Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Charlie Spring knows he’s broken. He feels things he’s not supposed to. He wants things that aren’t allowed. It’s always been boys, in his dreams and fantasies. Late at night, wrist moving, feeling feverish under the duvet - his brain betrays him again and again. There’s something desperately wrong with him and he’s all alone in a world of happy families with happy kids who all find the mates they should when they’re old enough to present.

He hopes The Change will fix him. That mysterious rite of passage, late in puberty, is when most people present and pair up. His older sister had emerged from their village Hall with Michael in tow, fresh bite marks on both necks and finally a settled look in her haunted eyes. They’d dutifully set up a new home in one of the small pods on the edge of town, closer to The Waste than Charlie likes but at least he can still visit her.

Stories from their parents gnaw at his heart - stories of girls who would be their aunts if only they’d managed to exit their local Hall with a mate but who’d then been sent to other villages to try their luck, never to be seen again. Here, they have Uncle Antonio with his mousy wife, their three young daughters and two sets of aging grandparents as their only extended family.

When he stops by Tori’s place after lessons from his Maester, they sit awkwardly in her front garden on the bench for guests. She says she misses living down the hall from him but otherwise she’s happy. There are long pauses in their conversations where everything unasked, everything unsaid rings loudly in the silence. He longs for a world where they could be closer, where they could be free to really know each other.

He’s not permitted to ask her about what happens inside the Hall. He wonders if she’d tell him if he did it anyway. They’ve both been careful all their lives, making just enough room for the quiet connection between them. He knows she feels it like he does but they don’t acknowledge it. That’s not the kind of thing which ever gets discussed. Charlie can tell by the posture of his groupmates under the Maester that it’s the same at their houses.

They all learn how to glean through the edge of the forest for the materials the community needs to build and repair pods. They learn to haul in the nets on the boats that ply the sea. They take turns picking vegetables in the village gardens. All ages mixing together in the work, the older adolescents disappearing from the Maester’s tutelage in chaotic waves after every quarterly ceremony at the Hall.

Charlie doesn’t know what passes between his groupmates and their Maester but somehow everyone seems to know when it’s their turn to enter the building. It’s yet another thing nobody explains. Charlie’s still waiting, scanning the crowd for disappointed faces when he fails to step forward once more. But each time, one of the Maesters simply shuts the door behind the last of the young people who were eager to proceed. Always knowing who was ready and who was not. And the next day, his Maester doesn’t comment when Charlie returns to the lessons and the work.

Finally Charlie is the oldest one in his children’s group. After several weeks of this, he locks eyes with the Maester as he cleans up to go back to his parents’ pod. He’s dreading the passive judgment he’ll see in his mother’s eyes, the way her worry grows at the same steady pace that time slips past them. Maester Lange frowns slightly but then dips his jaw, a nearly invisible message. You’re going to have to try it anyway, Charlie.

Charlie swallows, nods back. Okay. Next ceremony, he will.

Chapter Text

The Hall is, by far, the biggest pod in their village. Other than the ceremony of The Change, only mated people go into it. Charlie isn’t sure what all it’s used for but sometimes a mass of neighbours, including one or more Magistrars, will go in on an afternoon looking disgruntled and come out the same evening looking more peaceful.

A few times a month, he thinks smaller groups go in after dinner; he hears them shuffling past the Spring family home, all moving the same direction. And he even got up early one time, sneaking out to pluck a ripe apple straight from the tree in a nearby orchard at sunrise, and happened to see a dozen couples practically fall out the door, looking disheveled but satisfied. He doesn’t quite know what to make of it, has no theory which fits the unspoken rules of their community, and his parents never seem to partake, not that he’d ever dream of asking them about it.

He stares up at the smoothly curved roof of the Hall looming above him, light green against an iron-gray sky. The sun is behind him, about to set, and the structure glows in its gentle light. Its rough sedge surface is broken only by the massive wooden door across the cobblestones from where he stands.

It seems like most of the village is here today, a crowd of young people at the forefront. Charlie briefly looks around at the others he presumes will enter when he does, unfamiliar boys and girls from other Maester’s groups. Most of them look as excited as anyone here ever allows themselves to appear. He feels only resentment and nerves.

He wants to be fixed. He wants to want one of these girls like he wants the boys in his fantasies. He tries to imagine touching some of the faces he can glimpse from the corner of his eye. His spine shudders, his pelvis is numb.

He clenches his hands into fists at his sides, fingernails pressing half moons into the meat of his palms. The sting gives him something else to focus on, keeps his feet from shuffling awkwardly in place. Finally Maester Reed bustles his way to the open space near the Hall entrance. The assembled people, some of whom were talking softly amongst themselves, fall into an expectant hush.

