside. Even most of the guards have seen very little action. Sam learns to recognize the ones who have, the retired soldiers like him, by the looks in their eyes and the subtle differences in the way they move. They’re ready, all of the time, for more than just citizens of the capitol city getting into squabbles.

He’s one of only a few with wings, but among them, he almost feels home.

---

She’s having tea when he first meets her. She has the bearing and the dress of one of the nobles, but she’s down in the common areas, murmuring quietly with another guard. When she catches him looking, she raises an eyebrow at him and tilts her head, a clear invitation.

For a moment, he considers ignoring her - he’s not the best company these days, even though he’s been working on remembering how to be charming lately - but when the other guard leaves, he finds himself heading over.

“You’re royalty,” he tells her, as if she didn’t know.

Her eyes flick to his wings, one still bandaged flat against his back. “You’re a soldier.”

His lips quirk in a smile that’s more wry than bitter. “Half a soldier.”

She takes a sip of her tea, watching him over the rim of the cup. “Maybe I’m only half a royal.”

Despite himself, there’s a twitch of amusement in the crinkle of his eyes. “We don’t usually see you guys down here.”

“I can’t imagine why not. The view’s pretty damn good from where I’m sitting.”

His eyebrows shoot up before he gives her a slow smile. “Might be more inspired to do better at our jobs if we had better company.”

She sets her tea cup delicately back into its saucer. “Oh? I’ll have to see what I can do about that.”

He shakes his head. “Nah. My day’s already improved, should be enough to last me for weeks.”

There’s a gleam in her eyes as she leans forward a little. “Where have they been hiding you?”

“Somewhere far in the back. They’re all jealous of my plumage.” He fluffs up the feathers of his good wing a little, aware that it makes him look more like a poofy sparrow than the bird of prey he is - but it’s worth it when it makes her give a surprised laugh.

“I’m Porrim.”

“Sam.”

“I work for the palace guard,” she tells him. “Just accepted the position. It’s my responsibility to bring any concerns you might have to the commander.”

The commander is one of the princes, the one third in line to the throne. The commander is the one who gave the order for Sam and Riley to strike, who called Riley’s death an acceptable loss because Sam was able to complete what they’d been sent to do. Sam doesn’t think the commander gives a shit about them, concerns or otherwise, but he can’t say that.

That would be treason, and he doesn’t want to get either of them killed. But more than that - there’s a genuineness about her that tells Sam that she believes it, and that she really wants to help the guards.

He likes her, even if he’s not sure he should or not.

---

He asks about her, among the other guards. Captain Makara goes a little pale and murmurs something respectful, but no one seems to know much about her. She’s royalty, distant enough that she’s no threat to anyone in line for the throne, important enough that she’s been raised in the palace and given the finest in education and everything else.

There’s no reason for her to have to work for a living, for her to look out for the guards the way she is.

He starts feeling a little better about liking her.

---

He spends his days off in the palace gardens. It’s the middle of winter, and even though there a plenty of evergreens and winter blooming flowers, it’s cold enough that most of the residents of the castle choose to stay inside.

Even so, he keeps to the trees, perching on branches high above the ground. He has to climb, because his wings still aren’t ready for flight, but he doesn’t mind. It’s worth it to sit closer to the sky, where the winter finches come out to chatter at him.

They’re all a flurry today, and he can tell why when he sees Porrim folding herself gracefully into one of the little stone nooks dotted around the garden - the one closest to his tree. She has a book in hand, a book on philosophy - even from this far, Sam recognizes it almost instantly. It’s been years since he’s seen it, before he joined the army, and he’s hopping down from the tree before he even realizes it.

If she’s surprised to see him dropping down from his perch in the tree, she doesn’t show it. “Good morning.”

“Surprised to see you here,” he says, then adds, “Surprised to see anyone out here.”

She smiles a little. “Why do you think I’m out here? Same as you, I’ll bet.”

Before he can answer that, two of the finches swoop down to land on his shoulder, cheeping. Sam can’t miss the way her eyes light up.

“Are they yours?”

He shakes his head. “They live in the gardens. They don’t get a lot of visitors this time of year.”

Her hand reaches out, then pauses, as if she’d done it before thinking about it. She bites the corner of her lip. “Can I…?”

Sam shrugs one shoulder - the shoulder without the finches, and digs around in his pocket. “They like cherries,” he says, tipping a few dried berries into her outstretched palm.

One of them launches off his shoulder to land on her fingers, perching there while it gently snaps up the dried cherries. She watches it, looking delighted - and he’s never seen her smile like that before, even though he’s watched her quite a bit.

He considers leaving it at that, letting her enjoy her time with the finches, but he can’t let the book go. Royals don’t tend to read books on philosophy from authors who were exiled a long time ago. He wonders if she knows he’s seen it, because she doesn’t seem bothered by the fact that she’s still holding it.

After a moment, her eyes follow where he’s looking, and she goes a little more still. He almost wishes he hadn’t brought her attention to it, because he misses the ease they’d had a moment before, but it’s too late now.

“My dad had that book.”

Something in her loosens, shoulders easing a bit. “Did he read it to you?”

