Archive of Our Own

"You smell like wet dog."

Tony viciously stomped on the urge to roll his eyes and swallowed hard around a put upon sigh. He narrowed his eyes for a second before straightening his stance even further. His new leathers creaked loudly in the heavy silence that followed and he clenched his jaw to keep from flushing with embarrassment.

The brutal training period he'd endured had not been enough to break in the armaments properly, to get them soft and silent like he had wanted but considering how rushed it all had been, the quartermaster at the armory could do naught but thrown up his hands in exasperation and grab a closest militia kit, shoving it into Tony's hands. He'd ended up having to tweak and customize the heavy leather armor at night while soaking his aching feet with Epsom salted water and rubbing that god-awful poultice on his bruised and battered flesh. But that was what he'd signed up for … literally, so he'd stifled a painful groan, kept his head down and tried to rub the life back into his swollen fingers.

The leathers were a dark, supple brown and were heavier than most, originally made for the brutish melee fighters of the militia but Tony had lucked out genetically so his natural broad shoulders and core strength helped him lift and move the gear with an easy grace. He'd had to make cuts and re-joints in several places to facilitate ease of movement as well as carefully sew in secret pockets and pouches to tuck his tools of the trade.

He'd also had to switch out the lead toed, weighted boots for a softer pair from the skilled leather workers at Merchants Row even though it had cost him more than half his first month's salary. He desperately counted and horded money now, but It had been a worthy investment towards not breaking his ankle every time he stepped into conflict wearing the cumbersome skull crushers.

A throat being cleared gruffly brought him back to the moment and the butt ugly painting that hung behind the large ornate desk. It was a depiction of the Great Mishanter by some long dead art maestro. It was more than a hundred years old and the ornate carved frame was just as unfortunate as the painting itself. Tony felt a pang of sympathy for the poor soul charged with cleaning the wretched thing.

In fact, Tony was sure that the only thing keeping the garish hung as the tragic centerpiece to the otherwise well-appointed if stern office, was the fact that it had been a gift for the fifth Elect who, being historically known for having extremely poor taste, decreed that the piece would hang in a place of honour for the next hundred years. So up it went and up it stayed through the reign of three more Elects. Eventually everyone just accepted their fate and left the eyesore up there.

It always titillated Tony when he was younger to hear his father tell of his visits to the office of the Elect. Just another joke Dinozzo Sr. would tell his son in secret about the antics of the gilded class. They would sip cognac into of the fire in his father's study, the hard liquor burning his young throat and making his eyes sting, and his father would tell story after story of covered up scandals, late night liaisons, secret deals and many other skeletons rattling around the closets of the rich.

Tony blinked those memories away, squashing the sharp pain in his chest at the thought of his father. He glanced down from his wool gathering to meet hard glittering eyes of the Twelfth Elect of the Ierde. The current Elect had been newly appointed, an old militia stalwart with a family legacy amongst the Gilded Class. He towed a hard line but still had enough of a head for the shark infested waters of Ierde politics. Salt and Pepper hair and full beard covered facial scaring earned over countless battles, the usually ornate robes of the Elect stripped down to an understated glory and stretched over a broad barrel chest and tree trunk arms.

"If it were up to me I'd have you stripped of title and sent out unto the wastelands with nothing but a pair of boots, a dull knife and a canteen of water like any other deserter. Let you try to survive the night wraiths that haunt the outer walls."

The man leaned back into his large chair with a scowl, leaning a scarred cheek on one large fist; his voice soft and deadly. Tony stoically kept silent, his eyes glues to the awful painting because one did not look at or talk to the Elect without express permission. The Elect frowned, eyes flinty as he broke open the seal on an official temple scroll, sneering as he read the quick yet damning missive.

"I never thought that the son of DiNozzo would resort to this…" he gestured to the scroll unfurled before him "… this cowardice."

Tony swallowed hard, clenching his hands into fists at his sides. His face flushed at the slur. The blunt accusation of cowardice was a slap to the face to a blooded son of the DiNozzo Line. There was no room for Cowards or Fools in his father's eyes. Tony clenched his jaw against his rebel tongue and kept his gaze zeroed in on a particularly appalling smudge of paint.

"To think that you thought yourself sharp enough so circumvent your father's will, to throw my favour on your family back in my face, to sully your family honour with your childish mewling. This engagement would have bolstered both sides of the campaign, fortifying both sides against siege.… and you go and ruin it all with some child's TANTRUM?"

