Centerhold was a world all its own, as forbidding and familiar as the moon was to him now.

Well perhaps that was an unfair comparison. The moon had never held any secrets, never spoke back, never cared for anything but her own gentle slope through the sky. Hal had known her all his life, as was his lot, a Lantern of the Moon Lady, dedicated to sharing her light to the darkest corners of the world.

So it had always been, until the war.

Hal frowned and adjusted the furs around his shoulders as he passed by a window, a small burst of cold air rustling over him in a brush of snowflakes. Stars, but he'd never be used to this, he was certain: his life was all about faraway lights that fell to the earth only to disappear, following the paths laid out in constellations to map out the land, following a road of stardust from one homestead to another. A nomad, always wandering, never belonging to anyone yet at the service of everyone. It had been simpler, that.

But this. He still wasn't certain what to make of all this.

Stone and mountaintop, the smell of pine and straw everywhere he went. Snow and fireplaces, dancing and singing to drumbeats. Families and smiling faces, everywhere he walked. Rare flowers in the spring, a summer almost too short to live from, autumns fringed with uncertainty. Winters full of hunting and the constant threat of cold. Life cradled in the very maw of the mountain gods.

Two winters here and the metal circlet around his head, rimmed with shining green gems and pearly stones, still felt odd to carry, even though it was fitted to him perfectly. The golden sash tied around his waist made him shiver each time he heard the fabric move, just as it had when he'd untied it for the first time, letting it pool to the floor of the bedroom; proof of ownership, proof that his life was never his to have.

Not to say Lord Allen was a horrible mate to have in such times. Quite the opposite, if Hal was honest with himself. The man owned a mountain range for sky's sake, one of the most powerful warlords to have signed the League Treaty. And perhaps the most humble as well.

Which was the problem, right there.

The very idea of belonging to anyone was enough to set Hal's teeth on edge, whether it bought peace or not. He didn't like the idea of being shackled to one person, one place, not when his heart was meant for the wandering trail, never the politics and suffocation of a stronghold.

Out there, as a Lantern, he'd had purpose beyond a symbol used to barter trade agreements and boundary lines. He'd belonged to the land and to everyone in it, not for what he was, but who he was. He used to help people, whether it was building fences or mending roofs, helping an elderly famer with a crop or a widow with livestock. He'd been trained for wartime as much as peacetime, a perfect balance. Nothing had been too big or too little, not even a war.

And now he was here in this place he didn't understand even two winters in, expected to walk around for all the other nobles to see, a piece of jewelry hanging from the mantle piece of the mountain lord.

If Barry wasn't so damned kind, perhaps he could hate it as much as he wanted to.

But from that very first night, Barry hadn't been anything but gentle and understanding with him. One of the most powerful men Hal knew and Barry had yet to treat him with anything but respect, like he was simply Hal and not the war prize he actually was. Goods to buy and sell, looked upon as treasure.

Hal had no idea what to make of him.

There were seven winters between them, but it seemed longer with all that Barry carried upon his shoulders, hanging heavily off the crown he bore. He'd already been a widow when they'd joined, uncomplaining and smiling as he'd taken Hal's hand in his and pledged his life and fealty to a man he hardly knew. And he'd apologized, that night, as Hal had twisted off the marriage sash, apologized for simply following orders and doing his duty, knowing that their union cemented peace for the mountain ranges, yet still sorry that it had cost Hal so much. The first of many surprises to come.

Lord Allen had quickly proven to Hal just how much he belonged to his people and not they to him. He walked the village every day, up with the sun and the cock crows. He knew each family and person by name, knew each weight of their trade and the count of their livestock, celebrated each new child and new couple with the pride of a father, not a warlord. He knew each soldier and counted supplies each winter, hand sewing furs himself for those trapped by the cold. He blessed marriages and went hunting for the village to feast, never eating until he was certain all others had enough.

It was the strangest thing Hal had ever seen a noble do. Stranger even than the knowledge that he genuinely liked the man, even though his lot had never impressed him.

Barry was a wonder, like the stars that Hal had followed for all his life. He was charming and compassionate with a spine of solid steel. Fair and firm. He was tired every time Hal saw him, exhausted beyond measure, but still he came to Hal every day, talking idly and offering foods and other little things he'd been given in the market, proving how often Hal was on his mind, even with a whole village to occupy his thoughts.

