See end of chapter for notes.

They really weren't all so similar, Cain insisted to himself. The covers were long since bunched at the bottom of the bed, kicked off when his tossing and turning made him overheat. He had spent too much time looking at similarities between them, when the differences were just as apparent. They were.

Riff was younger. Not physically, no, Riff was the same age Riffael had been when they had first met. But… Even at twenty three, Riffael had moved with an assurance born in confidence. He had been secure in himself, aware of himself, in a way Riff was not… Riff felt so much more lost than Riffael ever had been.

Cain flopped over, and pulled the blanket over his head. This train of thought was only making him feel more guilty. Another difference. There were others. Name another.

Their emotions were intense, incredibly so. Riff though, was… Ah, what was the word for it? Sweet, almost. But that wasn't quite it, however accurate. Riff was sweet, soft even… Yes, that was it. Riff was softer, and Riffael never could have been. Honorable and noble and steadfast, all of that yes, but soft? Gentle? Almost shy? No, never in a knight.

What else? Riff was more passive than Riffael. He'd never say anything to Cain about his own emotions, particularly after- - Cain curled up, squeezing his eyes shut against a threatening dawn. No, no, he wasn't thinking of that. Not again. He was not thinking about how resigned Riff had sounded, how broken.

However different they were under a shared face, though, there was a similarity Cain could no longer ignore. They both loved him. God alone knew why, after Cain had given him so little reason and so much pain, but Riff loved him as much as Riffael ever had. Perhaps even more.

And wasn't that a scary thought…

But no, no, he had been thinking of differences between the two. He couldn't let himself be distracted, or afraid for him, not now. Afraid for him… "Try not to be reckless," Crehador had said. Riff wasn't reckless. Riff was quiet, and sensible, and the fact that Crehador had meant it entirely made Cain feel cold all over, as if his heart was replaced with ice. Riff wasn't reckless, but Riffael had killed an assassin in his defense, and Riff would do the same thing without a second thought, without a day of training.

This was getting him nowhere. Cain rolled onto his back, then tilted to his feet. The pre dawn light was already filtering through the open window, and he sighed. Taking a moment to splash water on his face, he approached the window and leaned against the sill, still thinking. The sun wasn't even up yet, only its promise washing the garden below in pewter tones.

Someone was moving beneath him. Cain stiffened as he recognized Riff, wondering what on earth he was doing.

The servant didn't glance towards the castle once, certain all its inhabitants must be asleep. He moved too easily through the little pathways, stepping lightly over the irregularities in the ground which were invisible in the low lights. He was looking for something, though Cain couldn't begin to think of what. The realization was slow, but it the evidence was unmistakeable.

Riff had done this before, whatever "this" was. He had to have.

But what was he doing?

Half an hour passed. The sky slowly brightened from gray to pink to orange to, finally, blue, and eventually Cain would make out a small bundle of flowers clutched tightly in one hand. Every so often, Riff peered at some slip of paper, comparing it to the small bouquet. Because that's what he had to be doing, making a bouquet.

Cain tucked his shoulders up to his ears for a moment, smiling. He almost laughed (because really, how adorable), but hesitated. Who was he making it for? That was a very good question. He'd certainly never given Cain flowers.

Had he?

Cain's room always had at least one bouquet of fresh flowers. He'd long gotten used to it, even expected it, but now another question occurred to him which (in his arrogance) never had before. Of course he received flowers from his admirers, but who were those admirers? There was lovely lady Meridianna, the fiery Emmeline, the delicate Luka… But he didn't know who had brought half the bouquets at least.

It couldn't have been Riff. Never… When would he have had the time? Though if this morning's scene was anything to judge by, well before anyone else was awake. How much sleep did he actually get? How much unnecessary work did he give himself? Just to make him, Cain, happy?

If I could make you happy, I would. And what was it he had told Crehador? I would sacrifice my soul for his happiness.

Cain was still crying when Riff appeared, his legs pulled up to his chest and his face buried in his arms. The servant abandoned the tray immediately and approached the window, hands hovering awkwardly over his shoulders. God, he was afraid to even touch him, and yet… Cain choked on his own breath again, feeling an absolute mess.

