The Silent Sisters took their job very seriously. They did everything in silence, their grey robes sliding over the marble floor of the Great Sept of Baelor as they fussed around Finn's body, which lay on the altar in front of the Warrior's statue. It felt as if they were unable to produce sounds, their steps and touches and moves so feather-like that it seemed as if they were ghosts, spirits, weak gusts of wind lightly upsetting the candlelight without ever blowing it out completely. Kurt thought that must take a lot of practice – the silence, the chastity, the act of surrender and acceptance of a life dedicated to taking care of the dead.

Finn was wearing a steel armor, polished so thoroughly that Kurt could see his reflection staring back at him – his sickeningly pale and tired reflection. The light streaming through the crystal domed glass of the sept danced on the flat metal surface, making Finn look like a perfect knight in shining armor. Finn's hands were crossed on his chest, holding his sword close to it, and his face looked so serene, peaceful and relaxed that one could say he was sleeping. Rachel had just left, red-rimmed eyes avoiding Kurt's gaze as she slipped out the door, crying quietly and reverently to herself. She was probably mad at him, and Kurt couldn't exactly blame her.

I wish I was a dragon, he remembered her saying to Finn one day. And if you were one, too, we could fly away and see the world.

Would she fly away and see the world on her own now? Would she find the strength to? Would Kurt find it if he was her?

He stared at Finn's still figure, his hands stroking the cold edge of the altar. Finn's armor reminded him of the first time they had met, at his and Blaine's wedding outside the walls of Pentos. He had looked so different from everyone else, so brave and knightly and charming amidst a crowd of wriggling, howling, dancing savages Kurt couldn't understand – and from that day on, Kurt had relied on him for advice and support. Whenever he had had a doubt about something, he had turned to Finn. Whenever he had had a fight with Blaine he didn't know how to solve, he had turned to Finn.

I lost my best friend, he realized only then, the definition sounding almost foreign in his mind, yet so very true. And it felt as painful as losing an unborn son, but somehow different: because he had known Finn, he had seen him talk and blush and fight and kiss, and while he may have other chances at being a father, no one would release Finn's soul from the Stranger's unyielding grasp.

"A raven from the Bear Island has just arrived" Blaine's voice whispered from behind him, startling him. He hadn't even heard him coming in.

"Sorry" Blaine apologized when he saw him flinch, circling Kurt's waist with his arms and nestling his chin in the crook of his neck. Kurt sagged back against him, closing his eyes for a moment. The Silent Sisters had left, too, and the sept was still and quiet. It was kind of nice, in a way.

No noise at last.

"Is his mother coming?" he asked, leaning his head against Blaine's. He felt his husband nod before he confirmed it with his words.

"She is" Blaine murmured, voice rumbling from his chest to Kurt's back as they both stared at the altar. "Do you still want to wait for her? For the funeral?"

"Yes. She- she should be here."

The Silent Sisters would keep Finn... presentable, until such time. Kurt tried to suppress the wave of nausea that hit him at the thought of so many hands touching him, stuffing his body with ointments and oils and Gods knew what else to do so. He stayed silent for a moment, until he felt his lips forming words without even knowing it.

"How do you live on?" he asked in the shadow of a whisper, gripping the edge of the altar tightly. "How did you live on? After... after your brother. I- I never asked you. I should have."

He felt Blaine's hold tighten around him, his chin pressed more firmly on his shoulder. A shaky exhale left Blaine's lips, brushing Kurt's hair and skin, making them both shiver quietly with it.

"It's- it was hard. It still is" Blaine replied after a moment's hesitation. "You never really... move on from it. You just don't. But in time, it just... lessens. The pain. It becomes duller and duller until you can push it to the back of your mind and act and talk as if it's not there, even though it is."

Kurt felt his eyes fill with tears once again. He thought he had run out after nights spent crying themselves to sleep into each other's arms, the way they never had the chance to do back in Meereen, the way it always was supposed to be. They may have had different reactions at the beginning – as they always tended to have –; Blaine had screamed and cried, Kurt had resorted to shock and numbness. But down to their core, they were both human, and the only comfort they knew was in each other's embrace.

"I wish it could just stop. For- for a moment, just a moment. Every time I close my eyes I see him, Blaine. I see him- dying, and smiling, and I just-"

He turned around in Blaine's embrace and buried his face in his neck, breathing shakily. Blaine held him wordlessly, one hand stroking Kurt's hair softly, and the physical closeness made sudden relief wash over Kurt at the guilty, selfish, yet undeniable realization that Blaine could have been on that altar instead.

