Chapter Text
The sun, hanging high in the sky, blazed like fire on his back. Sand filled and shuffled about in his sandals, thick and rough, which ceased to be irritating hours ago after he became drenched in sweat and his mind started to blur with weariness and exhaustion. It seemed like he had been walking for days, but he knew it couldn’t have been more than a few hours since he set off from the last village. What was its name again? His mind struggled but blurred again, much to his frustration. He unleashed a heavy sigh as he continued along, the arid heat beating down on him unrelentingly. Rovenbyl? Heros? Or was it something like… Abonas? He had stayed in so many places over the last few days they were all beginning to run together. The only thing that stuck out to him was that in Abonas, he had actually been able to meet someone who could direct him to where he wanted to go. No, needed to go. It had been nine and a half years, way too long, since he had last seen who he was searching for. Way, way too long.
He had been astonished at how difficult it had been to even gather the information he needed. How well have you been able to cover your tracks? He grimaced, involuntarily, and clenched his clammy fists. He could no longer discern if he was worried or irritated. It’s like he’s deliberately trying to avoid me. He reached into the front of his robes and pulled out a waterskin and proceeded to greedily gulp down a long drink. His last drink. “Ugh,” he half-groaned, half-sighed, shoving the empty skin back into his robes.
Just a little ways to go. I hope. He glanced to the side of the road, spotting a huge boulder painted with intricate designs surrounding a mural of a man wearing white robes with flowing flaxen hair. Within the man’s extended hands rested a spherical stone, glowing blood red, and behind him, a depiction of the moon with its beams seemingly engulfing and bathing him in their light. He could barely restrain the urge to roll his eyes. Figures. Egotistical bastard…
He stopped to glare at the boulder for a long, long while, but eventually he gathered his strength and trekked on.
*
He awoke with a start, his heart threatening to burst out of his chest and sweat pouring down his face. His eyes wide, he pressed a palm to his cheek and exhaled heavily. Ah. He was still whole. Pure. Complete. Physical. Flesh and bone. He slid his hand down his cheek and sighed. He had dreamt it again, for the fifth night this week, recalled visions of smothering confinement and isolation, unable to touch and be touched. He dreamt of treacherous, ghostly black hands gripping onto him and pulling so hard the breath was knocked out of him, of cold glass shards pricking into every inch of his skin and drawing not blood, but a black gaseous mist. Hundreds of people screaming and writhing around in pain as their life was violently sucked out of them. Of his friend’s heartbroken, betrayed face, gazing up at him with tears flowing down his cheeks.
His heart stung.
Intolerable. A waste of energy.
He raised his hands and brushed back the hair from his sweat-drenched face. He reclined back onto his pillows and gazed emptily up at the ceiling. He could hear shuffling and murmured, distressed voices in the next room over, but couldn’t bring himself to care about what was causing such commotion so late into the night. In fact, he no longer wished to care about anything at all. Perhaps then, he thought, he could finally leave the past and all of its unexpected trappings behind.
This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. He clenched a fist and bit down on his lip. You were supposed to be beside me. I did it for you! For you and me! I wanted to give the world to you. Why, why was it not enough?
Or was I wrong?
He blinked slowly, his wine red eyes finally adjusted to the darkness engulfing him. Reluctantly, he slowly raised his hand and placed it over his heart, feeling its steady thumps against his palm. Unreasonably, he was tormented by the idea that he could still be dreaming, and that he had in fact returned to the stuffiness of that small, confining flask. He slid his hands down and across his chest for a moment, before grazing his fingertips across his abdomen. He shuddered involuntarily, stifling a noise. Frightened, he yanked his hands away from himself, stiffly resting them at his sides. He was not accustomed to such a sensation, he didn’t even know how to put it into words. And that bothered him.
What an absolute bother.
After a long while, the voices had seemed to disappear and the air around him seemed completely silent and unperturbed. His mind raced with images of a man with golden, trusting eyes, rough, calloused hands, and a naive, infectious smile. It had been nine and a half years since he saw him. Too long. Way, way too long.
His eyes slowly slid shut, and his mind became blurry. As he drifted to sleep, he found himself wistfully regretting the fact that he never had the chance to run his fingers through that long golden hair.