"Master Cain?" Riff asked, one hand finally reaching out to touch, brushing his hair out of his face. He'd abandoned the breakfast tray on the table, but kept the napkin, and began using it to wipe gently at his tears. "Master Cain, what is it? What's wrong?"

Words, unfortunately, were still beyond Cain's ability, and he shook his head, trembling. He couldn't quite articulate the answer to himself, how could Riff expect actual words?

"Do you… do you need me to go?"

That had a definite answer. "No!" Cain reached out and tangled both hands in Riff's shirt, dragging him closer. "Don't leave, don't you dare ever leave me, Riff!"

And, before he had decided to do it, or quite understood what he was doing, Cain pulled himself to his feet so the height difference was in his favor. He almost fell, but he was still clutching at Riff's shirt, and Riff's hands (large and warm and callused and rough and steadying and Riff) had covered them, and this was all very good and very important, because Cain pulled and their lips met and that, that was what he had wanted.

Riff froze. His grip around Cain's hands loosened, just enough that Cain could let go of his shirt, bring them to his face. Riff's lips were parted, probably from surprise, but Cain didn't care and deepened the kiss. He pulled back just enough to catch at his lower lip with his teeth, earning a wonderfully helpless sound he'd never have heard, if they hadn't been sharing each other's breath. And then Riff touched his hair, and pulled him closer, and Cain sighed into his mouth and brushed his thumbs under his eyes.

The tips of Cain's fingers came away damp, and he pulled away, reluctantly. He was still standing on the window seat, staring down at Riff. Riff, whose hair was mussed, whose shirt was tugged just slightly askew, whose breath was unsteady, and who was staring back at him, desperation and a question burning in his eyes. Cain touched the tips of his fingers to his servant's lips, and the man fell still immediately, eyes slipping closed.

He didn't deserve this, not a single ounce of the devotion and love and care Riff had given him, but he was selfish, and greedy, and would take it anyway.

"Riff…" he breathed. "I know what you said to Crehador yesterday."

The servant pulled away, tense, and with every line of his body screaming its shame. "Master Cain, I-"

Cain caught his collar and pulled him back again, this time covering his mouth with his palm. He felt Riff's breath stutter against his palm, and for a moment could only think of how warm it was, could only remember the taste of that same breath, only scant minutes ago. "And," he added, "I saw you in the garden this morning." His eyes flicked over Riff's shoulder, to the abandoned breakfast tray. "Heliotrope. That's from the garden, isn't it?" Riff opened his mouth to protest, but Cain met his eyes steadily, and he fell still again. "You've been bringing me flowers ever since you became my servant," he said quietly. It couldn't be a question, when they both knew the answer. "And after I told you about that stupid system… I'd meant it as a joke, you know! But… oh, Riff…" He leaned forward, kissing the back of his hand where they covered Riff's lips. He couldn't afford to get so distracted, not now. What he was about to say was too important.

Cain pressed their foreheads together, his free hand slipping behind his neck to keep him close. "You've brought my daffodils and heliotrope and daphne and shepherd's purse. Red carnations and white daisies. When I complained of the scent of my rooms, you brought me cedar, cedar, I live for thee…" Cain swallowed. Riff had closed his eyes, as if expecting a reprimand. "And I was too damned blind to see it. You've been confessing your love in every act, every word, every gesture, since I woke," Cain breathed. "And I can't understand it. I heard what you said to Crehador yesterday," he repeated. "I heard your resignation, your defeat. I saw how much pain I have been causing you… And I cannot understand it! How are you still here, let alone still here and loving me, after everything I have done to you…" Cain swallowed, hard. He couldn't cry again, not now. Not now…

They were both still for several long minutes, before Riff stepped back. Cain overbalanced and nearly fell, but Riff had been expecting this and caught him against his chest. Cain expected him to set him back on the floor, as it would have been the sensible thing to do and Riff was invariably sensible, but Riff was also a bit of a romantic, and instead swept him up and carried him to the table, kneeling to place him in the chair. The care in his touch reminded Cain of dolls, delicate, porcelain things that a single mishandling could shatter into a million pieces. Cain wasn't fragile, and he never had been, but Riff treated him as if he was, as if he was precious and valuable and fragile.