"Shh, baby, it's okay. It will go away, you'll see" Blaine whispered, rocking him back and forth as if he was a child who refused to fall asleep. "I'm here. I'm here, moon of my life."

For how long?, Kurt could have asked, but he didn't. It was a conversation they had already had, and they both knew it was no use having it again. They both knew Blaine had a choice to make now. And Kurt was so drained, so focused on not letting the pain choke him, that a feeling of quiet, resigned acceptance had settled over everything else in his life. He knew Blaine well enough to know that he would at least stay until the funeral, and that was enough at the moment.

Because whatever he decided, Gods, he had made it. He had taken Kurt where he had promised he would take him, he had crossed the poisonous sea and made Lords and soldiers tremble and cry from atop a bone-white dragon, he had done what no other Khal had ever done in history. For Kurt. And if he left, if a goodbye was how the story would end, Kurt would bend to it and say it and tell Blaine Thank you and give him his heart to cherish inside a chest on the hot windy eastern nights of the Dothraki Sea, like Kurt had done with three useless fossilized eggs that hadn't turned out to be that useless after all.

The main door to the sept opened suddenly, the sound echoing like thunder in the middle of a silent night. Kurt jumped and turned around, hastily wiping his splotchy face and red puffy eyes with the back of one hand.

"I'm deeply sorry to interrupt" Jesse St. James said, staring quite blatantly at where Blaine's arms were securely wrapped around Kurt's waist in what was unmistakably the embrace of a lover. "But your first Small Council awaits you, Your Grace."

Oh, right.

In the end, it had gone as Kurt had predicted. As soon as the news of the king's unfortunate departure started to spread, the various Lords fighting for him withdrew their armies and marched to the capital to pledge their loyalty to the new sovereign, even though technically Kurt hadn't been crowned yet. The smallfolk seemed to have reacted positively, too: they had stayed huddled inside their towns and villages during the war, afraid of King Hunter's retaliation if they sided with Kurt, but the Clarington realm had been one of fear, repression and poverty; a change seemed to be welcome, especially if that change was the son of the good old Charitable King.

For the time being, Kurt had decided to keep the same council King Hunter had surrounded himself with: he couldn't afford to have powerful enemies inside the court right at the beginning of his rule, and to be honest, he needed men who knew Westeros and had been dealing with its politics for years before his arrival – never mind the fact that they had been doing it for his nemesis. It was a bit hypocritical, yet very common: generals, Lords and counsellors were often pardoned after wars were over, because they had simply "followed orders", and things could flow by exactly as they had always done, only with a different person sitting on the Iron Throne. So really, he was just following tradition.

Jesse St. James, the Master of Coin, was a handsome man with a square, well-defined jaw and smooth chestnut hair left long enough to create a gentle sweep over his forehead, yet short enough to stop at the nape of his neck. His brown eyes always seemed to be narrowed to Kurt, as if he liked to observe and study people like a maester peering down at an ant colony from a magnifying glass. Of the members of the council, he was probably the one Kurt was most dubious about.

"I have to go" he murmured to Blaine, disentangling himself from his hold.

Blaine didn't ask if he could join, and Kurt didn't expect him to: there was no point in doing it if he was going to go back to the Dothraki Sea eventually. The khal gave him a chaste, respectful kiss on the cheek and turned back to look at Finn's shiny body, his hands hovering briefly in the air before settling on the knight's. As Kurt walked toward the exit, he heard him murmur a prayer in Dothraki to his beloved Horse God.

The white plaza that surrounded the Great Sept of Baelor, shaped like the seven-pointed star that symbolized the Faith of the Seven, was perched atop Visenya's Hill, looking down onto the narrow streets of the noisy capital of Westeros. The overwhelming smell of grass and flowers was enough to cover the very different smells that drifted up from them – rotten food, horse piss, wine, latrine filth. On the other side of Aegon's High Hill, on top of which the Red Keep stood, there was Rhaenys's Hill. From a distance, Kurt could see the men he had sent to work there under the sun to restore the Dragonpit, reduced to ruins after the infamous Hummelsmythe civil war known as the Dance of the Dragons.

When he reached the room of the Red Keep where the Small Council took place, followed by a silent Jesse St. James, his cousin Sam was already seated at the table, the golden pin of the Hand of the King shining against his burgundy red tunic.

"Shall we begin, Your Grace?" he asked in an overly formal tone, and Kurt couldn't help but imagine Finn struggling with the title, tripping over the word khalees before dropping it altogether. It made a small smile graze his lips as he nodded and took a sit at the head of the long narrow table. It was nice to find out he was still able to smile, and remember his friend with joy.