*
Luck seemed to be on his side his next few days of travel. He found a clear bright blue spring, where he managed to refill his waterskin as well as hop in and quickly rinse off all the sand, sweat and dirt that had accumulated on his flesh. He caught a hare in a trap he made with alchemy and roasted it that very evening. Catching a hare of all things also indicated to him that he was possibly nearing the end of the desert, so he didn’t even bother to lay down for sleep that night and instead trudged on, relieved at the colder temperatures of the night and the lack of sun.
He hadn’t even been aware he fell asleep when he was startled awake by a myriad of foreign-sounding voices surrounding him. Propped against a boulder, his eyes flew open, immediately meeting the marveling gazes of dozens of tall, fair-haired people. Stunned, he sat silently as the dozens of men and women continued murmuring amongst themselves and eyeing him suspiciously.
As he began to sit up, he glanced behind him at the boulder he had apparently chosen to rest against and noticed it was exactly like the one he saw earlier, decorated with a mural of that same flaxen-haired man in snow white robes.
Wait, are these people possibly…?
He turned his eyes back to the people surrounding him and noticed they were all holding some sort of item in their hands. Candles, chalices, bead necklaces, gold and silver rings, loaves of bread and even the occasional bottle of what appeared to be wine. They were offerings, he deduced, and this time he couldn’t even fight the urge to roll his eyes. He slapped his palm against his face and sighed into it. Seriously, now. This is just getting weird. Wait til I find you, dwarf, you’ll never hear the end of it.
Abruptly, he stood to his feet and raised his hands in surrender. “See, I, uh,” he stammered, suddenly unsure if it was even worth trying to speak to people who may not even understand his language, “I’m not here to harm anyone. I’m just a traveler.”
The crowd seemed to be sizing him up and stood silently for a long while before a tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in decorative pine green robes stepped forward. The man’s deep-set azure eyes swept over the 'traveler' suspiciously for what seemed to be an eternity. Finally, the man spoke. “What is it you seek, then, traveler? Who are you and how did you succeed in crossing the desert? Are you some sort of spy or soldier?”
“N-no, not at all! My name is Van Hohenheim,” he sputtered, face visibly paling, “and I merely seek someone who I was once familiar with. We were… friends.”
“What makes you think this friend of yours would be in our village, hm?”
Hohenheim momentarily considered lying, but decided it would for sure be against his best interests. “I think… I think I may have run into one of your people. In a small village called Abonas. She told me where to look for my friend, though it took some prodding on my part.” He paused, his mind briefly flashing back to the night of passion he had spent with this woman as well, and internally he felt embarrassed. “She said her name was Gaea and to mention her whenever I inevitably ran into you guys.”
The man’s bright blue eyes blinked as he considered what he just heard. “Did she wear her hair in long braids?” he inquired slowly.
Hohenheim nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes, she did.”
Surprisingly, the man unleashed a hearty chuckle. “I see, I see. So you met Gaea, eh? Happen to bed her, as well? You’re definitely her usual type.”
Hohenheim gasped, his cheeks burning red. He cast his eyes downward as he searched for something, anything to say. But, as usual his mind drew a blank.
“What sort of reaction is that? No need! I know Gaea well, and if I know anything, she only offered up her information after you gave her want she wanted, right?”
Hohenheim wanted to object, because truthfully he had been the one who did all the initiating, but in a way it was the truth. Gaea had only loosened her tongue after they had ploughed a good few times. “Y-yes, I suppose you’re right.”
The man flashed a proud smile. “I knew it! Ah, Gaea. That’s my daughter, just like her mother, always has men wrapped around her finger.”
Hohenheim’s mouth dropped. Daughter?! Oh hell. What the hell. What the fuck and hell. He was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to curl up and die.
“Say, traveler,” the man said brusquely, “why don’t you follow the rest of us towards the village once we’ve done our business here?”
“T-that would be very much appreciated, s-sir.”
“Sir?! What’s with that? Call me Yorick! Any friend of my daughter’s is a friend of mine.”
*
The village, called Fenno, was not so much a village as it was a bustling city. The streets were overflowing with people, carts, horses, produce stands and merchants’ shops. Tall, regal buildings forged of limestone stood on every corner, offering dozens of different services such as temples, government buildings and even a school. The climate was exceptionally cool despite the clear, sunny weather and birds could be heard singing their tunes even amidst the cacophony of noises from the streets.