“Hear ye!” He sounds almost bored, the words of the ritual tumbling out of his mouth haphazardly. “It is once again the night of The Change. It is time for some of you to accept your destiny and your rightful place in our village, with your mate beside you. May the rising moon bring you to your fullness before tomorrow’s morn. Enter now if ye be called.”

With that, he opens the door with a flourish and the young people around Charlie surge forward. He allows himself to be swept in with them, heart pounding in his throat. As he passes the threshold, the figures around him nearly disappear in a gloom so profound that he immediately reaches out with both arms, afraid of stumbling into a wall or something.

But his fingertips encounter only the backs of his fellow youth, eliciting giggles from at least three people. The sound ripples across the group as the door swings closed behind them and Charlie swallows, feeling more alone than ever, in the black. Already there are a few gasps and his imagination draws lines of bodies meeting and impatiently pulling each other further into the building.

He moves to his left, still searching for an anchor, any kind of physical landmark to help his mind grasp the shape of the air around them. He can feel his eyes straining, wide open, and slowly adapting. The others become fuzzy dark gray blobs weaving in what might be a large entry room. Most of them are pressing through an opening at the other side so Charlie takes a chance and follows them.

On the other side, there seems to be a variety of options. He can make out smaller knots of people heading in different directions, some down a wide hallway maybe and at least two crawling up some kind of spiraling incline. Others quickly wink through other openings, echoes of their footsteps changing to low moans almost immediately afterwards.

Charlie blinks, feeling none of the tightening in his guts that regularly drives him to his wit’s end at home under the covers. Clearly he is still missing something about this experience. Sighing near silently, he resigns himself to finding some kind of hidey-hole where he can sleep until dawn.

He wanders the twisting tangle of the Hall’s interior, his outstretched hands helping him avoid banging into the furniture which he encounters in some of the spaces. Small rooms with cushions, big rooms with large tables and tons of chairs, medium rooms with actual beds, several tiny rooms with commodes tucked into a hidden corner. He uses one when his bladder demands it.

No doors anywhere. No way to light the lamps he can sometimes perceive. Just a shimmery luminescence from the sedge walls themselves, giving him a hint of awareness of where he is - deep in the belly of this great Hall.

Finally he’s far enough from any sounds the others are making that he decides it’s time to lie down. In the next room with a bed, that’s exactly what he does. Kicking his brogans off, he keeps his tunic and trews on and doesn’t bother with the blankets. Gradually his mind unravels, overwhelmed by the uncertainties and novelty of this night. He loses consciousness gratefully.

He wakes to a bright light emanating from a fixture built into the ceiling. Shaking himself loose from the tight ball he’d coiled himself into as he slumbered, he sits up and looks around. This room is pretty plain and he exits without further investigations, needing to find another of the commodes.

After relieving himself, he stands in the nearest hallway, listening for any clues that might lead him back to the door and the breakfast his stomach informs him is due. The corridor stretches in a long line to either side of him, lit periodically with the same bright and unobtrusive ceiling lamps as the room where he woke up. It doesn’t resemble the mysterious Hall of last night at all. Shrugging, he picks a direction and begins the journey to the new day in his life - one he already knows will be full of sorrow and change, as he’ll have to prepare to leave the only home he’s ever known.

Chapter Text

Jane is, predictably, fussing over him as he packs. It’s been a week since he’d been the first out the door of the Hall, blinkered and grumpy in the morning light. Maester Barnes had been sitting on a padded bench to one side, resting his head back against the sedge of the exterior; jerking forward, he’d first frowned at Charlie’s single status and then a softer look had crept over his florid features.

“Come on then,” he’d huffed as he pushed on his own knees to stand up. “Let’s go talk to your parents, young Spring.” He’d waved to another Maester sitting nearby and walked silently alongside Charlie until they got to the familiar pod. As Charlie hesitated before opening the door, the Maester had laid one hand kindly on his shoulder.

“Go and fetch them, lad. Nobody’s about; we can talk here. It’s not like you have to leave today.” That and all the coordination he’d then been privy to whilst standing awkwardly in the hallway behind his parents was the most data he’d ever been granted outside a basic lesson on making the salt batteries that powered the village lamps.

It had been agreed that Charlie would not be rushed out of town but that he needed to stay hidden at home until he left. After many a loaded glance between his parents and then back at him, he’d declined to join the next trading group going through. Instead he’s traveling alone. Getting to the next village up the edge of The Waste should take him the better part of a day. Nobody has explained what all will happen once he gets there, other than he’ll be welcome to try their Hall in the hopes that he finally presents.