"So, first on the list is your coronation" Sam began, scanning a long parchment with his index finger. "I suppose you wish to celebrate it as soon as possible, to make things official."

"Actually, I'd rather celebrate it after the funeral" Kurt corrected him, clearing his voice so it would come out steadier. "We're waiting for Lady Carole Hudson to arrive."

Someone from the left side of the table, across from Sam, cleared his throat.

"Meaning no offense, Your Grace, but you may want to reconsider" his Master of Whisperers said, linking his black hands over his middle. "My little birds tell me the smallfolk is anxious and on edge without a new official king to turn to for guidance. They are eager to see you crowned. The sooner the better, my spies whisper in my ears."

Plump, effeminate Unique knew all the secrets of the royal court, the capital, and probably the whole realm. Some people said he was a eunuch, others said he had feminine features under his long silk robes, donated to him by a sorceress of Lys. Magic aside, Kurt tended to believe the second rumor, if the make-up and jewels the spymaster liked to wear were anything to go by.

"They will have to be patient" he replied quietly, yet in a tone that sounded final enough. "I won't celebrate my victory without paying all due respects to the man who made it possible."

"What about the costs?" Jesse St. James piped up, cutting straight to business as he was supposed to. "Do you want something grand and ostentatious or something intimate and simple, Your Grace?"

"Simple, please" Kurt told him, hoping the Master of Coin would take care of that part accordingly. "The last thing I want is to have to borrow money from the Iron Bank as the former king did."

"As you wish" the man said, nodding solemnly. There was a brief, contemplative pause.

"Second on the list, we have... uhm..." Sam hesitated, biting his bottom lip. It wasn't something he did very often. "...marriage. And heirs."

Kurt sat up straighter at the words, his muscles seizing up as if preparing for a sudden jolt of physical pain. All the members seated at the table looked at one another uncomfortably. Kurt could practically see the wheels turning inside their smart little heads, trying to come up with a way to say what they wanted to say without having their heads chopped off. After ten straight seconds of awkward silence, he decided to make it easier for them.

"I suppose you all know I am already married" he said slowly, looking at each one of them in the eyes. "To a man."

"And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that, Your Grace" Grand Maester Artie pointed out quite sincerely from the wheeled wooden chair he used to go around, since his legs didn't work. It was the first time he opened his mouth to speak, and Kurt liked him already. "The Gods made us all different, and every one of us has his... tastes."

"But of course" Jesse St. James agreed, waving one hand in the air dismissively as if what they were talking about wasn't all that important. "I get all kinds of requests from highborn men who come to my brothel, even Lords from time to time. Some of them like virgin little girls. Others like effeminate boys with wigs, or maimed women. Others, well, they're the most difficult to please, but as our wise Grand Maester here just said, everyone is entitled to their tastes. Still, that doesn't mean fresh corpses is something you should make the world aware of."

Kurt slammed his hand on the table, the sting vibrating through his palm as he clenched it into an angry fist.

"Are you comparing paedophilia and necrophilia to my marriage, my Lord?" he asked through gritted teeth, narrowing his eyes at Jesse. "Because it sure sounds like you are."

"What the Master of Coin here wants to say," Unique offered before the direct recipient of Kurt's anger could reply, "is that we're worried about appearances, for your own wellbeing. You're not the first king to enjoy the company of men, Your Grace. But you would be the first king to let everybody know it. I, for one, have a great time behind closed doors, but I wouldn't want someone else's little birds to chirp about it."

"Then yes, I will be the first" Kurt told him, sitting back on his chair to look at all of them at the same time, hiding a smirk as he waited for panic to burst at his next words. "I will also be the first king to make same-sex marriages legal in all the Seven Kingdoms."

"Here we go" he heard Sam mutter under his breath.

"W-what?" Grand Maester Artie stammered, wriggling the rings that composed his maester's chain in his suddenly nervous hands.

"Your Grace, if you just-"

"I don't think the High Septon would-"

"Quiet" Kurt scolded them all, marvelling in the pleasing burst of power and self-confidence the simple action provoked inside him. "You're my Small Council, which means you have to counsel me. But I make the final decisions, and this decision is not up for discussion. I can't expect my people to respect me if I'm a hypocrite who's going to marry a man without allowing them to do the same."

The slip didn't go unnoticed.

"Did you say going to, Your Grace?" Sam asked tentatively, frowning in confusion. "Aren't you and the Khal already married?"

"Not in the eyes of the Seven" Kurt replied. "Which is why I asked him to marry me again, and he said yes."

He would wait after the funeral and the coronation, but he wouldn't back out from it. He knew Blaine wouldn't, either. No matter what.

