Chapter Text
The library stretched wide and cool, all polished stone and dark wood, many of the shelves of books were carved right into the mountain walls. Gideon ran his hand along a shelf as they passed, the grooves smooth but solid. Another architectural marvel.
Massive slanting windows looked out over the city, Gideon couldn’t help but peer over the edge, feeling a pleasant swoop of vertigo at the height. They had done a lot of stairs today. He glanced around feeling out of place in the quiet. “Fancy,” he muttered, keeping his voice low. “Bet Kremy’d love all these books.”
Frost led the way toward a section of low tables surrounded by cushions, a few already taken up by meditating figures or quiet readers. “Kremy would likely appreciate the selection,” Frost said, his claws lightly ticking over the titles until he plucked a slim blue one from the shelf. “Though his patience for silence rivals even Gricko’s.”
“All right, teach. What’s the deal with this shit, anyway? Just sittin’ there? Keepin’ your mind blank?” Gideon looked around at people sitting in corners with their eyes closed and sighed a little.
Frost’s tail flicked, and he tilted his head slightly, with a faint smile. “A common misconception. Meditation is not the absence of thought. It is about awareness—about cultivating mindfulness in whatever form your practice takes.”
Gideon frowned. “What?” Seemed like a lot of different words stuck together saying the same thing.
“Noticing the present moment,” Frost said with a gesture. “The mind’s movements, the body’s sensations, perhaps the breath. Pick any, it matters not. It is the practice of noticing without judgment and of returning to the present whenever you stray. Beginning again, as often as necessary.”
Gideon snorted. “Sounds like a fancy way of sayin’ just try.”
“In a way, yes,” Frost’s voice was patient. “Most of my teachers here insisted that sitting cross-legged, focusing on the breath was the superior method, but it is far from the only path.”
Gideon’s brows furrowed. “So, what else is there?” This was great news. Gideon hated sitting.
“Walking meditation,” he said, opening to a section with drawings of footprints moving in a pattern. “Each step is taken with intention, focusing on the movement, the connection to the ground. It is good for those who struggle with stillness.”
“That’s me,” Gideon said, leaning forward to look at the diagrams.
Frost turned, holding another book out. “Or Tai Chi,” he said, his voice even, “a martial art from the ancient east. Though its primary purpose is not combat.”
Gideon raised a brow, taking the book and thumbing through the yellowed pages. “A fightin’ style that’s not for fightin’? Sounds like someone missed the point.”
Frost’s lips twitched faintly. “It is a practice of balance—designed to train the body and the mind to move as one.”
Gideon nodded, setting the book down. “Sounds... disciplined. Like somethin’ you’d be good at.”
“I practiced it during my time here,” Frost shrugged. “It was not my focus, but it taught me how the mind and body are inextricably linked.”
Frost selected a book with a dark leather cover and fancy gold fire patterns, holding it up. “This… is Tummo. Often translated as ‘inner fire meditation,’” his voice was low and steady. “Practitioners visualize heat building within them, radiating outward. It is said to awaken a fire within the self.”
Gideon leaned forward, his eyes narrowing at the flames surrounding the figure. “Awakenin’ fire, huh?” He felt a little self-satisfied at that. “I didn’t think this would be so dang easy, Frosty! I’ve already got that covered!”
Frost tilted his head, his eyes sharp. “Your fire is physical. Elemental. A birthright of your kind. What I speak of is different—a fire born of the mind’s focus and the breath’s power. Controlled, not instinctive.”
Gideon’s smile faltered, replaced by a flash of curiosity. “Controlled how?”
Frost gestured toward the page, where instructions were laid out. They looked fucking complicated. “Through a rhythm of breath—quick inhalations, forceful exhalations. For monks, this practice can stave off below freezing temperatures. A fire that does not burn wildly, but is a forge for resilience and purpose.”
Gideon frowned, his fingers drumming against his thigh. “Fire is wild n’... chaotic. Not sure it can or should be controlled.”
Frost’s tail swished, his gaze unwavering. “Flame flows through you as naturally as blood. This could be a way to channel that connection, to bring it to the mind and use it with intention.”
The idea tugged at Gideon, a blend of suspicion and intrigue. Fire had always been his ally, but occasionally it had been a burden—a force he wielded but never entirely shaped. He hadn’t hurt Kremy with it, and luckily now it seemed he couldn’t. But he had hurt others accidentally, especially in his younger years.
The thought of learning to use it in a way that wasn’t instinctive but… steady and controlled stirred something.
“So, what, you think this’ll make me... what? Stronger?” he asked, his voice quieter now.