As he rolls his few spare clothes into tidy bundles, his shoulders itch from his mother’s scrutiny where she’s hovering in the doorway. She’s seemingly done admonishing him about not pausing in the day’s walking still ahead of him, how he best mind his manners with the new villagers and what all she’s prepared for him to eat today. His stomach roils when he considers breaking his fast this morning still in this pod.

Just as he turns to beg her to let him take it all with him, his father steps into the space next to her and lays a calming hand on her waist from slightly behind her. She leans her head towards him, her body sagging slightly against his solid, steady presence.

“Charlie,” Julio rumbles, his alpha voice soothing the very air in the room. Charlie breathes deeply… gratefully… and nods at him dutifully.

“I know you’ll find your way to your mate, my son. I believe in you.” His dark eyes are glistening but he clears his throat and continues. “Do you- um, do you have any questions?”

Charlie blinks. His heart stops for the count of a beat. What an opportunity! But it’s not infinite. He can’t waste it!

“Yeah… Yes! Um,” he manages to start, his brain picking up and putting down a thousand topics per second like a clapper rail pecking for insects in the tidal marshes where they launch their fishing boats. “Oh! Will the Hall in the new town work the same? How will I know what to do when I present? Why do some couples spend the night in there sometimes? Have you two- uh…” He catches himself as his mother inhales sharply.

She’s grimacing at him, one hand jabbing up and down quickly in a wave of negation. “Certainly not! We never had trouble pupping or…” She glances at Julio who is staring at her somewhat surprised. “Or with that other stuff,” she bites off with a clipped tone. Her expression forbids Charlie from asking her to elaborate.

Julio’s fingers are kneading her arm now where he’s still wrapped around her to one side. He nods down at her and her chin dips obediently. She stumbles forward until she’s in reach of Charlie, pausing and looking deeply into his eyes for a long minute. Blue meets blue, hers deep like a midday sky and his mixed slightly with earth like the edge of the placid sea. He’s stuck waiting for her to recognize some signal or sign, but he knows not what.

Finally she hesitantly raises one arm, showing Charlie her inner wrist. He bends his head, letting her rub it there along the side of his neck. It’s been ages since either of his parents did that to him, the meaning one more thing nobody explains. He wonders at what she shared and he wonders if he’ll get any more answers… ever.

She smiles at him fondly when she’s done and slides out of the room with an affectionate pat on Julio’s soft tummy. Charlie’s father steps into the place she’d just occupied and also takes a long minute to gaze at his child. He frowns to himself at one point and then appears to silently decide something.

“The Halls in the next few villages should work about the same as ours but, depending on how far you have to travel, I can’t really say. Customs can be different and you’ll have to learn as you go.” Charlie looks up at him, trying to absorb every syllable.

“As for presenting, you’ll know.” He smiles warmly down at his son. “So many things will make sense on the other side of The Change.”

With that unsatisfying response, he lifts his arm and Charlie allows him to rub his wrist on the other side of his neck. His feet feel itchy, ready for the road. If this is all he gets, he’s eager to leave.

He picks up the sack, full of clothes and his other few belongings, slinging the weight of it onto his back by the long end of its cinched drawstring. He follows his father out to the kitchen and picks up the smaller bundle of food his mother had prepared, relief jolting through him that he won’t have to choke down the bland stuff in front of her ever again. He adds it to his rucksack.

He looks around the pod, noticing evidence of his little brother in certain corners. His heart pangs then, knowing yet hating the wisdom of not really saying a proper goodbye to the boy. Olly will come home to one less sibling and have to sustain himself with memories of Charlie cuddling with him, reading in the front room and playing in the gardens. It’s for the best.

Julio walks him to the door and waves at him as he heads off. “Don’t linger too long with your sister!” he yells and Charlie rolls his eyes but doesn’t look back.

As Charlie approaches Tori’s pod, she steps out the door before he even crosses the edge of the path into the Holden garden. She gestures ahead of him and falls into step beside him until they’re on the very border of the village with its row of dwarf black mangroves between them and The Waste. They stand there wordlessly a long moment, both staring out over the seemingly endless leagues of golden grain.

One of Charlie’s hands fumbles with the strap of his rucksack where it’s digging into his chest. The other arm twists anxiously at his side, much like both of Tori’s as she pivots towards him finally. Her expression is pensive, her voice an urgent whisper.

“You’re going to find him, I know it!” Tori declares with a deepening scowl. Charlie gasps and her hands dart up to engulf his free one as she leans towards him. “Don’t! It’s okay. I don’t care what anybody thinks. You’re going to find your mate and you’re going to be happy.”