It made something in Hal twist just thinking about it. Guilt maybe, because he knew he wasn't worthy of the man's kindness or of this village and the families that looked to him as well for guidance. He had nothing to give them, not when he longed for other lands, for stars and comets and trails unknown. They deserved someone who could appreciate the struggle for life here, instead of being constantly dumbfounded by it. Barry deserved more than him.

Annulment was out of the question. Hal had made certain of that. Even if it hadn't meant the jeopardy of the peace they'd all just won, he'd always been a selfish creature. Frustration with this destiny had only made it worse and he'd been determined from the onset that he wouldn't suffer a cold bed on top of a desolate stronghold.

Barry, at the very least, was willing enough, and pleasure was surprisingly easy to find for them both, even that first time when Hal had given himself in a way he'd never given himself to anyone. Barry was a quiet lover, but far from timid, his hands strong and his praise genuine, no matter how hard Hal drove them over the edge. And he had a way of looking at Hal, dark eyes and hooded glances, like he was something too beautiful to deserve. And the way Barry said his name, body flushed and head thrown back in pleasure, Hal could feel it in his very bones long into the next day.

It worried him, how much he enjoyed drowning in Barry like that, because that's what it always felt like, drowning, with no chance of ever breathing again: too much unspoken, too many dreams drifting away on comet tails, unreachable. And Hal was to blame for it each time, for Barry never came to him to fulfill that basic need, handing over that power completely to Hal and doing his best to see Hal shaking and satisfied when asked. As though Hal's growing desire for him wasn't terrifying enough.

Frowning, Hal leaned against the wall to suck in a steadying breath. It was a rare day for Centerhold to be so quiet and he couldn't help the prick of curiosity he felt, wondering where everyone was. These halls were usually bustling with people, townsfolk to scribes running about, and even when the village was feasting, these stone walkways were always full of laughter, warm like the sun, bouncing and tumbling with the boy that carried so much upon his own back, hair like fire and eyes glinting like gems.

Barry's nephew had taken to Hal easily enough, accepting his presence into the keep with all the grace of an heir born for his title could. Wally had belonged to Barry's late wife, her brother's son, a prospect that many lords would have frowned at. An adopted relative to stand as constant challenge to a legitimate heir was not politically sound. Yet, Barry had married her anyway and named Wally heir to Centerhold, securing the future of a boy that was not even of his blood.

Hal didn't know much of the marriage, though it had been widespread news that the Lady Allen had perished in childbirth, an all too common occurrence. He knew enough about Barry to know that he still wasn't over it, not completely, and would probably never really be. Not that Hal could blame him for that. Barry had married her because he'd fallen in love with her and she with him. He'd taken her nephew as his own son and offered them all he had just for the opportunity to love them. Such was his way.

And now he was saddled with Hal in a marriage that had to be the complete opposite of what his first had been. Well hello Guilt, old friend.

Curiously peering about, he blinked a few times as his brain tried to find his bearings. Two winters and he still got lost here, the cold stones above and below poor substitutes for the constellations he'd mapped and charted to find his way. It was embarrassing, but only served to drive the spike of guilt further into his chest, that he wanted so badly to not be here he didn't even bother learning each inch with all the diligence he'd given the stars. Why hadn't he, anyway?

Soft laughter and he knew where he was, the hallway illuminated in soft candle glow, the smell of paper and ink in the air. The door was slightly ajar and Hal peered in as silently as he could, smiling despite himself at the sight of Wally grinning, ink staining his fingers and smudged over his face. Beside him, desperately trying to finish the lesson but grinning hugely while Wally snickered, was the newest member of Centerhold, a fellow redhead with piercing eyes and no family left in his line. Wally had met him in the late summer where the older boy had picked a fight, not counting on Wally actually swinging his fists in return.

It'd taken both Hal and Barry to pry them apart, kicking and swearing, covered in mud and matching black eyes. A stern look from Barry and they'd apologized to each other, grumbling and glaring, before Barry had proclaimed, rather loudly, that the young, orphaned Harper was to live with them indefinitely, much to the shock of everyone.

Hal wondered why it still surprised him, because offering a home to a stray was just what Barry did, warlord or not. After all, he'd taken Hal, hadn't he?