“Perhaps,” Frost said. “Or simply teach you to know yourself. Your fire is part of you, Tummo may deepen that relationship—if you’re willing to try.”
Gideon picked up the book, his fingers leaving a smudge of ash at the edge of the pages. He stared at the illustration again, the flames almost seeming to flicker in the library’s soft light. “Might be worth tryin’,” Gideon said, his tone thoughtful. He put the book down beside himself instead of on the stack of rejects. “Okay, what else?”
Frost leaned forward, pulling a red book down and opening it to a section marked by intimate illustrations of naked people surrounded by flowing scribbles. The diagrams were tasteful rather than explicit, but it was clear what they were.
Gideon raised his eyebrows. Would it be possible to get through this bargain by learning special fire and sex stuff? Maybe meditation wasn’t too bad after all.
“Tantra,” Frost began, his voice steady and almost reverent, “is often misunderstood. Many reduce it to pleasure—but it goes far deeper. Tantric massage, meditation, and intimacy practices are all about the flow of energy. Absolute union in relationships, rooted in connection and awareness.”
Gideon’s sly smile creeped back. “So it’s not just... y’know.” He made a vague gesture, baiting Frost.
Frost’s eyes narrowed faintly, but his tone remained calm. “Physical touch is often part of it, practitioners report heightened pleasure, among other things. But that is not everything. Tantra teaches one to understand the energy they carry, to channel it, and to share it with others without losing balance. To deeply connect beyond the physical.”
Gideon tilted his head, curiosity overtaking his usual humor. “So, what. How does that work? Ain’t sex… as connected as you get?”
Frost looked up at him. “You tell me, you have had a lot of it.” His words carried no judgement. “Have you felt a connection with everyone you’ve bedded? Are you able to feel a connection without sex being a part of it?”
Gideon froze, the look on his face faltering at Frost’s pointed—yet entirely neutral—question. He opened his mouth to respond, but instead let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Well, damn, Frosty,” he said, his arms crossing over his chest. “You sure know how to ask hard questions.”
Frost’s eyes were unwavering as they studied Gideon. “It’s one worth considering, I think.”
Gideon stilled. He thought about Kremy. Not the Kremy who teased and deflected with charm, but the one who was letting Gideon in, piece by fragile piece. The one who had been beside him long before they’d crossed the line into anything physical. Those moments—shared glances, subtle touches, comfortable conversations, even their worst fights—had held more weight than anything he’d ever felt.
It wasn’t flashy, wasn’t driven by lust or instinct, but it had gripped in ways that stayed long after the moments themselves. Much different from the flings Gideon had spent so much of his life chasing. Those had been easy, fun. He didn’t regret them. There was something good in giving people what they wanted, and feeling wanted back for a night. But it had always been short lived.
But with Kremy, it was just… so different. Even before they kissed, being around him had a pull to it, like stepping close to something bigger than he could figure out. Every touch and look felt like it meant something. Gideon didn’t have better words for it, but ‘different’ was close enough.
“Gideon?” Frost asked, and Gideon startled. He had been very wrapped up in that train of thought.
“I’ve had... fun, I guess you’d call it,” he shrugged. “Plenty of it. But it was always just that. No strings, barely even names most times. I liked it for what it was, but it never... stayed with me.”
“And..?” Frost prompted, his voice softer.
Gideon exhaled slowly, his fingers feeling over a chip on the table. “With… Kremy.” He hesitated, the words caught in his throat. He forced himself to continue. “It’s like... before we ever touched, there was already somethin’ there. Somethin’ bigger. And now that we’re... together... it’s… I dunno. Different.”
Frost nodded, and turned a page, revealing a diagram of two figures seated opposite each other, their hands touching. “This is one example. Two people sit together, focusing on their breath and their connection. They match their breathing, align their energy, and become acutely aware of each other’s presence. It fosters understanding and trust.”
“Breathin’ together?” Gideon asked. “Don’t sound too hard.”
“Perhaps not,” Frost replied, “but it is deceptively simple. The difficulty lies in maintaining focus—truly being present with another person, without distraction or judgment. Tantra encourages vulnerability, which is often far more challenging than physical effort.”
Gideon nodded, reaching for the book. “Sounds like somethin’ Kremy’d poke fun at me for, but... He’ll never have to know ‘bout any of this. Right? Frosty?”
Frost’s ears tilted slightly. “Your secret is safe with me.” He stood. “I think that will be more than enough for now. And if you don’t like any of them, we can always return to the books, and simply begin again. It can take years or a lifetime to find a practice that works. And often, like everything else, what works for you will come and go.”