Charlie just pulls in his lips and blinks down at her, awed by this revelation that she’s seen so much of the real him all this time.

She rubs at the flesh of his palm as she continues. “And when you find him, you’re finally going to be able to smell everything. It’ll be overwhelming at first but you get used to it, I suppose.” She glances over to The Waste again. “That dampens it quite a bit. I don’t know why.”

Charlie feels like his brain is one of the courgette plants he learned to tend - the bare vine slowly unfurling for what felt like forever and then, all at once, an explosion of flowers and fruits that filled the village baskets. What else can she share with him in this borrowed time?

He nods at her to keep going. She fixes her eyes on their intertwined fingers; it’s the most they’ve touched in years. “If he’s not in the next village, I want you to keep going. The world is bigger than we can imagine and he’s out there, looking for you too.” Charlie’s head jerks sideways without thought. “Yes, Charlie! Yes, he is! And if the village where you find him is as small-minded as this one, you’ll leave there too… together!”

Her gaze snaps up, fierce and demanding, to meet his. “Promise me! Promise me you’ll keep going until you find the life you deserve!”

She’s squeezing his hand so tight. He feels like he can’t quite take a deep enough breath, the steady pull of the constant breeze tugging him towards The Waste where a miasma of crystalline particles is rising under the morning sun to drift sea-ward. He swallows and nods curtly. She sags slightly.

“Tori…”

She wrinkles her nose encouragingly.

“What’s smell?”

Chapter Text

She blinks at Charlie, lips thinning and bunching as she thinks. “You remember in maths when the Maester got to repeated addition? How you can count the pebbles quicker in groups?” Charlie nods, still confused. “Once you got it, it was like a whole extra room in your brain, right? You didn’t know it and then you did, which made the science stuff easier too.” Charlie urges her onward with a roll of his head.

“It’ll be like that. A little bit and then all at once, you’ll have a whole new room in your brain where this data comes in your nose.”

“My nose?!” he barks with a laugh.

She smirks but nods. “Yep.”

He shakes his upper body, trying to assimilate all the new drabs of knowledge he’s just been handed by those closest to him. “Okay,” he says with a shrug. “Anything else you can tell me?”

Her smile twists, a little sad. “Not really. Life here remains small. There’s not much to tell.” He frowns, wishing she could also set off for some new adventure. As scared as he is by all the unknowns, it’s still better than feeling trapped in this village. She watches his face and then squeezes his hands again. “I’ll be okay. I’ve got Michael and my work in the greenhouses. It’s enough for me.”

He accepts her words at face value. He has to. Just managing his own emotions and the road ahead is plenty today. He squeezes her back and leans forward to rest their foreheads together. She breathes deeply.

“Hunh,” she says with a quiet chuckle. “You’ve got their scents all over you.” At Charlie’s small jerk of confusion, she clarifies. “Our parents, the wrist neck thing. You’re taking marks with you that tell other mated people that you’re loved. So they’ll be kinder.” Charlie takes that in as she gently pulls back.

“Speaking of which,” she begins with a shy smile, reaching under her tunic and dipping shallowly into the waistband of her trews to pull out a small and intricately folded square of cloth. “Here,” she says as she loosens the neck of his rucksack where it’s peeking over his shoulder. “Keep this safe and open it only after you’re mated. A little keepsake of my scent, so you remember me better.” Tears gather and blur his vision as she tucks it amongst his things and resettles the bag where it was.

They stare at each other another minute until she gives him a slow, encouraging roll of her neck. “Thank you.” His voice is raspy, thick with feelings still unnamed. Her head bounces to the side in an aborted movement and she ends up nodding vigorously as she steps away.

“Go on then. Long walks never were your favourite.” She’s smirking again but he sees the tension in her jaw and ribs. His lips twist, throat tight - swallowing everything else he wants to ask and say. He drops his chin in resignation and in farewell before spinning on one heel and barrelling into a fast clip. He can’t look back, eyes fixed on the pale brown of the path where it stretches between the yellow swath of The Waste and the tangle of greenery ahead.

Hours later, he’s still walking - brain still sifting and sorting the new data of that morning but arriving at no new conclusions. His mother’s food had been consumed by rote along the way. He’d found some drinkvine wrapped around a maple tree to slack his thirst. A copse of shrubs had served as his commode. Nobody else exists out here. The windmills powering the battery charging stations for his village were left behind yet another bend in the trail a long time ago. There’s been no other buildings, only the wide road under his feet as evidence of civilization.