"But he's a..." Jesse St. James trailed off, looking at Kurt rather disapprovingly for being someone who had no right to disapprove of anything, especially after the things he had recently revealed.

I'll ask him a list of all those sick bastards he calls clients, Kurt decided.

"He's a what?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow. He felt like a tiger sticking out its claws against the hard wood of the table as he leaned forward and over it. "Please, feel free to speak your mind, my Lord."

"He's a... Dothraki" was the word the coward chose eventually, which couldn't be classified as a lie in itself. "He's no lord, no prince, no knight. If I really can feel free to speak my mind, Your Grace..."

"Please do" Kurt encouraged him with a wave of his hand. "I won't have it said that I'm a tyrannous king, like Hunter Clarington was."

Jesse stared at him for a moment, judging whether to trust him or not on that statement. Then he nodded.

"If your wish is to keep him near you, you should make him Captain of the Kingsguard, or master of the royal stables" he said cautiously. "I hear Dothraki are quite skilled with horses."

Despite the fact that Kurt had basically asked for it, the anger in his voice was impossible to tame after that. True, Blaine hadn't even decided what to do yet, but to hear people talk about him like that, with such lightness, ignoring everything that had happened between them, all the things Blaine had done, was too much. He would always defend him from the prejudice the rest of the world would throw at him – Qartheen, Meereenese, Westerosi, it made no matter. He would always stick to his choices. And he would not do the same mistake twice: let advisors he barely knew get into his head too much and influence his judgement just because they were supposed to be more experienced. He had bent his will to their opinions in Slaver's Bay, and he had promised to himself he would never do it again.

Master of the royal stables? He felt his nails bite into his own palms hard enough to draw blood from them.

He is a better man than all of you combined.

"He is a Khal" he stated slowly, deliberately, as if talking to a child. "He is the greatest Khal of the Dothraki Sea. In his land, he is a king. And you think I should put him in charge of the stables and then what? Summon him to my bed at night when my highborn perfect little wife isn't there, like a whore? How dare you?"

"Cousin, calm down" Sam whispered, putting a gentle hand on one of Kurt's clenched fists. "He- I know he has offended you, but you have to understand, he speaks out of ignorance. All of us do. We know close to nothing of Dothraki culture."

"Just as I did when I married him" Kurt told him, relaxing slightly. "You'll just have to learn, like I did."

A tense silence fell over the table. He could sense they were somehow scared of him, and even though that wasn't the first sentiment he wished to inspire in people, he had to admit it was... rewarding. He would counterbalance it with justness and mercy in time, but now – now was the time to make them understand he wasn't a puppet they could move as they liked, pulling careful strings. It was the time to make them see he was a king.

A stupid naive boy king, his conscience reminded him with a scolding, somehow affectionate pat on his shoulder. But they don't need to know it.

"But what... what about heirs?" Grand Maester Artie dared after a while, his voice soft and subdued. The links he had around his neck crinkled softly as he shifted his upper body on his clever wheeled chair – Kurt had heard he had made it with his own hands at the Citadel, during his training as maester. Each one of the metal rings represented a field of knowledge he was expert in.

"I will bed whichever highborn Lady you will deem... appropriate" Kurt said lamely, swallowing down the bile that threatened to rise up his throat at the thought. He felt quite proud of himself as he managed not to shudder visibly.

"But wouldn't that be adultery, Your Grace?" the Grand Maester asked – again, it was a smart question. "You surely don't want to encourage such a terrible practice."

"My husband would be fine with it" Kurt told him. "We both know it's necessary."

Unique leaned back on his chair, the silk of his robe wrinkling softly over the velvet cushion.

"Well, I suppose it would be difficult to pick one out of the main Houses of Westeros, proud as they are" he reasoned, deep in thought. He puffed out his powdered cheeks and pursed his full plush Summer Islander lips. "But I guess it would be seen as an honor among the small ones. After all, the girl would be the mother of a future king."

"Have you ever been with a woman, Your Grace?" Jesse St. James asked him bluntly. Kurt squirmed. "Forgive me, I don't mean to pry. But I was thinking it could be helpful for you to be... trained, let's say, by one of my workers. So you would be able to please your future wife right away. That is, if you haven't, of course."

He felt all eyes on him. The teenage part of him blushed, and he hoped it wasn't the one currently showing. The training he had received from Santana back in the early days of his marriage didn't exactly count; she had taught him how to be confident in bed, sure, but it had all been focused on how to please a man. Kurt was no expert in sex with women, but he was pretty sure dragging one out to an open field and lower himself onto her wouldn't work.