Gideon smirked, shaking his head as he covertly tucked the books into his bag. “Oh, this ain’t gonna take years. Gimme a month, I’ll have this down. I just hope it don’t make me too enlightened—I’d hate to lose my edge.”
Frost inclined his head slightly, his eyes gleaming. “Somehow, I doubt that will be an issue.”
Gideon looked at ‘Master’ Tavros. He wasn’t impressed. The guy looked like he’d been waiting for bad news since breakfast, his sharp eyes locking onto Frost as soon as they stepped inside. Gideon’s boots thudded against the floor, his manacles slid behind him, echoing too loud in the stillness.
“Disciple Frost,” Tavros said, his voice cool and wary. “Your return is... unexpected.”
Frost gave a small nod, all poise and calm. “Master Tavros, thank you for seeing me.”
Tavros gestured for them to approach, his gaze darting to Gideon, then back to Frost. “I assume this is not a social visit.”
“No,” Frost said. “I need the Order’s guidance. I’m in possession of a dangerous relic… the Crown’s Bane.”
“You brought that here?” Tavros’s voice had an edge now, almost panicked. “Have you lost your mind?”
“It’s contained,” Frost said, steady but tense. “For now. But it’s draining my abilities, and I need—” he held out his hands plaintively. Tavros’ eyes landed on Frost’s hands, no, on his claws, and they narrowed.
“Silence, Clawling,” Tavros cut across him, standing up. Frost blinked at the term, and his brows flickered just once, a quickly repressed crack crossing his composure. “You’ve forsaken your vows. We freed you from your burdens, cleansed you from the mark of the beast, and not only have you chosen to desecrate those gifts, you repay us by endangering us all!”
Gideon opened his mouth to say something, but Frost shot him a look.
Tavros continued his rant. “Do you have any idea what you’re dealing with? The Crown’s Bane isn’t just a relic—it’s ruin. Chaos given form. You have invited impurity back into your soul in more ways than one. Or perhaps, it was never truly gone.”
Gideon crossed his arms, stepping up beside Frost. “You hold on a damn second there, bucko. You callin’ him a fuckin’ beast? Well you’re somethin’ worse, a fuckin’ coward! We’re not messin’ with it, actually we’re tryna do the opposite. He’s lookin’ for a way to keep it locked down.”
Tavros shook his head, pacing a short line behind his desk. “The Order has survived centuries by staying far away from disasters like this.”
“So, what, you’re just going to turn him away?” Gideon said incredulously.
“The Crown’s Bane doesn’t belong here. It doesn’t belong anywhere. Leave, now.” Tavros pointed to the door.
Gideon’s voice rose. “Well, tell us how to get rid of it, then. We don’t want it.”
Tavros shook his head. “I cannot help you.”
Gideons temper flared. Or had it already? Anyway, it flared worse. “Can’t even give us a hint? All high n’ mighty on your big mountain. What kind of fuckin’ clown school you runnin’ here? ”
“The kind that survives,” Tavros snapped, fixing Gideon with a hard stare. “The Crown’s Bane isn’t just power—it’s a prison. The longer he holds it, the more it will take from him.”
Frost’s jaw tightened, his tail twitching once behind him. “You’ve made your position clear. We shall take our leave.”
Tavros hesitated, his expression easing for a moment before he spoke again, quieter now. “Frost. You were one of the most gifted minds to pass through. Don’t let that thing destroy what’s left of you.”
Frost didn’t reply, turning sharply for the door.
Gideon followed, throwing one last glare over his shoulder. “Fuckin’ waste of time. Your ‘Order’ is shit, and you are too! You cowardly ol' ugly motherfucker.” he spat, voice dripping with disdain.
The door clicked gently shut behind them, the sound wasn’t satisfying enough so Gideon gave it a kick for good measure. His voice echoed through the hallway. “What a fuckin’ joke, man! Makes me wanna punch somethin’.”
He threw an arm over Frost's shoulder. “We got this Frosty, don’t worry. We’re gonna figure this out. We don’ need the stupid Order.”
Frost stiffened under Gideon’s arm, but then relaxed into it, leaning into Gideon just a little. When he finally spoke, his tone was measured. “Your outbursts, while… spirited, are rarely productive.”
“Yeah, well, somebody had to say it,” Gideon shot back, releasing Frost, his voice still brimming with heat. “That guy’s sittin’ there actin’ like the world’s gonna end, but he won’t lift a damn finger? He tells you to not let it drain you, but won’t say how? Just makes us leave? Fuck him, man! Actually, even I wouldn’t. Ugly son of a bitch.”