At times, something will rustle in the forest to his right. Once he caught a glimpse of a bright-eyed bird, maybe a crow, through the diverse mix of trees. But he doesn’t stray from his path. He doesn’t have the right skills for moving through the vastness of these woods. And he’d rather not have to struggle up and down the dark green hills when the road stays flat, aligned with the twisting flow of golden grain.

The Waste rolls on for mile after mile to his left. No birds there. Not even the crawling things live in it. Just the waist-high stalks of butter-coloured plants, each one stiff under the searing sky of late afternoon. Charlie barely glances at them. Only the Magicians are allowed to really study the sickle grass, to collect tiny amounts of it with special instruments after the sun sets and to shape the batteries that light their pods.

Finally his aching feet have taken him far enough that new windmills, slightly rounder in design, hove into view, taking their rightful place between the road and The Waste, interspersed with stunted white mangroves. He quickens his pace, eager to see the new village and learn everything he can about it.

The trees to his right thin out and he sees the shape of various pods emerge in the distance as the path turns his body directly towards the settlement. A couple of people are moving between buildings and one catches sight of him, immediately calling out to their neighbours and pointing at Charlie. One sets off running towards him, pausing at the door of a large pod right at the start of town.

Charlie can see they’re knocking but not hear what words are then quickly exchanged before a tall broad-shouldered man exits the pod and begins striding in his direction, the other person fading back into the village. This designated greeter looks older than Charlie’s parents, his brown hair generously streaked with gray, and he’s smiling. As he gets close, he throws his arms wide and booms out, “Welcome! Well met, young man.”

Before he can continue, Charlie notices the slight breeze on his face kick up just before a violent sneeze is rocked out of his slender frame. He has to stop in his tracks as another and then another follow it. The man keeps coming until they’re a dozen steps apart - one arm still extended, now in Charlie’s direction - an expression of concern etched on his handsome features.

“Oh dear. You’re here to try our Hall, aren’t you?”

Charlie just nods, waiting to see if his sudden sneezing fit is over. He realises he feels itchy and warm and so so tired.

The man nods down at him. “And it seems you’re in luck. But our next ceremony isn’t for another week so we need to bundle you into the guest pod right away, I’m afraid!”

“Oh… okay.” Charlie smiles up at him tremulously, eager to make a good impression. He appreciates this man’s optimism, even if he can’t share it. “I’m Charlie. Charlie Spring.”

The man beams at him. “Well met indeed, Charlie. I’m Claude Fournier.”

Chapter Text

Charlie is bored and impatient but he’s decided he has to accept feeling this way. It doesn’t help that, while he’s theoretically resigned to his fate emotionally, he is also physically somewhat miserable. Even holed up in this sealed guest pod with its long hallway between the fresh air from the only door and the stuffy bedroom, he feels on the verge of a sneeze more often than not and the discomfort travels from his forehead down into his hips through his very bones. After being confined the previous week and then having a single day of freedom, he’s struggling to make peace with his lot but this does have some improvements over still being under his parents’ control.

He gets meals delivered three times a day from shy children who don’t speak to him even when he’s in the mood to say a friendly hello. They drop off their bundles in the doorway and pick up whatever he’s managed to stow there since the last visitor, disappearing back into town as quickly as they can manage. He replaces full bowls with empty ones and tangles of uncarded fibre with tidy balls of spun yarn.

The first morning has been his only sight of an adult since the greeter, Mr Fournier, had waved him into this pod with a warning to stay inside all night. A matron who introduced herself as Mrs Greenwood had asked him a series of pointed questions about his education back home as they stood in the pale sunlight just outside his door. Inhaling deeply and nodding to herself, she had then explained how the rest of the week would work.

He’s contributing, grateful for both long ago lessons on comb and wheel and the chance to avoid guilty feelings about the villagers who are providing him with room and board when they don’t even know him. The way his fingers remembered how to pick up the soothing rhythms of the tasks has freed his mind to wander back through everything he’s ever wondered about being grown up. On the other side of this phase, he’s finally going to know everything…

The food here is familiar in look and texture but not quite as bland as his mother’s cooking; for the first time in a long while, eating is not a chore. The water tastes a little different too when he refills his pitcher in the small side room with the shower and the commode. He hopes he doesn’t have to travel too far to find his mate, whoever she is; it’s nice to imagine a future not so very strange.

He refuses to let Tori’s insights, her hopes, take root inside his chest. This only ends one way: him finally being fixed by the right girl.

In the meantime, he falls into a cycle of routines that keep him busy, trying to quiet his mind and endure the constant chafing he feels lately. No amount of scratching has alleviated it; it’s under his skin, moving through his body in unpredictable loops.