A heavy fist slammed against the large wooden desk, making both Tony and the delicate scroll jump. The Elect picked up the scroll by two fingers with a sneer, throwing it at Tony's feet.

"You are very lucky that the Temple has sent an official decree declaring your decision to walk the Path. If those decrepit old relics didn't still hold so much sway on the populace, I would have burned them out of their catacombs the moment I took seat."

The man took a deep breath as if to suppress the growling that had crept into his voice and looked up at Tony's face.

"Lucky for you my hands are tied. The law is clear and the Ninken scroll accepted you. By all rights the flame of the Dog Path burns brightly within the Keep once again. So mote it be. Though I have nothing but disdain for you Summoner, I have to commend the way you circumvented both your father's and my plans. Not many can do an end run around me like that."

A heavy satchel of paper was thrown at Tony's chest and he scrambled quickly to catch it before it fell.

"Report to Ien Squadron. Your cadre will be taking orders from its Commander. I don't have time to babysit some raggedy mutts."

The dismissal was loud and clear so Tony wasted no time at all in scooping up the thin scroll at his feet before shooting off a precision salute before turning sharply on his heel and striding out of the room. The large heavy doors slammed shut behind him and he shuffled to the closest wall, leaning against it despite the smirks of the nearby guards.

The breath whooshed out of him like a punctured balloon as he willed his knees to stop knocking. "Sacred Spirits"

Tucking the satchel between his thighs, he carefully unraveled and smoothed out the delicate parchment, revealing the fine spindly writing of the temple scholars. Below the short, straightforward missive; the intricate lines of the ninken summoning path sprawled across the paper. Tony scraped his thumb against a small spike on his belt and squeezed a healthy drop of blood unto the pad of his finger.

Then, carefully, he applied the blood to the path, yelping at the zing when the line flashed red then blackened. The paper crumbled to ash before he could even blink and he uselessly tried to catch the ashes before giving up. The brand on the back of his neck warmed and faded as he shifted in his armor, running gloved fingertips over the raised flesh.

He was a summoner now. He couldn't believe it worked. He knew that as soon as he'd signed the ancient scroll had hadn't dropped dead in his tracks that he'd been accepted. He'd endured the harsh training believing that he'd been accepted. He'd even suffered the branding and tattoos believing that he'd been accepted. But the difference between believing and knowing was the frail little scroll sent to the Elect from the Temple for such a small scroll it sure packed a huge wallop.

Despite the fact that this last action was supposed to be performed in the office he just strode out of, under the very eyes of the man who obviously hated him, with all the pomp and ceremonies endowed unto declaring a new path walker that had been spitefully denied him; Tony felt nothing but relief that finally, he was free from his father's control. He was free of being tangled up in the spiders' web of lies and favours that his father seemed to thrive on up in the Gilded Cage. Free from being paraded around at carefully planned gatherings filled with cold food and colder people.

When Tony was a child, he'd been fascinated by his father's world but as he'd grown older and started growing into the beauty his mother had blessed him with, his father had stopped looking at him as a protégé and started looking at him as a playing card. A trinket, a pretty bauble to be displayed, admired, traded if the price was right. And when the Elect had come knocking, seeking a trophy for his friend - a fellow veteran and Old War Horse- Jethro Gibbs - Hero of the Simian Wars; DiNozzo Senior could not resist securing a potential favour with the power base of Ierde.

One day Tony had been living the life of a gilded youth, the next he'd woken to his mother gleefully picking out wedding clothes. What burned the most at the time was that his father had not even asked his opinion on the matter. Had not asked of Tony were willing to be wed to a harsh and stone hearted soldier with bruising hands and icy blue eyes. Tony had always known that his marriage would be a political, loveless as most amongst the gilded were but he always believed that he would go into one with his eyes open.

That he AND his father with sit and plan the union that would serve their family best. That he would have some say in the way he would spend the rest of his life. The fact that he'd been all but sold off to some… some savage from wars long ago, had been like a knife to the heart for Tony. The fact that his own father could sell him off like chattel without any hesitation or remorse had been like someone had ripped the veil away from his world.

His mother had been no help, smiling as she planned the nuptials, frowning and flitting away when Tony raged against his father and his betrothal. She refused to come to him when he finally gave up screaming and lay sobbing against the rich fabrics of his bed. He could not fault her too much as she'd been a trophy wife as well, the daughter of a lesser house from the Trije district. She hadn't loved his father but they'd grown fond of each other throughout the years. Just like she never really loved Tony, just doted on him like the heir he was.