"I- I haven't" he said, feeling his cheeks heat up. Damn. "But I don't think I would be comfortable with one of your... workers. Thank you for the suggestion, but I- I'll be fine."

I hope.

"As you wish, Your Grace" Jesse said, his face resigned at hearing all his "helpful" suggestions being thrown back in his face. "Then I guess we'll set to work to find a... suitable match for you."

"Thank you very much" Kurt told him, heaving a relieved breath. He turned to Sam. "Is that all?"

Sam scanned the parchment again.

"Well, we have to schedule a few audiences, discuss the taxes currently in place and choose the new Captain of the Kingsguard, since the Master of Coin's... idea... didn't work for you."

"The captain of my Unsullied will be it" Kurt told him. He hadn't had to put that much thought into it, honestly. There was no greater reward he could give Grey Worm.

"Aren't they slaves, Your Grace?" the Grand Maester ventured.

"Not anymore" Kurt reassured him. "I freed them. They have been following me out of their own volition ever since."

"Oh" the man said in surprise. "Then I don't think there will be objections."

Kurt smiled gratefully at him. Out of the three, he seemed the wisest, the most honest and respectful. Sam waited until he was sure no one else would speak before doing it himself.

"So, about those audiences..."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kurt had never liked wine all that much. Sure, he had drunk a cup from time to time, mainly during lunch or dinner, but he had never understood the habit of drinking it for the sake of it, nor the thrill men seemed to get as it numbed their senses, slowed their movements and clogged their minds. It seemed almost silly to him, if he had to be honest. Why should grown men want to be reduced to giggling or sobbing messes in front of other people? What was the point?

The wines in King's Landing, though. Seven save him. Arbor golds, Dornish reds... the latter, especially. He slowly sipped from a cup of it as he stared at the sun set over the Narrow Sea from the balcony of his bedchamber – he hoped it was his last bedchamber, because the Gods knew how many he had had to sleep in already. There was something very strange in looking at the same sea from the other side of it; it was the same, yet it was different. Miles and miles away he knew there was the land he had called home for the most part of his life, but this, Westeros, was it. Dreams and fantasies aside, as harsh and cruel as it was, it was home. It was where his father and his father's father were born, where he was born. And the pull of it, of the unmistakable sense of belonging he felt, was almost enough to overcome his sorrow.

Almost.

He took another sip and realized he had emptied the cup, so he fetched the glass flagon from the table just inside the room and poured some more wine in it.

He had his mother's smile.

He stared at the cup for a moment before draining it all in one go. Drops of rich red wine landed on his velvet doublet, quickly disappearing against its pitch black color – black like Drogon's scales, and Blaine's curly hair, and mourning. Black like all the other clothes had been inside the Great Sept, including Lady Carole's. She had smiled at him – for the life of him Kurt couldn't understand why - and it was the same set of perfect white teeth, the same dimples in her cheeks, the same crinkling of smart little eyes.

"Did he take good care of you?" she had asked him after the ceremony, her voice protective and mother-like – something Kurt had never known in his life, but he could recognize it.

"Yes" Kurt had replied. "He wanted me to tell you he kept his promise, and he did."

"He was a good boy" she had said then, looking away over the hill, lost in some distant memory of a little Finn playing at being a knight with a small wooden sword in his hand. Then she had turned around again and said, "I'm really proud of him", just like Kurt had told Finn she would.

Wine. More wine. I like wine. Wine is good.

He drained another cup. His head felt dizzy, so he braced himself on the banister until the world stopped spinning around him. And it was... nice. Suddenly he felt giddy, bubbly, as if he didn't have a care in the world. The birds chirped from the trees of the royal gardens and the sweet sea breeze brushed his hair back from his eyes and the wine was so good. And after all, hadn't he just won? Why didn't he ever take the time to celebrate his accomplishments? He deserved it, didn't he?

"Kurt?" someone said from inside. When he turned around, swaying slightly, he saw that it was Blaine, standing in the middle of the bedchamber. He could see him through the semi-transparent light blue curtains that separated the room from the balcony.

"Hey, you" Kurt told him, stepping slowly into the room. He bumped against the table and giggled. Blaine didn't.

Why doesn't he find it funny?, Kurt wondered.

Blaine eyed the half-empty cup – was it the third or fourth? – Kurt was holding, before looking back up at his face.

"How's the wine?" he asked in a voice Kurt couldn't exactly place.

"It's great!" Kurt told him happily, raising the cup in the air. "Do you want some?"

Blaine clenched his jaw. Through the haze, Kurt could still realize it, but he wouldn't let Blaine ruin his mood.