It’s an old wound, all but healed, and it doesn’t hurt when Sam says, “I don’t remember. He died, a long time ago.”

She looks at him for a long moment, and then scoots over a little. “Have a seat.”

When he does, she kicks her feet up into his lap. The finches swoop down from their perches to settle on both of their shoulders as she reads to him.

---

At night, when he’s not on duty, he raids the palace kitchen for leftovers and goes for a walk.

Everyone thinks he has a sweet tooth, or that healing his wings takes extra energy - which it does, but that’s not why he does it.

He gives it to the guards on duty at the palace walls. It’s something he’s learned from Makara, and he’s never asked details, but he knows the guards will be able to get it to the people who need it. The ones from towns like the one that Sam’s from that he barely remembers, the ones who live in the outskirts who’re torn up by a war they never wanted to fight.

One night, he finds her waiting in the kitchen.

Sam raises his eyebrows at her, about to make a joke about how they both have big stomachs late at night, but she pushes a basket of clothes and blankets at him before he can say anything.

“You’re not the only one who knows their way around the city at night,” she murmurs, leaning in so her lips are right by his ear.

He’s briefly stunned - but only briefly, and when he looks closer at her he can see the quiet determination in her stance.

“It’s a nice night,” he murmurs back. “You want to go for a walk with me?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

She veers off for a little bit when he stops by the guard station, but meets back up with him as he heads back to the palace.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” he asks quietly.

She fixes him with a level gaze. “Do you?”

“I know there are people out there who need more than the king is willing to provide them.” It’s out before he can help it, and his heart rate quickens, blood pumping a little faster as his fight or flight reflex kicks in and he wonders if he’s done something very stupid. He stares straight ahead, unwilling to look at her.

There’s silence for a moment, and then he feels a warm touch at his hand. “I know there are people out there who aren’t as fortunate as we are.”

That’s one way of putting it. But it’s more than he would have expected from a royal.

From any royal who isn’t her.

His heart rate doesn’t slow down, but he threads their fingers together as they walk, and she doesn’t pull her hand away.

---

“You look bored.”

Porrim looks startled, and belatedly Sam wonders if he should have pretended that he didn’t notice that the smile she turned on all of the party goers never reached her eyes, wasn’t anything like the way she smiled at the birds in the garden or the warmth when she looked at him when he came to talk to her. It was bright enough, and no one else ever seemed to notice - maybe she liked it better that way.

But then she smiles at him, not quick and bright, but slow and soft, and he likes that a hundred times better than the way she dazzles the other nobles who ask her to dance.

“Handsome and observant.”

He ducks his head, smiling back at her. “I just think you should feel as amazing as you look.”

She chuckles, warm and throaty, and offers him a gloved hand. “Dance with me, then, and we’ll see what we can do about that.”

He hesitates. “I’m on duty.”

She waves a hand at the other palace guards. “They’ll never notice. Besides, if you don’t, I might be bored enough to wander off. And who knows what kind of trouble I could get into.”

Sam can’t help but grin, and he takes her hand, pulling her in close. “Any trouble you got yourself into, you could get yourself out of.”

She eyes him consideringly. “You really think that?”

He raises one eyebrow at her. “I’ve seen you cow the captains and sass the other royals around. You can do anything.”

“Hmm.” She’s thoughtful, almost serious for a moment, then she smirks at him. “All the same. I better have a guard with me, you never know what’s out there.”

“I think I might be in more danger in here.”

She laughs, and he dips her, and he only thinks a little bit about kissing her while they dance.

---

“I’ve never been outside the city.”

It’s late, and technically he’s on duty and she should be in bed - but he knows better than to try to get her to go to her room, even if he wanted to. As far as he’s concerned, he’s doing his job staying here with her - and technically, so is she. They’re sitting close together on one of the benches in one of the palace halls, her head in his lap and his fingers combing through her hair.

“Do you want to?” he asks, curious. Most royals have never shown an interest in anything outside the palace or the capitol city, but he already knows that she isn’t like most royals.

“I used to think about it, when I was little. Then I didn’t, for a while, but - I wonder what’s out there, sometimes. You must have seen so much.”

His hand goes still. “It wasn’t all pretty.”

She shifts so she can see him. “Nothing in life is.”

He opens his mouth to say ‘you are’ but closes it. Flirting like that doesn’t fit the moment.

Instead he tells her about the places he’s seen, the salt air above the ocean and the heat of the desert, riding thermals until the world below fades away.

Her eyes are closed, as though envisioning the world he tries to paint for her. “I wish I could see it.”

“Maybe one day you will. Maybe one day I’ll take you, and you can complain about the heat as much as Riley did.” There’s a pause, and then he has to ask, “Why?”

She doesn’t ask what he means. She’s quiet for a long moment, then she says, “I want more. And I know there’s other people out there who do, too - who deserve more.”

Sam has to look away as he swallows, fingers tangling a little harder than he means to in her hair.

Her eyes open, looking at him in concern. “Sam?”

“I stopped believing in people like you a while ago,” he admits.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not a hero.”

Yes you are, he wants to tell her, because he didn’t think he cared about anything until she reminded him that there could be someone as amazing as her even among the royalty.