Wally's giggles trailing after him, Hal continued on his way, eyes catching on the windows, the bright snowflakes that trickled in, like stardust. He wondered why he'd set his heart so firmly against his place when the quiet beauty of it was so familiar. He wondered why something in him almost wanted to change that.

He reached out a hand and felt the gentle sting of cold upon his skin, watched the shimmering patterns dissolve, like stars that never hit the earth even though they fell, dying, to its skies. Perhaps this land was not so foreign as the horizons he'd mapped. Perhaps all he had to do was start looking ahead instead of above to things so out of reach. At least here he could touch the stillness of the world at rest, sunken under the weight of winter. But what was it worth his freedom to try?

He was pulled from his musing by the sounds of shuffling feet and the squeak of books. Hal turned to see a man holding an alarming stack of them, nearly his own height. How he had not fallen over was a true feat. He could hardly make out anything other than giant tomes he recognized as the stock ledgers and inventory lists.

"Here, let me," he smiled easily, gently reaching out to steady the pile as the man gasped a little in surprise, unable to really see him around the books. "I'm assuming you're taking these to the main study?"

It was about that time of day, he reasoned, taking a quick glance outside to measure the sun's height. Barry always took stock this time of day, Hal knew that much, though he'd never been asked to help. Staring at them now, he wondered how Barry managed to get through it all with enough time to make it out hunting for dinner and some extra time with Wally and Hal before they retired for bed.

That twisting in his chest only grew as he measured out half and slid it into his own arms before the man could protest. The weight was considerable and had him frowning. If this was what Barry put up with on a daily basis, it was no wonder he was exhausted by day's end. It made Hal sick just thinking about it.

And then the man spoke and everything just sort of stopped.

"Oh, thank you Hal," Barry smiled tiredly, though there was a twinkle in his eye Hal never saw except when they were alone together. It made his neck burn just meeting his gaze.

"Where are the scribes?" Hal asked him, desperate to get the focus away from him, like if Barry kept staring he'd hear the way Hal's heart had started to speed up. Thankfully, that didn't seem to be the case as they fell into step, heading for Barry's rooms.

"I gave them the day off," he shrugged idly, like it was no big deal for the servants to not serve the lord himself. "The winter festival is approaching soon and I was reminded more than once how much the dear ladies of the town could use some help. So hopefully they're getting things organized."

Hal gaped at him openly, wondering how a man like him could be real, because this kind of generosity, this compassion, it just didn't exist. Not that Hal had seen in all his wandering years.

And yet it was there in the way those blue eyes danced, the way he tried so hard to include everyone, smiled at everyone, at Wally and Roy, at Hal.

"You're impossible." The words were out before he could even think about it and tried to reign in his panic when Barry blinked up at him in confusion. Stammering, he quickly gestured to the stack of books they were carrying. "Do you honestly do this everyday? How do you even find time to breathe with all this?"

Barry snorted a little at that and Hal found himself staring at how his circlet, brimmed in rubies and golden stones, was slightly crooked. It added to the exhaustion on his face in a way Hal suddenly didn't like, as endearing as it was to see.

"It has to be done," was all Barry gave in answer before they reached his study. With a grateful groan, Hal set his stack down on the nearest available surface, trying hard not to turn around at the quiet noises Barry made as he settled the books onto his desk. Forcing his mind to calm down, he counted constellations before turning slowly, his best reproachful look on his face.

Barry was rubbing his shoulder, head tilted, eyes closed, a soft sound leaving him as he dug into the muscle. The protest on Hal's lips dried up over his tongue, gaze fixated on every move his fingers made.

It was far too easy to remember those hands on every inch of him. Hal's daydreams of late more of less featured them exclusively. It was confusing and overwhelming, which made it frustrating, because he was allowed to have desire for his spouse, wasn't he? There was nothing wrong with that.

The problem was, of course, that he wondered what Barry felt about him, Barry who was always polite and treated him kindly, never asking, always giving. Barry who hadn't asked for him but had kept him anyway, who stared up at him with too bright eyes and smiled so beautifully. Barry who worked himself into the ground but still found the time to let Hal know he was important too even though they both knew Hal had never asked for this, would've never asked for this, and only stayed for the sake of peace.

At least, that's what he'd thought. Now, seeing the way Barry slumped in exhaustion, the piles of work waiting, the way his skin prickled and his gut burned just watching him... now Hal was not so sure.