He wakes hot and hard somewhere in the dark most nights now, wrenching himself through an unsatisfying climax and then a shower before tumbling back into the sheets. He takes a nap during the next day when it’s especially bad.

It’s the last evening before the waning quarter moon, when this place has their ceremony apparently. He’s been keeping count in his head. He’s feeling restless, like his limbs have somewhere else to be. He attempts to preempt the midnight issues by tugging one out in the shower before bed. It partially works; he sleeps through ‘til dawn.

He dreams.

He dreams of climbing a tall red mangrove so he can see further out to sea. It has roots like fingers spreading into the brackish water where the land slowly transforms into ocean. His feet are bare and wet; the soaked bottoms of his trews cling to his ankles. He must have waded out here from the solider parts of shore.

His dream self looks around. This tree sits alone.

He focuses on where to put his hands, fingers clutching at the bark with its subtle ridges. He’s facing a thick part of the trunk where several small branches must have snapped off in the past, their burls staring at him like multiple unblinking eyes.

He swallows and swings higher, making it into the cool canopy under a rich covering of light green leaves. He breathes and recovers, his gaze vaguely trained on the horizon where dark brown-blue meets a paler gray-blue.

Suddenly a coil of yellow-banded black drops in front of him, head like a blunt arrow pointed right at him. Two dark beady eyes observe his silent gasp, the way he stills immediately after. The mouth is open, a startling contrast of ink above and gold below with a blood-red tongue darting out to lick the air between them.

The boiga snake inches towards his motionless body, Charlie struggling futilely to change this sequence of the dream. At some point, he surrenders, lids closing and lashes fluttering against his cheeks. He feels the rubbery surface of the reptile graze past his neck and then there is a vibration traveling across his curls.

Now he’s floating above himself, watching the snake curl until its head is resting on the shell of his ear. He becomes aware, in the way of dreams, that this creature is about to whisper so many secrets to him and he feels every hair on his arms rise up at once.

He wakes in a sweat and stumbles, not into the shower like on other occasions, but to the front door, throwing it wide open so he can suck giant draughts of fresh air into his lungs. His body is on fire - the itch bursting along every nerve ending from the soles of his feet and up the backs of his legs into his spine before engulfing his shoulders and radiating down his arms.

The morning light is thin, a small band of pearly gray stretching across the sky in the east and putting all the tree tops into stark contrast. He stands there a long time, just absorbing each change as the sun lifts gently into the constant blue, changing everything it touches in every new moment. He’s floating outside himself again, grateful to escape the itch.

The dream fades into the back of his mind as he lets the quiet of the surroundings soothe him, inside and out. Finally he nods to himself and steps backwards, shutting himself in the guest pod once more. Last day. He can do this.

Tonight he enters this town’s Hall and, hopefully, meets his mate.

Chapter Text

Now Charlie understands how his groupmates knew it was their turn. If they all felt like this beforehand, no wonder they were eager to enter The Hall. He can hardly stand still. He wants some great invisible hand to pluck him off the ground by the scruff of his neck and fling him into the sky so he can lose himself in the infinite blue.

He has no memory of how he got through the day. All he knows is it’s finally evening and he’s standing in a crowd of young people he’s barely looked at, all of them completely unknown to him. And his body is going to fly apart any second now. He fixates on the Maester who steps in front of the door to The Hall.

“Hear ye!” He sounds distant, muted by the buzzing under Charlie’s skin. The words of the ritual rumble out of his mouth with a solemn undercurrent. “It is once again the night of The Change. It is time for some of you to accept your destiny and your rightful place in our village, with your mate beside you. May the rising moon bring you to your other half before tomorrow’s morn. Enter now if ye be called.”

The door is opened, the youth surge in, the door is closed behind them. Charlie’s mouth is open as he stumbles forward, eyes striving to perceive anything through the sudden darkness. His mind tries to fill the void, sending him flickers of memories interspersed with guesses of emerging night vision. He’s flooded by the sensation of drinking goat’s milk as a toddler, of eating the bread Michael made them for his Joining Feast with Tori, of a warm summer in the vegetable gardens back home when they were full of orange blossoms, of steam curling over his father’s morning mug.

He feels a hand grip his arm and pull his body further into The Hall. He almost topples down some kind of sloped floor, helplessly following this person into the dim recesses of twisty corridors until he’s on his back amongst some cushions and gratefully pushing his face into their neck. He’s overwhelmed by new data with no way of connecting it to anything he already knows.

Tori was right. His nose has become the conduit for a rich flow of information. He has no labels for any of it but it’s still welcome, still somehow more delicious than anything he’s ever tasted. He realises a lot of it is landing on his tongue, making him salivate and yearn for more.