Hohenheim was astounded. He hadn’t seen a city like this since he was in Xing a few months ago. Every place he’d stopped in the time between was either a quaint, sparsely populated hamlet or a quiet, unassuming village with nothing to do but pick turnips.
“This is the village? Seriously?”
Yorick grinned proudly. “You better believe it. Although, I suppose you would be hard pressed to find anyone who would agree with it actually being a village nowadays. It’s probably more apt to say we are on the verge of becoming a true city.”
“On the verge? I’d say you were already there. It’s remarkable.”
“No, no. We’re not there yet, traveler. In fact, the revered Philosopher tells us we still have a ways to go before we can truly become what we wish to. We want to become a place of power and respect, a bastion of culture and knowledge. We still have more growing to do before we can be considered such.”
Hohenheim blinked. “Philosopher? The man depicted on the boulders, correct?”
Yorick nodded. “He saved us, gave us everything we know now. Without him, we would never have discovered the Gift.”
“Gift?”
Yorick stopped abruptly in his tracks, shifting his gaze to an enormous rectangular building surrounded by towering white marble columns. He nodded his head in the direction of the building. “See that place? That’s what we call the Philosopher’s Hall. It’s where only those with enough education, knowledge and talent in the Gift go to perfect and master it. My son Kassian became a graduate last summer.”
“Alchemy, right?” Hohenheim said, gazing in awe at the elegant Philosopher’s Hall. “That’s the gift you mentioned, isn’t it?”
Yorick’s eyes widened as he turned to look at Hohenheim. “Yes, that’s right. How did you know?”
Hohenheim sighed. “It’s a bit complicated, but I’m something of an alchemist myself. In fact, I have an idea, Yorick. You said your Philosopher taught you the ways of alchemy, right? Could I possibly meet with him? Since I know alchemy myself, perhaps I could be of some use to him.”
Yorick stared at him silently. “He does not usually receive visitors unannounced, but perhaps a word with the mayor and he could…”
“Yorick, sir, please. It is vital that I speak to him. The friend I mentioned I was looking for? I… I believe it may be him. Your Philosopher, that is. I believe he is the same person as my friend, and I just want to know for sure. We’ve been separated so long, you see…”
Yorick waved a hand dismissively. “Now, now, don’t go getting all teary-eyed on me, traveler. I sympathize with you, I do, it’s just that the Philosopher is a very busy man. I’m not even so sure he could make room in his schedule for such a sudden visit --”
“Please, Yorick, sir,” Hohenheim uttered, one step away from pleading. “I need to see him. It could be important to him, too, I think. He’s probably been wondering where I am.” What a crock of shit. He’s obviously put forth a lot of effort to forget nearly everything about me.
Yorick relented. “Agh, fine, but don’t take it out on me if the Philosopher is none too pleased with you disrupting his time. I can take you to him, if you’d like.” He scratched at his beard and thought for a moment. “He’s supposed to be training my son this afternoon, perhaps I can concoct some tale to get you in.”
Hohenheim beamed. “Thank you, Yorick, sir!”
Yorick spat. “Enough of that ‘sir’ shit! Makes me sound like a geezer…”
*
Yorick entered the temple first, slowly and silently. He made a quick glance around the room to check if it was occupied, then gave a discreet gesture at Hohenheim instructing him to come in. Hohenheim entered in behind him and swiftly shut the front door. The room smelled thickly of incense, dragon’s blood perhaps, and was dimly lit by a handful of slowly burning candles. It was so quiet that it felt oppressive, like he’d be punished if he did so much as breathed too loudly. His heart began to quicken its pace as he followed Yorick through a long, dim hallway. He hadn’t even thought of what to say upon meeting the “Philosopher”. It’d been nine and half years and so much had changed. Would he even remember him? Would he care was probably the better question. Hohenheim released a half-hearted sigh as he and Yorick turned a corner and were met by a large wooden door. Yorick turned to Hohenheim and sighed.
“Traveler, er, Hohenheim,” he said, “do be courteous and respectful. If the Philosopher is indeed your suspected friend, don’t give him any trouble regardless. Fenno needs him to be at his best and clearest mindset so he can perform as he needs.”
Best and clearest, eh?