Tony understood fondness, he understood marrying for the good of the family. Love was rare in the Keep, especially amongst the Gilded. The Cage was a hotbed for sex and scandal. Love was an innocent thing that never survived for very long. Tony had accepted that his life would be one of compromise and sacrifice but he would be given to another like some simple thing. Some wergild to be paid in order to coin favour from the Fist of Power.

He'd been sick with fever for a few days, his man servant fretting over Tony's moans as the young man twisted and writhed on the bed. Timothy had brought cool cloths soaked in water to rub tony down several times a day, calling in the healer when the fever spiked dangerously. His tears joined Tony's when the fever finally broke and they both lay trembling with exhaustion.

It had been Tim who'd suggested walking the Path when Tony had been lamenting his fate. The laws of Ierde were clear cut and vigorously enforced. The agreement between the Elect and his father and legal Guardian was iron clad. The only loop hole was one that that been handed down from the old times, when the Temple of the Deep held sway over the governing of the Keep.

Those fated to walk the path of summoning would be held apart from any familial affiliations, contracts, debts, military drafts, lawful or unlawful imprisonment and most importantly, they would be held exempt from any and all betrothals, marriages, engagements or understandings.

The law was old, ancient even and they had a hard time finding anything on record about it. It was only when Tony and his mother had gone to one of her Ladies' Charity Luncheons where they spent the first ten minutes discussing the poor unfortunates that lived below the Cage and the rest of the evening exchanging petty gossip about the ladies unlucky enough not to be invited to the Ladies Charity Luncheon.

Tony had wandered into the library to escape the petty snipes of the hosts youngest daughter Ziva, and had met up with her older brother Ari. Ari David was a strange one, sultry and flirtatious one minute, sullen and disinterested the next. They'd only known each other in passing as DiNozzo Sr. didn't often do business with the Merchant Class, even though Moussad was one of the Largest in the San District. But as strange as Ari usually was, he was an expert in Ierde Law and Tony had come away from the afternoon with a head full of information.

It had taken them three nights to find a way to escape the Cage and venture down into the Temple of the Deep. The night before he was due to be wed. For the entire journey Tony had been terrified that at any moment his father's men would be upon them, that Gibbs would step out of a shadow with his cold eyes and freezing touch, that the temple clerics would turn them away and they would be finished.

It was easy to get in though, the head cleric himself had led Tony down to the scroll room, leaving Tim in the cold and drafty entry hall. With a solemn voice, the Cleric told warned Tony that rejection from the scroll meant certain death and that many had tried and failed before. Many had tried and died.

He'd had to grip his wrist with his other hand in order to even hold the knife used to cut into his forearm, collecting the blood into a small bowl with quill. His name looked almost eligible in shaky scrawl but the Cleric nodded in satisfaction. After a few seconds of heart thumping fear, Tony opened one tightly squeezed eye to see the old man looking at him with an amused raised eyebrow.

He was alive. He quickly turned in time to see his scratching glow red and sink into the heavy ornate scroll and turn a deep red. He looked up the scroll, gulping at the long line of burnt black letters interspersed with a few deep red names, marks and even a thumb print or two. The clerics guiding hand had guided him back up to the entry way where a pale Tim had stood waiting.

Tony had fallen into his faithful servants arms and sobbed in relief, bidding Tim a tearful goodbye as the Cleric guided Tony deeper into the Temple Sanctum when he would be bestowed the marking of his path. That was the last time he'd seen Tim. The last he'd heard from one of the Cage patrolmen was that Tim had been stripped of all title and worth and thrown out onto the streets with a beating.

Luckily they'd planned for that very thing and had arranged for Tim to be picked up and taken in by allies, sponsored by the sale of all of Tony's most valuable trinkets. It's not like Tony would ever need them again. The life of a summoner was a simple one, paid for by the temple funds.

By the time Tony had emerged from the Temple, newly branded and aching from his tattoos; news of his actions had already spread throughout the Gilded Cage and word of his father's anger had been terrifying. An official porter had found him within his newly acquired quarters in the barracks two days after his physical training had begun. With him came a court ordered decree stating that all records of the Anthony DiNozzo Jr, Son and Heir of the Dinozzo Line would be hereto forth struck from the records and that whosoever alive or dead to bear that name would now be known as the UnNammen, the Un-named. It was sealed with the deep green wax and impress of the Elect's personal ring and left Tony feeling lost and adrift.