He swallows and opens his mouth, laying his lips on their skin, conscious only of an intense wanting that encompasses his entire being, directed at this body on top of him. He becomes vaguely aware of a mouth mirroring his actions, laving over the same spot on his own neck. He thinks their limbs are all wrapped around each other there in this timeless void, on the brink of the rest of their lives. He has a moment where he’s afraid, painfully aware of all he still doesn’t know.

Then he gasps, the sharp points of the other’s teeth making careful contact with his skin. His whole body contracts and then arches against the weight above him. The spot in his neck pulses like he has another heart buried there, dormant until this moment. The person has paused, trembling, and Charlie tentatively adjusts his jaw so his own teeth are similarly poised, ready to push in and claim.

The muscles under his roaming hands relax slightly and then the other mouth shifts and there’s pain lancing down his spine, transforming along the way until it jolts into his cock as white hot pleasure. He’s rocked forward by it and by the tightening grip of the one holding him, his teeth sinking into their neck like biting a ripe pear.

His mind explodes and expands. He’s seeing the whole village like a bird would, little structures faintly outlined by the waning moonlight. It lasts just a few seconds, this viewpoint he’d never even imagined before. He sinks back into The Hall, into this room, into the strong arms clasping him to a muscular chest.

He whimpers.

Did it-

Has he-

Are they-

Then his pelvis explodes next, his cock engorging almost painfully fast and an entirely new experience expanding from deep inside his torso, the itch blooming into a transcendent heat that burns down his back and out his rear end. He’s so empty.

The juices in his mouth are rich and he swallows them down greedily, seeking anything to fill him up. They ebb just as his new mate detaches with a wretched, garbled noise. Charlie lets go reluctantly, lips sticky with unknown fluids. His hands are currently laced through short hair and so his arms move without his direction, tracking the boy who sways above him. Then his mouth is on Charlie’s and his weight too.

He tastes warm and sweet and a thousand things Charlie can’t name. He rubs their chests together, their groins. Charlie’s legs fall wide and wrap around his hips on instinct. Everything inside Charlie is alive and writhing, eager to learn how much better it can feel.

Their lips are pressing, hot and wet, again and again. Open and straining to consume the other. Charlie’s sucking a tongue into his mouth for the first time, desperate to satiate the hunger clawing its way up his throat. Hunger for this body, this boy’s body he’s somehow bonded with against all hope. His bones rattle with the way their voices blend together, both deep and raw as they moan and feast upon each other.

Their tunics ride up, driven by their rocking, and more bare flesh is pressed together. Each inch is a bonfire from the midwinter rituals, each moment a spark disappearing into an endless black night. Charlie has to rid them of these clothes. They’ll burn through them else.

He’s pushing and pulling and kicking, not to separate them but to join them closer still with nothing between them. Brogans sail towards the opening to this small space. Tunics and trews are shoved off and to the sides. The data intensifies, the smells, the amount of skin sliding across skin. Charlie cries out, on the verge of madness, and drags the other body back into the cradle of his pelvis.

He tilts his lower half forward and up, unknowing and uncaring why this is the right motion. He’s empty and all he understands is that this will bring him what he needs. He’s covered in heavy heat, both of them breathing flames as they sink into each other’s necks again. Chests heaving, every inhale a welcome assault on his mind.

He grunts and folds himself further, his arse tucking into the bend of his mate’s hips. The raging emptiness is all enthralling; he is nothing but a hot, wet hole somehow gushing, squelching without shame. Then- it’s- oh!

The other boy’s cock is there, notching into place. Charlie’s squeezing and gasping and opening whether he wills it or no. His eyes are shut tight, red bursts of colour blooming again and again on the insides of his eyelids. His arms are clasped around the thick shoulders, his nose smashed against the burbling wound he’d made just a few minutes ago.

It all halts there, an instant of stasis. Charlie’s awareness that he’s in the middle of The Change flashes outwards and then back in, into the centre of his ribcage. He still doesn’t know anything. He just needs this. He just acts.

Another tilt of his hips, a shift in their angles.

The cock slides home into his guts. He arches, screaming his pleasure, and he feels his own dick dragging against the sweaty softness of his mate’s belly. They grip each other, barely moving except where they’re grinding together like they’re trying to become a singular body.

The sounds reverberate in the tiny room, Charlie’s brain wobbling from every form of stimulation. Suction and groaning and the rasp of cheek on cheek as his mate pulls back just far enough to plant his hands on the floor and crash his groin down like a tree falling in the forest. Charlie wails, his body shaking with the force of it. He scrabbles at the wide hips and spreads his palms across the impressive lower back, digging his fingertips into the flesh to force it closer.