“I won’t be any trouble, Yorick sir. I merely want to let him know that I’m alive and check on how he is doing. After all, we’ve been separated for nine and a half --”
“Yes, yes, I know. No more sob stories,” Yorick groaned. “There is one thing I’m curious about, though, if you please, traveler.”
“Mh? What would that be?”
“Are you and the Philosopher… brothers, by any chance? I couldn’t help but notice… I mean, your resemblance truly is striking, although he doesn’t have a beard as you do…”
“Eh? So he shaved his beard? Interesting…” Hohenheim muttered to himself. “I, uh, but… Well, maybe we’re brothers. I guess you could say. In a sense. I don’t know, Yorick. It truly is complicated.”
Yorick nodded, slightly confused. “R-right. Well, then, let me fetch Kassian and I’ll get you in. Wait right here. Quietly, if you please.”
*
Yorick stepped out some time later with a tall, slender, auburn-haired man alongside him. The man had fierce eyes the color of emeralds, freckled skin and sharp, defined features. He wore navy blue robes and deep red sandals, as well as a golden band wound around his head inlaid with small, sparkling diamonds. His stormy eyes met Hohenheim’s and blinked. “Who is this, Father?”
Hohenheim nodded his head in greeting and offered a small, friendly smile. “M-my name is Van Hohenheim. I assume you’re Kassian, Yorick’s son.”
Kassian bristled slightly. “Did I ask you?”
Hohenheim blinked, taken aback. “H-huh?”
“I wasn’t speaking to you, nor do I wish to,” Kassian nearly snarled. “You’ve interrupted my lesson with the Philosopher, and I’ll have you know it’s harder than hell to get in time with him one on one! I scheduled this meeting months in advance! Ugh, despicable. Come, Father, let us go so this louse can have his precious time with Our Philosopher.”
Yorick offered Hohenheim a small apologetic nod as he followed after his still bristling son. Hohenheim, while slightly offended, was mostly just dumbstruck by the entire encounter. What a weird guy.
Hohenheim turned towards the heavy wooden door and inhaled deeply. I don’t even know what I’ll say. Perhaps I should sit here and think a bit… Gather myself.
He sat down in front of the door and crossed his arms, a pensive look upon his face and his heart threatening to spill up from his throat. What am I even doing anymore? Why did I come here? Maybe I should just go and pretend this never happened. Obviously he’s in pretty good shape, even got his own little cult now. What difference would it make if he saw me? He may even punch me or something.
He bit his lip, his mind suddenly erupting with the images of carnage, blood and death that had plagued him now for nearly a decade. He recalled the deafening silence he had been met with that day, shouting at the tops of his lungs for somebody, anybody to answer him. But they were dead. All dead.
He wanted to know why. Truthfully, maybe, that's why he came.
Time had not healed his wounds, but they had salved them, and now what had formerly been a gnawing, piercing brokenness and anguish was beginning to transform into a dull, aching emptiness.
He wanted closure. He wanted answers. He wanted to know why the being he had cherished most in this world had so abruptly betrayed and abandoned him, ripped away everything he loved...
Would he even deign me with an answer? Would he try to kill me too?
He grimaced, unhappy with all the scenarios playing in his head.
*
Once Hohenheim had gathered up all of his confidence and finally took the plunge on entering the room that may contain his long-lost friend, he managed to do so lacking any sort of grace or fluidity whatsoever. He didn’t knock, but instead slammed open the door so as to get it over with as quickly as possible. He stumbled over his own feet upon entering. He even managed to bite his tongue as he attempted to catch himself. And he did all of this at the most inopportune moment possible.
Hohenheim’s golden eyes were met with the sight of a pale, slender body standing upright in a wooden tub filled with water and suds. He watched quietly as water swept over smooth alabaster skin, rinsing off the bubbles and suds that had collected, his mouth slowly dropping open.
Wine red eyes shifted upwards to look at him. Those eyes were cold and hard as the naked man raised his hands to gather up his long flaxen hair and wring it out. Hohenheim stared for what seemed like a lifetime as the man silently continued to rinse himself off. Their eyes never parted.
The man finished rinsing and stood still, gazing hard and intently at Hohenheim’s unmoving form. Hohenheim could no longer tell who was waiting for who to speak first.
“You,” the man said coolly, breaking Hohenheim out of his stunned trance. “I dreamt about you last night. I knew it was no coincidence.”