He'd expected it, of course, but seeing it in print had been devastating him for despite it all, he still loved his parents, still craved their approval. Still felt proud of his family lineage, an unbroken line of DiNozzo's traced back all the way to the Before Time, the days preceding the Great Mishanter and the Falling Skies. But in the end, he'd made his choice and he would rather live a life of conflict and danger as a Summoner than one of submission and of heavy hands groping his body in the night.

At least this way, he was walking into his fate by his own choice.

At least this way, he could pretend at being free.

.............................................................................................................

Tony spit out blood on to the stamped dirt fight circle and hefted his staff once again with a blood smeared grin, running his tongue against his teeth to check if any were loose. He feigned left, ducking under the swing of a heavy wooden mace to bring his staff up against an unprotected torso. His opponent twisted away nimbly, bringing the mace up to clip Tony's shoulder guard. Even the glancing blow was enough to throw Tony off his feet and he slammed into the packed dirt with a grunt of pain.

He rolled into the fall and ended up in a tip toed crouch at the very edge of the circle. His shoulder throbbed and he gave it a tentative roll, gasping as the pain skittered down his arm, making his fingers spasm. His staff fell from his good hand as he braced himself against toppling over, biting back a curse.

A gloved hand appeared before his face and Tony grasped it, letting it pull him to his feet with a grimace. They bowed to end the training session with respect and a hand slapped his uninjured shoulder as his opponent chuckled softly.

"You're slow today Summoner. What bothers you?"

Tony shrugged, rolling his shoulders as they walked towards the long benches that ran the length of the training hall. He grimaced as deft hands undid the buckles at his shoulder harness and gently prodded the blossoming bruise peeking out from his sweaty, thin undershirt.

"A lot on my mind, I suppose."

The other huffed a laugh, "Still letting Ien Commander get under your skin?"

Tony groaned and dropped his head in his hands at the memory of that horrible first meeting, uncaring that he was smearing dirt and sweat from the gloves across his face and sweat damp hair. What a fucking disaster that had been. The man had kept Tony waiting outside his offices for over three hours before their first briefing, blatantly letting the summoner know of the utter lack of respect he had for the Summoning Path in general.

Maybe it was the way he left the newly formed Cadre to languish in the training barracks for over last five months, waiting to be recognized officially as part of the cohort. Or maybe it was because the man had been 'Second B is for Bastard' Gibbs' favourite war protégé and respected the hell out of Tony's No Longer Fiancé To Be as a soldier and former commander, going so far as to inherit command of the Ien Roughnecks after Gibb's own promotion to District Militia Chief.

One thing was sure… Steve McGarret- Commander of Ien company was a right bastard. A complete and utter fatherless, sadistic, cold hearted, B-A-S-T-A-R-D. Granted Tony had only been face to face for ten minutes on a couple of occasion so he couldn't realistically base any judgment of the man on first impressions alone but still… sacred spirits the man was a son of a bitch.

It didn't help the fact that McGarret was hot like burning and that Tony wanted to climb the man like a tree from the first moment he'd laid eye on him.

Whatever the reason McGarret had for being a complete shit stick it did not bode well for Tony's future as Summoner for Ien District. Sometimes Tony wondered if the Sacred Spirits were laughing their spectral asses off on the higher planes for all he wanted to bash his own head against the stone walls of the keep after their first strained briefing.

Tony sighed as calloused fingers rubbed the awful smelling poultice into his swelling shoulder, glancing up at his training partner and Bulwark with a grateful smile. The first time Tony had met Chin Ho Kelly, he'd been new to the barracks; still reeling from his escape from the Gilded Cage. He'd been shunted into militia training without so much as a by your leave and left to sink or swim among the other new recruits.

It also did not help that his family name had been stripped from him and all the other recruits gave him looks of pity and disgust for being UnNammen. - an unnamed one. It also did not help that as a child of the gilded class, Tony had never really been trained in physical combat of any kind other than watching the whimsical mediation katas his mother's instructor flounced through when he wasn't bending her over the nearest meditation cushion.

But Tony wasn't the DiNozzo heir for nothing and had taken all manner of skill training in his youth which kept him fit and toned his body much to the envy of the slovenly youth of the other Gilded Families. He was also whip smart and picked up skills with relative ease. To say the other recruits were surprised when Tony caught up to then excelled past them in combat, endurance and weapons training.