Again and again, they collide. The heat of their bodies bounces back and forth. The shaft moving inside him feels too big to be real, too firm to last any longer. His own cock throbs almost painfully. Each collision drives Charlie higher than he’s ever felt on his own.

His mate is growling, a rumble Charlie can feel through his arse as everything gets impossibly tighter and harder and wetter and hotter. There’s a final, powerful push as the base of his mate’s cock swells to twice its width just as it passes fully into him and then Charlie’s flooded with more warmth, a rippling wave which starts in his back channel but sweeps up from there, engulfing him entirely.

He chokes on it, on the extreme fullness of it which has wiped out his emptiness like it never existed. He’s glutted, the seams of his flesh bulging with rapture. It’s too much, he’ll split down the middle. He throws his head back, a whine escaping him like a kettle on the stove. He needs- It’s almost-

A meaty hand wraps around his cockhead and his orgasm boils out of him, spreading over their stomachs and leaving him limp amongst the cushions as he struggles to catch his breath.

His mate rubs Charlie’s spend into their skin, lingering over collarbones and nipples, and then sinks gently down so his weight is mostly to one side, tucking one forearm under Charlie’s head and using it to keep their bodies aligned. His cock is still buried and slightly pulsing, the extra engorgement seemingly locking them together. It’s sending little tremours through Charlie, delicate reminders of his climax and how wrecked he feels.

He’s panting quietly and trying to make out what his mate looks like. This Hall has the same special sedge which shimmers in the darkness, making objects distinct in slightly different shades of black and gray. He gives up on seeing more than the broad shoulders and rounded jawline, choosing instead to lift one tentative hand and lay it onto the plane of his mate’s chest.

His mate sucks in a ragged breath at the touch and his head slumps down towards Charlie. Charlie bends up and lets his lips seek out the invisible face, landing on the tip of a nose. He brushes it softly, side to side, and his mate hums and shifts so they’re kissing again.

It’s tender, uncertain. They move slowly, first one and then the other drifting kisses across cheeks and foreheads and earlobes. It’s sweet. Charlie dares to hope they can have more than a physical connection.

He sighs happily as his mate turns to nuzzle the side of his head and draws him closer, their bodies sagging together comfortably. Charlie is vaguely aware he still has a dick in his arse but he’s replete, satisfied and sleepy. He lets his eyes fall closed.

He’s joustled slightly as his mate settles some cushions around them and then rolls back a little before wrapping his arms more thoroughly around Charlie’s shoulders. They’ve shifted onto their sides, one of Charlie’s legs stretched down and the other curving high over his mate’s hip where they’re canted together, Charlie curling his upper body into the space offered and resting his face in the hollow where he’d claimed this boy however long ago it was now.

Like a summer sunrise, it occurs to him gradually that he doesn’t even know his mate’s name. He spares a moment to wonder if this is how it works for most people. Then he gathers his courage to break the growing silence.

“Hi.”

The hands on him squeeze momentarily, like he’s startled his mate with this tiniest of words, uttered mildly. There’s a quiet huff of air released and then the warm arms around him tighten slightly in what he thinks might be an appreciative gesture.

“Hi.”

It’s equally mild, careful. Charlie leans in and presses his lips to his claim bite very tenderly and notices the way the huge body holding him shudders from head to toe. He’s awed that he can cause such an effect. He can’t quite believe that any of this has actually taken place, that he’s really mated to another boy.

“I never thought this would happen to me,” he whispers.

His mate nods, chin nestled in Charlie’s curls. “Yeah. Me neither.”

Charlie wrinkles his brow. “Do you- you’ve always liked boys?”

His mate shrugs, the movement awkward the way they’re tangled together. “Never really thought about any of this. Figured I was broken. Oldest unmated boy in the whole village. Never even wanted to enter The Hall before this last week.”

Charlie gasps quietly. “That’s when I got here!”

His mate chuckles softly. “Makes sense then. Whatever this is,” he leans down and pushes the tip of his nose into Charlie’s, “it finally started working when you showed up, I guess.” He kisses Charlie’s nose then and falls back with another hum.

Charlie blinks in the darkness, his mind trying to function through the thick syrupy sense of satisfaction. He shakes off the curiosity with a jerk of his head; answers will have to wait.

Except for this one last thing before he lets himself sleep in his mate’s embrace.

“I’m Charlie. What’s your name?”

“Mmmm, Chaaaarlie. That’s nice,” he hears him mumble, unconsciousness apparently tugging at both of them. “Hi, Charlie.” Another nuzzle into his curls. “I’m Nick.”