But he doesn’t, because he’s afraid of what that means, and it’s easier just to loosen his grip and card his fingers back through her hair again.

---

The day his wings finally heal enough for flight again, he shows up at the door to her room - the balcony door to her room. Her face lights up, even more than it had in the garden, and she takes his hand and lets him pull her in close.

They don’t say much as he flies, the rush of the air and the beat of his wings drowning out any conversation they might think to try, but for the first time in a long time, Sam is happy.

When he drops her back off, he lingers, holding her just a little bit longer.

“It’s not the desert, but it’s the best I can do.”

She rests her hand along his jaw, thumb stroking over his cheekbone. “Don’t ever think your best isn’t more than enough for me.”

---

“Do you think he’d listen?”

She tilts her head from staring out the window to look back at him. “Hmm?”

Sam hadn’t meant to say it, any more than he had back when she first told him what she did, and there’s a stab of fear. But now that it’s out, he can’t take it back. Now that it’s out, he finds he really needs to know what she really thinks, if she’s as aware that everything’s not okay as he thinks she might be.

And he trusts her enough to believe that even if she isn’t, she won’t tell anyone he asked.

“The commander. Do you think he’d listen if you brought any serious concerns to him?”

She should say yes. They both know that, that there should be no question in the first place, but if there was, the immediate response should be of course. The commander has their best interests at heart, all of the members of the royal family do.

She doesn’t say yes. She looks at him for a long moment, and then whatever she does say doesn’t matter much, because he can read the answer in her eyes.

No.

She turns away again, looking back out the window.

“I’d like to think so.”

---

Sometimes, Sam wonders what would happen if one of them acted on the quiet longing that he knows is in both of their eyes. He wonders if sleeping next to her would soothe the war that still plays in his mind at night, if she’d still look at him like she thinks he’s something wonderful.

Sometimes Sam thinks the reason he doesn’t act on it has more to do with the fact that he’s afraid the answer is ‘no’ than it does with the fact that it would be very, very illegal.

---

He thinks of her as he sits across from Captain Makara, who watches him with a sharp smile and an expectant look in his eyes. He remembers the longing in her voice when she told him she’d never been out of the city, the fire in her eyes when he whispered words that could have been considered treasonous, the way the edge in her smile faded whenever they were alone together.

The way it felt like that was the only time they could really be themselves, and that it would continue like that as long as the current command stays as it is. That neither of them will ever really be free unless the rebellion that Makara is asking him to join wins, unless Sam fights for a better world than the one they know.

Unless they both fight for a better world, because Sam knows without a doubt that if she finds out about this, he wouldn't be able to stop her from joining if he tried.

“I’m yours. On one condition.”

---

When he tells her, the fire in her eyes burns brighter. He wants to remind her that it’s dangerous, that she doesn’t have to, that she’s done enough already and he can fight hard enough for the both of them, but her eyes narrow at him and he knows she can tell what he’s thinking.

“Don’t you dare,” she murmurs. “Just tell me how I can help.”

He thought he’d forgotten what it felt like to be in love, but he remembers now.

---

When the rebellion rises, they’re both ready.

There are more nobles than they thought on their side, thanks to her, and they stand a high chance at winning this thing.

Even if the palace might not survive it. She isn’t supposed to be involved in the physical fighting, but he can hear explosions going off in the wing of the palace that she’s in - and he’s not as good of a soldier as he used to be, because he disobeys orders and goes for her.

There are royal soldiers everywhere when he swoops in through the window - but none of them have wings, and he has the advantage. He fights his way to her, as best as he can, but there’s just so many of them -

And suddenly he hears the roar of a metal blade, and a soldier who had been getting ready to shoot him goes down with a scream. And another, and another, and Sam takes out the remaining few to find Porrim standing there, dropping something heavy at her feet as she makes her way over to him.

He looks down at it, eyes going wide. “Did you seriously just grab a chainsaw?”

She cocks one eyebrow at him, looking just pleased enough that he can tell she hadn’t been sure it was going to work. “Saved your butt, didn’t it?”

It’s not the first time that Sam’s wanted to kiss her, but it is the first time he acts on it. His wings curl around them as he yanks her in, lips pressed against hers fierce and desperate because he is never letting her go.

“Fucking finally,” she growls in his ear as she kisses him back, arms flung around his neck.

It takes another explosion to separate them, and even then he just pulls her into his arms as he jumps back out the window.

---

The war in his mind doesn’t stop just because he sleeps next to her. There’s a war in her mind as well, and there’s times when it wakes both of them up, sets both of them off.

But it’s soothed when he reaches for her, when she wraps her arms around him and they hold each other close.

When he murmurs the things he’s afraid of and she whispers her own fears right back and promises that he will always be enough.

He will always be wonderful, and she will always be his hero.

---

When he takes her to the desert, riding thermals up until they’re buffeted entirely by warm air, she doesn’t say a word about the heat. (Except to make a comment about how both of them are hotter than this.)

When he asks her to marry him there it’s because he knows Riley’s watching them, and he wants his wingman to know that he’s happy.

To know that he has someone who helped him find his reason, and who found her own with him.