Chin Ho Kelly had been the instructor for Weapons, seconded from the Militia while the actual Weapons Master was down with Pit Fever. A veritable wunderkind with the blade, the bow, the staff and everything in between, Kelly favoured a heavy mace called the Answer among the militia veterans. It was a terrifying thing, heavy with sharp iron teeth that looked thirsty for blood.

Half the trainees had trembled before it. A couple pissed their pants as Kelly moved like a whirlwind of devastation that first day, graceful and unstoppable. Tony, like many others, manages to last mere seconds against the thing before they were eating dirt. Unlike the others, though, Tony had been the only one to get up for another go instead of tapping out.

He'd ended up whimpering in a cot at the healers overnight for that; but it got him a slight nod of acknowledgement from the man at the next session. Kelly was a man of few words and it took nearly three months of Tony taking beating after beating without shirking for the other man to say a word to him that wasn't "Again".

Granted, the second word had been a curse word after Tony had managed to take both himself and Kelly to the ground with a desperate and lucky strike from his Bo staff. The end result had been both of them laying in the training circle covered in dirt, laughing while the other recruits looked on in ill-disguised horror.

After that, the weapons master had taken Tony under his wing of sorts. Training was still brutal as always of course but under Kelly's guidance, Tony excelled. By the time Tony had gotten his validation from the Elect, he'd come to see Chin Ho Kelly as not only a mentor but as a treasured friend. It seemed only natural to Tony to offer him the position of Bulwark.

.......................................................................................................................

"Thirteen" Tony offered.

"Thirty." the old man countered.

Tony scoffed, holding up the half empty bag of wrinkled fruit. "Thirty? Have you seen these? They're practically compost. Fifteen."

The old man raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Have YOU seen anyone else with citrus at all? Crop levels are low this year and the Militia and the Cage still taking their lion's share. Even the Merchant's Guild and the Sisterhood of Threads have had to do without. Who are you to ask for more than this? Be grateful for what you get boy… Summoner or no."

Tony frowned at the sorry looking fruit and cast a look up to the higher Steppes, the glass and gold structure of the gilded cage just visible in the dim sunlight. If he went on his toes he could just see the edges of the Forest Steppe where the beast masters roamed thick canopy of trees. Just below that was the Farming Steppe, the vast ring of green that he used to look down upon as a boy. So much lush and vibrant bursts of life, watered by an intricate network of irrigation ducts.

The days of this youth when he snuck out of the Cage with Tim and ran through the orchards, rows upon rows of trees laden with fruit; laughing and plucking anything he wanted fresh from the vine. They would lay under the shadow of the trees, sated and full, watching dappled sunlight dance through the leaves, exchanging innocent kisses sweet and sticky with fruit juice until the beast masters found them and sent them home with a scolding.

The greens seemed so far away now, the lower Steppes bare of almost all nature except for the deep purple succulents that seemed the only thing capable of thriving so far out of the sun. Tony felt a pang of longing for his old life and seriously contemplated paying through the nose for the paltry bag of fruits just to have that taste once again when a loud bang startled him.

A figure dressed in huge shapeless overalls, black with oil and pipe muck and smelling just as fresh, had stomped up to them in the middle crowded market street and thumped a heavy wrench unto the rickety wooden table, shaking the precariously stacked piles of fruit sending a few rolling off the table and into the street where they immediately disappeared into the hands of scrubby looking street urchins. A domed hardhat and thick leather face protector covered the entire head with only two circles of darkened glass for eyes. Thick boots and gloves completed the look with a patchwork tool belt slung heavy across narrow hips.

The old fruit seller glared at the culprit. The culprit glared at Tony. Tony glanced between the two.

A gloved hand waved away the old man's protests and a thick muffled voice came through the small metal grid in the face protector.

"You the Summoner for Ien District? The Dog path burns again in the Keep?"

Tony blinked and nodded slowly. The old man scowled and began repacking his fruit, snatching the bag from Tony's hand.

"Heard you're looking for a Gamesman."

Tony narrowed his eyes at the old man and scowled, turning back to the figure, "Yup. Had a few potentials… couldn't cut it."

"Good" the other grunted, hefting the wrench back unto re-enforced shoulder guards. "… 'cause I'm the one you been waiting for."

They stuck out a thick gloved hand.

"Scuito. Pipeworks. Did 97 on skill assessment. 91 on tactics. 48 on hand to hand but the instructor was a hack. Know my way around a bladed weapon though. Heard you got Kelly as Bulwark. He's good."

Tony made a small face at the greasy glove. It looks caked with muck. "Seems like you've heard a lot of things."