Hohenheim gulped slightly, somehow too intimidated to say anything. He clenched his fists and took a step closer towards the tub, still not breaking eye contact. “You did?”
The man narrowed his eyes slightly as he raised a hand to twirl a lock of almost-platinum hair around his index finger. “I did.”
“What did you dream about?” Hohenheim made another step forward.
“Your face,” the man said bluntly, “and how foolish you looked the day we last saw each other.”
“Foolish?” Another step forward.
“Incredibly so,” the man answered coldly. “I had just given you the entire world and what did you do? You shirked it and ran away, with tears soaking your face. It was the most pathetic display I’d ever seen in my life.”
“Even more pathetic that this one now?” Hohenheim said tauntingly. “You’re standing naked in a tub and chastising me over something that happened a decade ago. Talk about holding grudges.”
The man narrowed his eyes and glowered. “You seem to forget that you’re the one who barged in.”
Hohenheim chuckled as he neared the edge of the tub, finally face to face with the man whose eyes he never left. “Dwarf in the flask… Homunculus… How does all this freedom feel? Your own cult and all? If this is how you intended I also spend my time then clearly you knew nothing about what type of world I wanted.”
The man’s eyes hardened. “Don’t call me by that name. It ceased to be my name long ago.”
“Forgive me, Philosopher,” Hohenheim mocked. “Whatever should I call you then? Did you come up with your own ridiculous name? Did you decide to call yourself Theophrastus Bombastus since that was the name from you I rejected?”
“Kiernan,” the man answered harshly. “That’s what I chose.”
Little dark one? That’s… what you chose? Hilarious.
“Ah,” Hohenheim replied slowly. He laughed quietly. “The past has strong tethers, it seems, doesn’t it, Kiernan?”
Kiernan was silent, but Hohenheim could tell he was close to boiling over in anger. It was his own face, after all, he recognized that expression.
“Why are you here?” Kiernan asked after a long while. “To mock and ridicule me? Because I can assure you you will grow bored quickly, as I will not deign to give you a response to such childish behaviors.”
Hohenheim laughed out loud. “You think I’d travel over a damned desert and spend my days eating spiders and scorpions just to mock you? Come now, I don’t remember you being this stupid.”
Kiernan stared icily at him as he folded his arms over his chest. “Such an effort you partook in. So what is it you want then?”
“To see you,” Hohenheim answered without hesitation. His golden eyes softened and gently bore into Kiernan’s, and Kiernan’s chest tightened anxiously.
“What?”
“I wanted to see you, Kiernan. Homunculus. I spent a lot of time wondering where the hell you were at and what you were doing. Figured I’d finally give myself the pleasure of knowing for sure. You’re pretty good at covering your tracks. You were hard to find.”
Kiernan scowled, regardless of how his heart began to pound. “Enough. Don’t say anything else. You’re annoying me.”
“You’ve become awfully prickly over the years, I think,” Hohenheim snickered. His heart quickened a bit too, but he tried his best to stay collected, if only to have a one-up on Kiernan, who was clearly starting to come undone.
Kiernan glared up at him with penetrating eyes, his hands trembling almost imperceptibly. “I thought I told you to stop talking.”
They both fell silent, lingering on the others’ eyes for a long while, before Hohenheim unleashed a heavy sigh. "I won't stop talking. Not when that's the entire reason that I'm here."
"Talk? Oh dear, and here I thought the reason you were here was to see me," Kiernan said sneeringly, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.
Hohenheim chuckled faintly. "Sorry to disappoint you, Dwarf, but I was just pulling your leg." At least... I think I was. What the hell was that pounding in my chest all about? "I have some things I want to learn from you." His face hardened slightly. "No, I need to learn from you."
"This old dance?" Kiernan inquired flatly. "You wish to once again learn from me, do you? Haven't I taught you enough? Why don't you go off somewhere and make use of it?"
"You misunderstand. As usual." Kiernan bristled slightly at that. Hohenheim shook his head. "Y'see, I just want to know one thing."
"Namely?"
Hohenheim gazed at the naked man in silence for a while before letting a grin spread his lips. "We'll get to that some other time. Right now, I want to relax. I've been on the road for months now, y'see?"
Kiernan gave Hohenheim a steady glare. "So be it. Then why are you standing there, then? Leave so I may continue bathing in peace."
