Lima’s tavern was full to bursting, and it looked like it had been divided down the middle. On the right side, all the familiar men of the town sat at the tables or the bar. Kurt picked out several of his tormentors, the worst of which were straight ahead at the bar—Azimio, the dark boy who’d come back with the baker from his travels in the south, and David Karofsky, the blacksmith’s apprentice. And, unfortunately for Kurt, sitting beside them and craning his neck to look behind the counter, was Finn.

He took a deep breath to steel himself and started towards the bar, noting that the left side of the room was filled with men in tabards bearing the crest of Lima. Some of the local regiment was in town instead of at the barracks a few miles away. Kurt wondered why, but he wasn't going to be asking anyone.

“Finn,” he called over the rumble of voices, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably behind Finn. “Finn!”

Finn wasn’t paying attention, his eyes focused entirely on Rachel, who was filling mugs of ale from a cask and fluttering her eyelashes back at him in what she probably thought was a coy manner. However, his shouting had brought Kurt to attention with others, and as Azimio and Karofsky turned, Kurt lunged forward desperately to tap Finn on the shoulder.

“Huh?”

Finn turned just as Karofsky and Azimio stood. Kurt stepped back as they crowded him.

“Well, well,” Karofsky spat, “if it isn’t Lady Hummel. What brings you to a man’s bar, fancy?”

“I bet he’s husband hunting,” Azimio added. “He probably heard the regiment was in town and we all know what they do up in those barracks together.”

“Watch your mouth!” someone called from behind Kurt, and he flinched, stopping in the middle of the room, the soldiers on his back and Karofsky and Azimio hulking over him in front.

“I’d take your own advice, friend,” Karofsky sneered, “or I’d remove myself before I got hurt.”

“You will get hurt if you keep talking,” said another soldier, standing from his table and advancing.

“Enough.”

Kurt turned to see a tall, slender man in expensive armor and a gold-threaded cape moving toward them. He wore a smirk like it was his natural state, his eyes roaming over Kurt with marked interest. His shoulders were back, his spine straight, and he sauntered forward like he owned the place.

He might as well have. Kurt noticed that his tabard bore the personal crest of the House of Smythe. He recognized the man as Sebastian, Lord of Lima and knight-commander of the regiment.

“Is there a problem here, gentlemen?” he asked, a casual hand resting on the handle of the broadsword at his hip.

“No problem, milord,” Karofsky said, stepping back. “Just talking to our friend here.”

“Of course you were,” Sebastian replied, his smirk growing wider. “Why don’t you go back to drowning your pathetic sorrows in your drinks, boys.”

The command in his voice was implicit, and though Kurt often doubted the intelligence of those two dolts, they were obviously smart enough to know when they were defeated. With final glares at Kurt, they returned to the bar where Finn was sitting silently, staring openly at the scene.

“Do you always associate with such maggots?” Sebastian asked, stepping a little too close to Kurt. “You don’t seem like the type.”

“No, milord,” Kurt said, bowing slightly. “My thanks for…removing them.”

“Anytime,” Sebastian said. “And what’s your name?”

“Kurt Hummel.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Kurt Hummel.” Sebastian smiled. Kurt had to admit that he was as handsome as he had always been rumored to be--but then, hawks were handsome as well, and just as prone to drag their prey to dizzying heights before dropping them to their death.

And then Sebastian took his hand and bowed to kiss it, his smile turning predatory. Kurt pulled his hand back sharply, eyeing Sebastian suspiciously.

“Yes, a pleasure,” Kurt replied shortly, but ever polite. “Now if you’ll excuse me, my lord, I am here on an errand and running late.”

“You seem educated,” Sebastian said, following Kurt as he turned and approached the bar, waving his hand at Rachel to get her attention. “What is it you do?”

“I’m the merchant’s son, my lord,” Kurt sighed, growing anxious as Sebastian leaned next to him. He beckoned to Rachel again. “He’s a learned man.”

Rachel came up to him and smiled widely.

“Hello, Kurt. I see you’ve met Lord Smythe. Isn’t it lovely that he’s graced our humble tavern with his presence?“ She turned to Sebastian. “We are so honored, milord, and we’d be happy to provide some entertainment for you and your noble troops in just a few minutes. I’m a performer, you see, and—“

“Rachel,” Kurt interrupted, dropping some coins on the bar. “I need a few skins of the elderberry wine, please.”

Rachel faltered and gathered up the coins, nodding and grinning manically as she did her best to glide away while still staring in their direction.

“A merchant’s son, eh?” Sebastian asked, running a finger along Kurt’s arm. Kurt tensed. “Those are fine-quality clothes for a merchant’s son. How did you ever afford them? A gift from an admirer, perhaps?”

“I sewed them myself, my lord,” Kurt said, drawing his arm back.

“Did you?” Sebastian seemed surprised. “Are you apprenticed to the tailor?”

“No, my lord,” Kurt replied. Sebastian’s proximity was making him uncomfortable, no matter how handsome he was.

“Well, if you’re this good before an apprenticeship, I can’t imagine how talented you must be. Perhaps I should recommend you to my clothier.”

That gave Kurt pause. On the one hand, it was a respected position, and to have the opportunity to apprentice under a Lord’s personal clothier was one that Kurt wasn’t sure he could pass up. However, he knew the look Sebastian was giving him, and he wasn’t entirely sure he was earning the chance based on his skill alone.

“My thanks, my lord,” Kurt replied, unable to be rude and decline outright, but not entirely willing to go along with the idea either.

“Where might I find you, then?”

Kurt did not want to answer that, but was spared by the reappearance of Rachel, who was carrying a lacing of wineskins that bulged with the expensive wine.

“Here you are, Kurt. Now, don’t monopolize our Lord Smythe all night, I’m sure he’d be glad to hear—“

“Yes, thank you Rachel,” Kurt cut in, well-practiced in the art of stopping a Rachel Berry rant in its tracks. “I have to steal Finn away from you, I’m afraid. He’s needed back at home. But I’m sure Lord Smythe would love to hear you sing.”

“That’s fine, Kurt,” she said, turning immediately to Sebastian. Kurt quickly stepped away and grabbed Finn by the shoulder.

“Thanks for nothing, Finn,” Kurt hissed, guiding Finn out as quickly as he could to prevent Sebastian from pursuing him. “You just left me there to deal with Karofsky and Azimio, and then you leave me alone to handle Lord Smythe as well? What is wrong with you?”

“Whoa, hold on,” Finn said, holding his hands up and hurrying beside Kurt, happy of his longer stride to keep up with him. “I know I should’ve said something to Karofsky and Azimio, but I didn’t realize a Lord complimenting you and offering you a job was something you needed to be protected from.”

“Did you not notice that Sebastian wasn’t exactly comporting himself in the most gentlemanly manner—“

“I saw him kiss your hand, though,” Finn said. “I thought you liked—that sort of thing.”

“Not from him.”

Finn looked confused.

“You don’t…like men anymore?”

“That’s not the point, Finn,” Kurt said, exasperated. “He was making me uncomfortable, and he wasn’t offering me a job because he thinks I’d be good at it. You’ve heard the rumors.”

"Meaning what?"

Kurt let out a noise of disgust, his lips drawing thin. "Meaning my sewing needle isn't the one he's interested in."

"But you don't have any other--"

A look of dawning comprehension slipped over Finn’s face, followed by horror.

“Oh.”

“Look, let’s just get home,” Kurt said. “We can forget tonight ever happened, and hopefully Lord Smythe will, too.”

He hurried along, unable to shake the feeling that he was being pursued.