"No" Blaine said coldly. "And I think you should stop drinking it, too."

Kurt huffed an exasperated sigh.

"You're no fun" he scolded Blaine, taking another long sip as if to make a point. "Besides, I clearly recall you drinking and moping around, so."

The sad, painful memory of an empty-eyed Blaine dragging his feet along the corridors of the Great Pyramid of Meereen twisted into something grotesque and funny in his head. He stifled a chuckle and picked up the flagon once again.

Blaine froze at his words, his eyes getting all wide and shiny all of a sudden.

"That's why I'm telling you" he said, but his voice seemed croaky now. "I know from experience that drinking doesn't make you less sad."

"But I'm not sad!" Kurt objected, because really, sad was the last thing one could say about him in that moment. "Why would I be sad?"

"Kurt" Blaine whispered, tilting his head to the side as his face scrunched up in that way that made Kurt crumble every time – like at the funeral, when he had stared at Finn's body one last time, and no, wait, why was Kurt thinking about that? Stupid Blaine with his stupid sad faces making him sad.

"Why do you have to look at me like that?" he yelled – why was he yelling now?

"Give me the wine" Blaine demanded, ignoring his question altogether. He took a long step in Kurt's direction and reached his hand out toward the flagon.

"Don't tell me what to do!" Kurt bristled, raising the hand he was holding it with to try and get it out of Blaine's reach – which didn't work, of course, because Blaine lifted himself up on his toes and followed it, grabbing it and pulling it toward him.

"Just give me the fucking wine!"

"No!"

They struggled for a bit, pulling the thing back and forth between them, until it slipped from both of their hands and fell to the floor, shattering into a hundred sharp pieces of glass amidst a spreading lake of dark red wine. It flowed away, following the lines of the stone floor, and Kurt stared at it until the echo of the crash got faint enough for him to think. It was as if the noise had suddenly parted the fog in his mind, leaving him drained and miserable and embarrassed. It only got worse when Blaine didn't say a word and kneeled on the floor to carefully pick up the bigger pieces of the flagon.

"I'm sorry" Kurt whispered, wrapping his arms around himself protectively.

"It's fine" Blaine told him, but he didn't lift his head to look at him as he said it, focused on his task.

"It's not" Kurt objected, kneeling as well so he could face him. "Here, let me-"

"I'm almost done, it's not a big deal" Blaine insisted, and only then he looked at him, his eyes scolding and tender at the same time. "Just promise me you will never drink this much again. It breaks my heart."

Kurt could perfectly understand what he meant now that his brain was functioning again.

It broke my heart, too, back then, he thought.

"I promise."

"Good" Blaine said, nodding. He stood up and carefully placed the pieces he had collected close together on the table. "Let's get you to bed now."

Kurt fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow, a soft buzz still humming in the back of his mind. When he woke up, sunlight was coming in through the curtains and his head was pounding slightly, but nothing he couldn't deal with. Images of the events in the throne room flashed before his eyes as they did every single morning. Next to him, gloriously naked Blaine mumbled something in his sleep and lifted one arm to drape it over his own eyes, blocking the annoying rays of light from the balcony. His body shifted upwards with the movement, making the soft cotton sheets slide away from his lower half to reveal his morning erection. Kurt licked his lips subconsciously, mind wandering off, which he welcomed as a blessing.

He moved down the bed as silently as possible, blinking away the last remnants of sleep, and hovered over Blaine's crotch for a moment before nuzzling at his cock, inhaling the sharp smell of male he always found there. He took it in his mouth, slowly lowering his head until it hit the back of his throat. Practice had made him kind of an expert.

Blaine moaned, but didn't wake up. He always needed a little longer. Kurt sucked around him languorously, his hands slowly stroking up Blaine's thighs and sides along black ink vines – the ones he had thought about as he waited for a death that had never come, but No, Kurt, don't think about it, not now, please not now –, his own cock jerking at the groans Blaine was making in his sleep. It was almost soothing, to have to focus on someone else's pleasure. It was practical and rewarding and it kept his mind off things for a while. He was starting to think Blaine had influenced him more than he cared to admit, because intimacy had become a way for him to vent when he felt angry or sad or both, just like it had always been for him.

When one of his hands softly brushed a perky brown nipple, Blaine opened his eyes and looked down between his legs, his mouth opening around a choked-off gasp.

"K-Kurt" he stammered, the muscles of his abdomen pulled taut under Kurt's wandering fingers. "What- what are you doing?"

Keeping myself busy so I won't fall apart.