He swallowed, hard. "Riff?"

The servant was still kneeling in front of him, head bowed. Finally, he reached out to rest both hands on Cain's knee. "I love you," he breathed, like a condemned man giving a final confession. "I know you love another, that you can not love me. I flatter myself to think you need me, that…" Riff paused. When he continued, his tone was still as steady, still as measured, but his voice was coarser, rougher. "That someday, God willing, perhaps you could even say you need me. I am not Riffael, and I wish I was. Every day, every hour I wish I was Riffael, was what you want. I lost myself to you the moment you opened your eyes and smiled at me… I stay because… because I think leaving you would kill me. I know nothing else."

His hands tightened around Cain's knee, and he curled his shoulders forward until his forehead touched the backs of his hands. He was shaking, still. Cain blinked back tears and touched the back of his head.

"I love you," he whispered. Riff twitched, almost flinched, but Cain persisted. He needed to know. "Riff… Riff, I love you. I do. You're kind and gentle and the sweetest person I've ever met. You're hopelessly romantic and soft spoken and I've never heard you swear. I never want to see you hurt again and I hate myself for putting you through such pain." The servant had pulled back slightly, watching him, searching his face for some sign, some assurance of Cain's honesty. "Riff, I love you," Cain repeated, reaching out to brush fingers against the curve of Riff's cheek, to draw him closer again.

"Not because of…"

"No," Cain interrupted, leaning down close enough to brush their lips together in a chaste, teasing kiss. "No. Because of who you are, Riff. I swear it. I love you."

Riff shuddered, and Cain slipped off the chair entirely. Instead, he curled into his lap, murmuring apologies and promises into his neck. Riff wrapped his arms around Cain's shoulders and pulled him close, rocking back and forth, as if he was still in pain, or perhaps so relieved and happy it felt like pain.

Well, if so… That was all right. Cain would help, as best he could, because Riff had always helped him. And Cain loved him, he knew that now, and could admit that now. It may take a while, but they would be all right. No, not just all right. They would be happy.

On the windowsill a butterfly fluttered: once, twice, before the little thing rose into the air and rode the currents out into the gardens. For a moment, its wings reflected the rising sun as armor might…

…but when the glare faded, it was gone.

A/N: Oh my God, it's actually done...

I am SO sorry this took so long... it's really inexcusable. But it's done, it really is. No more. Sorry, everyone! If there are other snippets published in this, they'll be as separate one shots... But, well, don't hold your breath. I don't really have much else to say in this 'verse. They've got a long way to go before they're one hundred percent comfortable with each other, but they've started, and that's the important thing.

Bits of this fic surprised me... Pleasantly surprised me, but surprised me. It was much more bittersweet than I expected... and I certainly hadn't expected the flowers to be so important. (Kind of glad I nixed the early scene of Cain figuring out Riff's been bringing him flowers and teasing him for it. This is much more meaningful, and I definitely prefer it.)

Flowers mentioned this chapter and meanings:

Daffodils: Chivalry, unequalled love, regards, I send my regards, You're the only one, The sun is always shining when I am with you.
Heliotrope: Devotion
Daphne: I desire to please
Shepherd's Purse: I offer you my all
Red Carnations: My heart aches for you
White Daisies: I'll never tell
Cedar: Think of me, I live for thee

I hope you enjoyed the fic, and to those of you who have watched it through to its conclusion... Thank you so much for your patience.

Anonymous Review Replies!

Pikeebo:

I've been going back and forth the entire fic on whether or not Crehador was going to still be alive... I knew from the beginning that I had a way for it to be possible (which I hope came through in the narration itself) and I also knew that Cain really was going to need a kick in the ass before he could do anything about Riff. Crehador is something of an expert at providing that kick in the ass... I'm a little disappointed in myself that I didn't bring him in this chapter, too, but it just... well, seemed unnecessary. He's probably still hanging around the castle somewhere, making trouble and being sassy.

Hopefully this chapter eased some of your fears about Riff's relation to Cain.