The two lay together at the bottom of a dry well, hidden and forgotten, far away from the castle’s eye.

They discovered this place as young boys forced into a relationship, one a royal, the other his servant.

Curled up in a nest of dried grasses, they stare up towards the round circle of sky, watching the knotted rope as it swings in the breeze.

One of them coughs, the sound rolling up the well’s ribs. The thinner and paler of the two places his hand on his warrior’s chest, instantly slowing the ache from within. The warrior, the perfect physical specimen, folds both his rough hands over the delicate hands of his mate.

The physically weaker of the two is wiser with a worldly bright essence. The warrior lay riddled with battle wounds, many healed by the man who loves him.

“Merlin, your hand eases my pain. It is magical.”

“How else to still the heart of a mighty dragon Arthur? Come closer.”

Deep in the ground, two lovers fold into one another, sighing deeply, breathing in their comfortable world.