"Making it up to you" he croaked as he pulled away, throat already sore. "For yesterday."

"You- you don't have to-"

But he had to, so he did. Before Blaine could finish, Kurt lowered his head again and swallowed around him, making Blaine moan brokenly.

"Fuck, Kurt" he groaned, one hand coming down to card through Kurt's hair and guide his movements as his hips gently thrust up in that particular way he knew Kurt secretly loved, because it was demanding and possessive and so very masculine of him. "God, you take it so good."

Kurt couldn't help but moan, his own hips rutting desperately into the mattress. It wasn't fair: Blaine knew he went crazy when he talked dirty to him, especially when he was pleasing him with his mouth. He felt thankful for the distraction, and for the way Blaine knew exactly how to make him squirm and buck and tremble with lust.

"You love it, don't you?" Blaine went on – the bastard – as he pushed Kurt's head down a little harder. "You love to feel your pink lips stretch around me, love to- to feel me thrust up into that perfect little mouth of yours."

He had to sneak one hand between his legs after that, moaning softly around Blaine as he touched himself. There was no way Blaine wouldn't notice.

"Fuck, you- stop, stop" he said, wrenching Kurt's head up and away. His eyes were hooded and wild as he stared at Kurt's lips, now red and shiny.

"What? What is it?" Kurt whimpered, his hand painfully still on his cock – afraid the cloud of heated desire would dissolve if they didn't keep going. "Come on, wanna-"

He tried to take Blaine back into his mouth, but his husband's grip on his hair was vice-like.

"Want to suck you, too" Blaine told him, panting harshly through his nose. Kurt removed his hand from his cock and brought it back to one of Blaine's hipbones.

"Okay, you can do it later then" he agreed, even though he knew it would be pure torture until then. "Now-"

"I meant at the same time" Blaine interrupted him. Kurt looked up at him, tilting his head to the side.

"What do you mean, at the same time?" he said, and he didn't know why, but Blaine's eyes got darker at his words, lustful and possessive. The khal lowered his hand to brush his thumb along Kurt's lips, staring wordlessly at the movement.

"Sometimes I forget I was your first" he whispered, and Kurt sucked his thumb into his mouth, making him gasp. "Come here."

He manoeuvred Kurt so his face was still hovering over Blaine's groin, but his hips were now hovering over Blaine's face. Blaine's hands came up to caress the back of his thighs until they settled on his cheeks and pushed down slightly, and only then it dawned on Kurt.

"Oh my Gods" he breathed as Blaine sucked around him. "Why haven't I- why haven't you brought it up before?"

"It only crossed my mind now" Blaine whispered, pulling away for an instant. "Now shut up and put your mouth to a better use."

After a couple of fumbling moments, their limbs trembling and shifting uncomfortably, they settled into a perfectly matched rhythm, and it was probably the dirtiest, most erotic thing they had ever done – the sounds both of them were making, the frantic way Blaine's hips thrust up as Kurt's thrust down. It was difficult to focus on making Blaine feel good when Blaine was making him feel so good, skilled tongue wrapped around Kurt's length as his index finger massaged up and down the crack of his ass, applying that much more pressure against his hole that sent him over the edge. Blaine sucked him through it, the pad of his finger hard and insistent against Kurt's entrance as it clenched, and it was probably the way Kurt's throat was doing the same that had Blaine coming with a muffled groan.

"Gods" Kurt said, collapsing to the side. He kissed the closest patch of skin he could see, which turned out to be Blaine's ankle.

"Come up here" Blaine urged. When Kurt did, Blaine slammed their lips together and taught him the second dirtiest thing they had ever done: tasting each other at the same time. His strong hands kneaded the flesh of Kurt's ass as they kissed hungrily, groaning into each other's mouths, and his muscled arms linked around Kurt's middle when they parted for air.

"How many boys did you do that with?" Kurt asked him playfully, toying with a curl that was sticking out just behind Blaine's ear.

"A few" Blaine told him with a smirk, petting at the small of his back. "You jealous?"

Kurt chewed on that for a moment.

"A little" he concluded, because he was, but it wasn't a sharp blinding feeling of fury. He had always known that Blaine was more experienced, and it turned him on in a way. He just had to ignore the many faceless, muscled, dark-skinned Dothraki boys Blaine had practiced with before meeting him.

"They were nothing, moon of my life" Blaine reassured him, even though he didn't need to. "None of them was as beautiful as you."

After all that time, hearing compliments like that still made him blush and duck down to prevent Blaine from seeing it, making him feel like a silly teenage girl in love. And in spite of everything, he smiled and enjoyed the bubble of happiness and safety they still managed to carry around with them as they fought against a cursed fate.