“The Crown’s Bane is not a foe to be fought or a problem to be solved with brute strength. It is subtle, insidious. And it seems… mine to carry.” Frost said, calmly.
“Bullshit,” Gideon said firmly, stepping in front of Frost and stopping him in his tracks. “This ain’t just you. Not a fuckin’ chance.”
Frost softened slightly, not making eye contact with Gideon. “Your loyalty is... commendable, Gideon. But it may cost you more than you realize.”
“Then it costs me,” Gideon said simply, his voice steady now. “I ain’t lettin’ you carry this alone. We’re almost at Roslof’s house. Couple days we can settle down and take a proper look at that thing. Start figurin’ it out.”
The faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Frost’s mouth, but he didn’t reply. They stepped onto a flight of stone stairs, leaving the Order’s cold, sterile halls behind.
Back on the city streets, Gideon glanced at Frost, who was moving forward with the same measured steps he’d had inside the order. But Gideon knew better. He saw it. The stiffness in Frost’s shoulders, the way his hands were still clasped in his sleeves. Gideon had spent enough time trying to read one extremely unreadable man to know something was up.
They walked in silence for a while. Finally, Gideon spoke, keeping his voice as casual as he could manage. “So… 'Clawling.’ That just some insult? Or does it mean somethin’ worse?”
Frost’s steps faltered, just once but there all the same. He kept his gaze ahead, his tone detached. “It is a term they use for those who fail to rid themselves of their base, animalistic tendencies. Claws are a symbol of weakness. It is not merely an insult; it is a mark of disgrace.”
Gideon’s gut twisted. “Animalistic?”
Frost glanced at him briefly, his expression unreadable. “The Order believes in purity—of body, mind, and spirit. They consider certain traits… stains to be cleansed. At eleven, they declaw disciples.” His words were even, but the movement of his sleeves told Gideon he was flexing his fingers.
Gideon’s jaw hung agape. “They what ?”
“They remove them,” Frost said as if recounting a distant fact. “It was part of my cleansing. To sever ties with what they see as a lesser nature.”
“That ain’t cleansing,” Gideon spat. “That’s mutilation. I know it for a fact, the fuckin’ Hobgoblins fuckin’ snipped off my horns, too, Frosty. That’s a mark of control.”
Frost turned to face him, his expression calm but tinged with something. Pain, maybe regret. “Perhaps. But I agreed to it. I was even excited for it. It is seen as an honor.”
Gideon shook his head, his voice rough. “You were a kid, you didn’t know. You should’ve been able to trust them.” He couldn’t hide his anger, it rippled through his words. “They didn’t make you better, they made you think you weren’t good enough to begin with.”
Frost blinked, his composure faltering for a split second before he recovered. “You don’t quite understand, Gideon. Though I forged my own path, I still take those teachings with me, I’m still grateful for what the Order gave to me. Not every ending has to be so… black or white. Good or evil.”
“Why’d I never know this?” Gideon asked gruffly.
“I’m not sure. Why did I never know that the Hobgoblins clipped off your horns?” Frost raised an eyebrow at Gideon.
Gideon chuckled. “Fair point. Guess these things don’ really come up over breakfast or anythin’. How did you get ‘em back? What made you…” he trailed off.
“Actually, Gricko helped me. He convinced me that... well. It would be better to have them. He helped me with some of the resistance I felt. His druidic knowledge was enough that he could perform a ceremony on me.” An uncommonly gentle expression crossed Frost’s face. “It was... the largest gesture anyone has ever done for me. It took him over six months to gather everything he needed to complete it."
Gideon blinked, his anger momentarily disarmed by the tenderness in Frost’s words. “Damn.” he kneaded his forehead, fingers grazing the bottom of his horns. Kremy had always gotten mad at him for not taking better care of them, especially as they were growing back.
“Gid, you gotta stop touchin’ ‘em like that,” Kremy had snapped once, yanking Gideon’s hand away with more force than necessary. “You’re makin’ it worse.” He’d tossed a jar of salve at him, the motion sharp and dismissive. “Use that, or don’t, but don’t come cryin’ to me when they heal wrong.”
Back then, Gideon thought it was just Kremy’s usual bite, usual fussiness about things like that. Now he saw it for what it was; care wrapped in barbs.
“You knew he could grow them back? You asked for it?” Gideon asked.
“Not quite. I did not want them back, not at first. I agreed with the Order, and saw them as a weakness. Gricko, however, has a way of… seeing through things. He helped me understand that one’s true nature isn’t something to be ashamed of.”