"Thank you Hal," Barry smiled at him and there was an odd sadness in his voice that Hal had no idea what to do with.

"It was nothing," he shrugged, frowning, because it couldn't really be that hard to ask him for help, right? That thought had a surprising sting to it he hated immediately. "Would you like some help with this?"

"Oh, no, I've got it," and Barry was turning towards his workload, the dismissal clear. Any other time, Hal would've gone. Now, it was like his part in this was clear, and how he'd missed it for so long, he didn't know.

"Barry," he reached out, unsure in the proper way of doing this, and felt his breath catch at the way Barry's gaze caught his, the surprise clear, brightening the blue to an impossible hue. "I don't mind helping, you know. Frankly, I feel kinda useless now, seeing all this."

His hand settled on the shoulder that Barry had been massaging and Hal had to fight down the urge to rub it himself given the way Barry tense under him, disbelieve clear on his face, like it was odd for Hal to willingly touch him when they weren't moaning each other's name in bed.

In a way though, reaching out like this, it felt oddly... intimate. And if that look in Barry's eyes was any indication, he felt it too.

The saddest smile Hal had ever seen slipped over his lips, his shoulders slumping a bit and a soft laugh trembled through him. Then his hands were reaching up for Hal, cradling his face, and Hal had to remember to breathe.

"You're not useless," Barry told him quietly and it felt like the moon herself had come to hang over him, setting his world back on course. "I'm just... not used to getting help."

"You don't have to lie," Hal sighed, shoving at the old bitterness of the first days. "I'm no Allen like you are. There's no real greatness in my line; I wasn't meant for things like this. Numbers and stocks are nothing for someone who's head is always in the clouds."

That, of all things, got Barry laughing. Still so sadly, but real enough that his eyes were shining as bright as any star.

"But you are an Allen," he said gently, fingers drifting down to clasp the sides of his neck. "Stubborn and loyal, proud and compassionate. You have a real strength of heart I've not seen for a long time, head in the clouds or not. The village loves you, have you not seen that?"

No, he hadn't. Not really. And it had to have shown on his face, for Barry seemed to deflate a little, but still smiled for him, and that twisted thing in his chest threatened to choke him.

"I'd set you free if I had the power to do it," Barry whispered, nothing but genuine love on his face, and Hal's world tipped forward at his words, numb with shock because there was no doubt he could conjure that that wasn't truth, heart racing that Barry would do that for him, he who had given him nothing.

Hal's hands were gripping Barry's furs before he could stop himself, ears ringing with echoes, stinging in his eyes. And as Barry's brow furrowed, concern on his face, Hal tilted down to kiss him, a warm slide of their lips, gently grateful and shaking with the unknown.

He realized belatedly that they'd never just kissed before, quietly like this, breathing each other in, and he soaked in the way Barry's breath shuddered against his mouth, his body melting beneath his hands. It was like his whole being was coming alive, hypersensitive to each little noise Barry made, his skin humming under each touch. The most tender brush of lips and Barry was suddenly pressed in close, hand fisting in his hair, tugging him down for a better angle. Hal could feel him grin as he gasped.

Sliding his arms around him, Hal pulled back to catch Barry's eye, unable to stop the proud smirk from stretching his lips at the dazed, blissful look on Barry's face. Knowing that he could do that, it filled him with a warmth that settled deep into his bones, more constant than any starfire.

"Come to bed," he whispered. Barry sighed against him, trying for his usual responsible lord expression, but Hal could feel the way he trembled in his hold.

"The ledgers-"

"-will still be there tomorrow," Hal whispered, sliding another kiss over the sound of protest that rose. "You can take a day off too, no one will blame you."

"It's my job to take care of," Barry stated, shaking his head. Hal caught his chin and tilted his head back up, shivering with the ease it took to capture this warlord so completely.

"And it's my job to take care of you." Hal never knew how true those words were until they were already drifting between them. Softly, he guided Barry's arms around his shoulders, pulling him in until he could feel Barry relent. "Come to bed."

"All right, you win," Barry smiled and tugged him down for a kiss that sent sparks of fire tingling down his spine. Hal grinned back in victory, feeling a lightness that all the stars and moonlight in the world had never given him.

Perhaps it was time to start looking forward after all.