Mahanon has to force himself to wait all the hours past sundown before taking his usual route to Mirallen's room: Slipping out of the loft in the garden dry storage shed he's made his private space these past few years, having outgrown his willingness to share cramped quarters with his Da in the single room allotted to them by the Lord of the manor; Creeping along the shed roof to the wall of the manor proper, with the second floor balcony an easy leap to manage, then grabbing hold of the ornately wrought iron banisters and hauling himself up then over the railing; From there, a convenient trestle climb up to the third floor window Mirallen always leaves a little ajar.
Kalais's room is, by some measures, much easier; he's got a handy oak tree outside his window. However, Mahanon doesn't trust those branches to hold his weight as well as they hold Kalais these days, even if Mahanon seems to have stopped growing entirely—he hasn't gained a single inch since his thirteenth summer, nearly four years ago.
Mahanon has tried to bully Kalais into promising not to grow taller than him, ideally staying at his current comfortable height where the top of his fiery head still fits neatly under Mahanon's chin. However, Fionn pointed out only hours ago that the boy's summer breeches are starting to climb up from the fashionable mid-calf to his knees.
"Something to think about," Fionn murmured carefully, as he and Mahanon watched Kalais and Mirallen process back into the manor with all their retinue scrambling about the carriages and wagons behind them. The brothers and their guardian, Baron Titus Macrinius, had just returned from a week spent being paraded around a minor court a full day's ride north.
Mahanon's heart leapt then as it does now, scaling the trestle up to Mirallen's window and recalling Fionn's words. Another detail of the plan, proof of its reality: Consideration of those little technicals, such as whether Kalais has enough clothes that fit him properly worth bringing, or whether they ought to send messages ahead to gather some basic pieces for a growing boy Kalais' size and age.
It's one of the two desperate impulses that has sent Mahanon flying to Mirallen's side the moment a distant gentle clock chime called midnight. He tumbles in through Mirallen's window, haste making him a little unsteady on the landing, with the desire to tell Mirallen the news that arrived during their week-long ordeal away from the manor is foremost on Mahanon's mind.
However, his priorities shift as he straightens with the help of two fists in his loose nightshirt hauling him up, and Mirallen is there and kissing him hard, and any thoughts other than those of Mirallen's mouth on his own, the desire to feel Mirallen's hot skin under his own rough palms, utterly deserts Mahanon's mind.
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