"I love you so much, my sun-and-stars" he whispered against Blaine's chest. "So very, very much."

"I love you, too" Blaine told him, smiling a loving smile down at him. "And I'm so proud of you. You did it. I know it... I know it's not exactly how you wanted it, and the reason kills me inside. But you did it, Kurt. We did it. If I look back, I can't believe how far we've come. You'll make such a great king, baby."

Will I?, Kurt wondered, all his pent-up insecurities coming to the surface, all the objections he had had to turn down during the Small Council. The coronation, the marriage reform, the children – all the things people would question his credibility for, making just a little bit harder for him to earn the trust his father had gained naturally. Combined to the spiral of sadness and self-loathing Finn's death had sent him into, they had so easily turned him into a drunken idiot. And he had only just started. What he needed was someone to pick him up when he fell, someone to hold him when he shivered from doubts and worries – with Finn gone, who would be that person if Blaine left, too?

Who would make his life shine in the darkness of the open sky, if not his sun-and-stars?

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Rachel talked to him for the first time since the battle after a couple of days from the funeral.

"May I come in, khalees?" she said as she peeked inside his solar from the half-open door. The simple fact that she was speaking to him was enough to warm Kurt's heart, but the title suddenly felt wrong and unnecessary coming from her mouth, just like it had from Finn's. Too much had happened for Kurt to expect reverence from her. Too much he had to be forgiven for.

"Of course you can, Rachel" he said, closing the book he had been reading. "And call me Kurt."

"I'd rather not" she objected a bit sharply, stepping into the room after closing the door behind her. She kept her distance, her hands behind her back, which looked forcefully rigid. Her eyes were set into a frown of deep determination Kurt had never seen on her face, and the black tunic she was wearing gave her an austere appearance that didn't suit the playfulness Kurt knew she was capable of. She was the only one who had kept wearing black even after the funeral – besides Lady Carole, of course, who was still in the capital to attend the upcoming coronation of the new king.

"Would you... sit down?" Kurt asked Rachel carefully, gesturing for the chair across from him in front of the desk he was seated at. She eyed it suspiciously for a moment before nodding and doing just that, and afterwards she grew silent, staring hard at her hands.

How do I fix this?, Kurt asked himself desperately, but there was no answer.

"What can I-"

"I'm pregnant" she blurted out, looking up to stare at him sort of accusingly. "I'm carrying Finn's baby."

It felt as if someone had just slipped his chair from underneath him, leaving him to fall on his back without the time to realize it, choking on a panicked breath. He stared at her, half-hoping she would say she had just lied. She didn't. Her jaw was clenched and her eyes were hard and cold, the eyes of a woman now, a grown woman, left with a burden she wasn't supposed to carry on her own. Yet she didn't shed a single tear in front of him. Kurt was sure she had had her share of crying, but in that moment, he respected her for it. Because he was barely keeping it together himself at the thought – Finn would have been a perfect father.

"Rachel" he whispered, reaching out to try and squeeze her hands, but reconsidering at the last moment. "Gods, Rachel. Did he- did he know?"

She shook her head.

"I just found out."

That killed him just a little bit more.

"I- what do you want me to do? I swear it on the Seven, I'll do anything you ask of me, I-"

"Good" she cut him off, her chin high – it was wobbling a little now, but she looked stronger than Kurt would have expected from her. "Because I'm going to ask you something, and you're going to do it, khalees."

It felt surreal to hear her talk to him like that, demanding things. There had been a time when the mere thought of speaking out of place in his presence would have thrown her into a crying fit. But Kurt guessed all of them had changed, somehow: he had just failed to realize it sooner. Where a wide-eyed, hopeful, romantic slave once had been, now stood a disillusioned, grief-stricken, hard-shelled woman. And indirectly, Kurt was the cause of that. Which was why he wouldn't betray the promise he had just made.

"Anything" he repeated.

"I'm going to keep this baby" she announced, which wasn't a surprise. "I'm going to give it a name, cradle it in my arms, feed it at my breast. But you are going to adopt it. Whether it's a boy or a girl, you're going to pretend you had it with me, and you're going to love it and raise it as if you had. When the time comes, if it's a girl, you're going to find her a charming son of a Lord who will marry her and take her to his castle and give her many children. While if it's a boy, he will be king after you and sit on the throne his father died for. And the Gods above will probably curse us both for lying, but I will curse you if you don't. Because it's his baby, and he-"

A dry sob escaped her mouth.

"And you will make a king of him. Because I'm asking you to. You will, khalees. You have to."