Hohenheim's hands shot out so abruptly that it gave Kiernan a start. His initial instinct told him that it was an attack, so he had raised his own hands up in a defensive stance before feeling the other man's arms slip tightly around his waist and warm breath ghosting his neck.
Kiernan froze, eyes thrown wide open, and his breathing stilled. His damp body felt particularly warmed by the man's suddenly close proximity. He heard Hohenheim chuckle quietly.
Rough, calloused hands began to rub delicate circles on his hips, almost investigative. He felt warm puffs of breath on his neck, then his collarbone. He could have sworn he also heard Hohenheim sniffing, which what in the name of the Gods...
"It's strange," Hohenheim's voice came out rougher and lower than it usually did. "You are just like me. This is my body... A perfect replica, and yet..."
He pulled his head back to look at the unmoving Kiernan, eyes still peeled wide open. Hohenheim couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride at making Kiernan so uncomfortable, forcing a sneer to spread across his lips. "And yet, there are so many differences. A scar on your hip, freckles have cropped up in some spots. Your skin is so much paler than mine." He paused before extending a hand to thread into Kiernan's long, flaxen locks, eliciting a shiver from the naked man. "And this hair... So fair it's almost white."
Kiernan gulped before choking out, "Your point?"
He felt humiliated at the way Hohenheim reduced him to a stuttering, reluctant and disoriented mess. He simply hoped silently that Hohenheim hadn't noticed the way his voice cracked when he spoke.
Hohenheim's gaze lingered on him for a second, the thumb of his free hand reaching up to softly stroke Kiernan's lower lip.
Kiernan's heart lurched.
"It's... confusing," Hohenheim finally answered, eyes boring into Kiernan's. "I don't understand it at all."
"Obviously," Kiernan nearly barked out, "the scar was because I just so happened to be injured in a place that you haven't been. Freckles can occur completely at random. And I'm paler than you because I have never been forced to work out in the fields all day as a slave."
Hohenheim stared at him. "And your hair? What's with that?"
Kiernan fell silent, his eyes cast downwards. "Does it even matter? I don't know! Why are you probing me with such inane questions?"
"You smell like honeysuckle. And lavender. I like it."
"So you were sniffing me. You complete weirdo."
It happened so quickly that Kiernan barely registered the feeling of lips crashing against his own and calloused hands pulling him as close to the edge of the tub as possible.
When he finally realized what was happening, he completely froze, completely foreign to the concept of what was currently happening. He had never kissed or been kissed in his life. He had never been touched in such a way. There were moments when he had felt parts of himself that sent small shocks of pleasure through his body, but he had always been too intimidated by the intense and completely alien sensations that he never did anything more to provoke it. In fact, he tended to avoid it at all costs. Now he was being smacked in the head with it.
Hohenheim's tongue began to sweep over Kiernan's lips almost questioningly, and his hands began to squeeze hard at Kiernan's hips, occasionally lowering even further down towards his ass. Kiernan stood completely still, completely shellshocked. Eventually, frustrated with his partner's lack of reciprocation, Hohenheim pulled away and sighed.
"Are you really that surprised? And here I thought it was obvious from day one that had you been a human all along, this kind of thing might have eventually ended up happening."
Kiernan's eyes were the size of saucers. "W-what? You cannot possibly be serious, I..." He paused, sweeping his eyes over Hohenheim. It was like looking into a mirror, almost, except...
Hohenheim laughed out loud. "Oh, I love it. You're usually so damn composed and well-spoken. I guess it was sort of shocking, wasn't it? Truthfully, I wasn't even thinking when I did it."
"I-it's not that," Kiernan stuttered, the faint beginnings of a blush beginning to dust his cheeks. "I have never done such a thing in my life. It was incredibly uncomfortable. Please refrain from doing something like that ever again."
"Never done such a...?" Now it was Hohenheim's turn to widen his eyes. "Oh Gods, seriously? You mean that Kassian guy wasn't here to fool around with you?"
Kiernan gasped, sounding almost scandalized. "No, you idiot! What the hell are you talking about?"
"He stormed out of here when I arrived. I tried to talk to him and he seemed like a jealous lover having his time interrupted with his beloved. You mean to say he's not..."
"No!" Kiernan said emphatically. "No no no."
"Good then. That means I'll be your first."
*