“Six months, huh? That’s a lotta work.”
“It was important to him.” Frost said. “I… owe him more than I could ever repay. Not just for that... He is an incredible companion and friend.”
“Yeah. We… kinda lucked out, hey Frosty?” Gideon shot him a crooked grin.
Frost glanced at Gideon, his expression still open in a way that was rare. “Indeed, we did.”
The door slammed open, banging against the wall with a force that rattled the hinges. Kremy startled awake, half-sitting with a groggy blink, his tail twitching under the sheets in irritation. Gideon had already stormed in, his boots heavy on the floor, bag hitting the ground with a loud thud.
Kremy blinked again, his brain catching up to the situation. “Well, good evenin’ to you, too,” he muttered, his voice thick with sleep. “What’s got your britches twisted?”
Gideon stopped mid-stride, glaring at nothing in particular as he threw his hands in the air. “They wouldn’t help, man. Fuckin’ clowns. And they declawed Frosty!”
Kremy sat up, leaning back on his elbows, his head tilted as he watched Gideon. “What? Declawed? Like, today?”
“Well, no. Years ago, I guess. But they still did it! I’d torch their whole stupid place to the ground, but stone prob’ly burns about as well as waterlogged swamp stumps. Fuckin’ culty bullshit.” Gideon snarled.
Kremy rubbed his eyes, before looking back at Gideon. “Okay… well did’ya get any information, Gid? Or did you just yell and call ’em names?”
“I might’ve called one guy an ugly motherfucker,” Gideon admitted, sitting roughly on the edge of the bed with a huff. He turned to look at Kremy. ”I was gonna keep my opinions ‘bout his appearance to myself if he was civil, but he told us to leave and he wouldn’t help Frosty. An’ I think he called him some sorta Tabaxi slur!”
Kremy sucked air between his teeth. “What I always say? You got a way with words, Gid.” He shook his head, but there was a note of indulgence in his tone.
“I ain’t wrong. That guy is one ugly motherfucker, Kremy! I know it when I see it.” Gideon said, reassuring him.
Kremy chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “Bet Frost loved that.”
Gideon sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, well... think it hit him harder than he’s lettin’ on. And now we’re stuck with this—this thing, and no damn clue how to handle it. I don’t even know if we’re makin’ it worse just by carryin’ it around.”
The bed dipped as Kremy shifted closer, sitting up fully and reaching out. “You ain’t gotta have all the answers tonight, Gid.” His hand touched down on Gideon’s back, light at first, just the faintest brush. He let it rest there, still and steady, before beginning a slow, easy motion. Trailing his palm up and down between Gideon’s shoulder blades.
It wasn’t much, but it was enough to draw out a long, heavy exhale from Gideon, the tension in his shoulders softening just a bit. “You’re workin’ with whatcha got. We all are.” Kremy continued.
“Yeah?” Gideon asked, his voice quieter now, the anger bleeding into uncertainty. “Feels like we’re just stumblin’ blind, hopin’ not to trip over somethin’.”
“That’s life, cher. We’ll keep movin’. We’ll figure it out. And worst case, we throw that thing into a… a fuckin’ volcano! How’s that sound? Use those big meaty arms of yours.” Kremy shifted again, draping one arm over one of Gideon’s wide shoulders, and the other under, wrapping around him like the equivalent of a seatbelt. He nuzzled the back of Gideon’s neck.
For a long moment, they didn’t speak. Kremy’s claws traced slow, absent patterns over Gideon’s chest, the motion steady and soothing.
Y’know,” Gideon murmured, his voice quieter now, “I don’t know why everyone else is so fuckin’ stupid and useless, Krem. Makes me so mad!”
Kremy’s laugh was soft, warm. “Well… least you’re cute when you’re mad.”
“That right?” Gideon tilted his head slightly, glancing at Kremy, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “You tryin’a sweet-talk me, or just keepin’ me distracted?”
“Why not both?” Kremy said smoothly, leaning in just enough to brush his snout against Gideon’s cheek. “S’ it workin’?”
Gideon huffed a quiet laugh, his chest rising and falling much more evenly now. “Yeah, s’workin’ pretty good. Anyway, how was your day?”
At that moment, a strange cardboard box over on the table shifted. They both looked over at it.
“What’s in the box, Krem?” Gideon said, pointing at the box.
“What box?” Kremy said, looking up innocently. Too innocently. This alligator of his was never innocent, and if he looked it? Gideon knew to be doubly afraid.