The figure chuckled sheepishly and pulled their hand back, reaching up to take off the head gear. Underneath the hulking suit was a young woman with pale skin, full lips and dazzling green eyes. She grinned and pulled off one of her gloves, sticking her hand back out to shake.

"You hear a lot of things when you walk the pipes. So whadya say? Gimme a try?"

Tony grasped her forearm in the traditional warrior's greeting and her smile grew even wider. "What makes you think you can succeed others have failed?"

"That's because no militia man wants to be in a Cadre with a summoner who pissed off both the New Elect and his good old boy and war horse Gibbs. There's no future in that career path. Even if there were… most don't think you'll last more than a couple months at most. No one believes a Caged Bird can cut it in real battle and that Ien Commander is going to announce news of your death by suicide any day now. Also, most of them volunteered in order to get in some one on one training will Kelly now that he is no longer in training rotation after becoming Bulwark. He's such a legend in combat. "

She shrugged, "Fuck them though. I figured if you wanted to be out of your old life bad enough to sign away your life to the path, to put blood to summoning scroll and live, then you can understand how much I don't want to spend the rest of my life walking the pipes. That place cannot be my grave. I won't allow it."

Clear green eyes met his. "What say you Summoner?"

Tony blinked, stunned at her honesty. "Damn, you really do hear a lot of things when you work the pipes"

The old man with the fruit nodded in agreement before closing his stall on the both with a scowl and snap of the shutters.

Scuito grinned and reached into her baggy sleeve, pulling out a a small ripe fruit and tossing it to Tony. He caught it with one hand and blinked dumbly at it for a second before bursting into laughter right there in the middle of the street. He took a large bite, grinning as the juice burst upon his tongue and for a moment he was back in the old orchard, Tim by his side, sweet and sticky kisses between boys in the dappled sunlight.

He grinned at her and held his hand to her. "Tony the Unnamed. Summoner of the Ninken Path. Well met."

"Abby Scuito…" She returned his smile and grasped his hand, "… Gamesman. Well met."

……………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Abby fell in with Tony and Chin Ho like the last puzzle piece. She was whip smart with a sharp tongue and a winning smile that had been wasted in working the pipes in the lower levels of the keep. She'd been born the daughter of a Miner but after seeing her father and brothers kill themselves slowly day by day in the iron dust, she'd vowed to find a better way to live her life. She blackmailed a rich uncle into writing an endorsement for her to take the placement tests and had done well in everything except hand to hand.

Scuito swore up and down that the teacher was a hack but Kelly had dug into it and had found reports of attempted misconduct which had resulted in Scuito being put under evaluation and had the instructor coming away with large scar across his belly and one less testicle. When broached on the subject Scuito had narrowed her eyes and bared her teeth, snapping them shut with a sharp click that had left both men clearing their throats and crossing their legs. In retaliation, the instructor was able to get her booted down to pipe works, relegating her to the very kind of life she'd been trying to avoid.

She was strong for her size, the heavy protective gear from pipeworks was built like a tank and was just as heavy to wear. She was quicker though, more flexible that Kelly or even Tony in battle, and her skill with a blade was as formidable as she'd professed. After getting her kitted out at the quarter master's and set up in the barracks, they'd presented their complete Cadre to Ien Commander with a request.

"You want a house?" Steve McGarret sprawled back into his chair with a frown, his hands clasped across his taut stomach.

Tony cleared his throat and quickly blinked away the thought of falling to his knees, pushing the heavy knit tunic aside and licking the trail of hair leading down into the man's britches. The commander was dressed for the office, his heavy armor carefully mounted near his desk for easy access, so that man was in some fitted charcoal britches and a grey knit sweater. Heavy enough for battle, light enough for Tony to see the muscles bunch and moved as the man did. He had broad shoulders perfect for scrapping finger nails across and slip hips begging for Tony to wrap his legs around.

He viciously pulled his mind away from that dangerous thought and nodded. "Yes, I've… we've…. The Team… has been reading up on the roles and responsibilities of Summoning Cadres and we came across an edict that Cadres should be permitted separate quarters from the militia.

Sharing barracks with the other recruits as we are now…. We are not able to eat, live and train together as we should. It was of less importance when it was just Kelly and I but now that we have a full Cadre, I… we believe that it’s time to form a more permanent base of operations.”

Tony winced at McGarret’s blank stare, cursing his tendency to stumble over his words whenever he stood face to face with the man. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Scuito trying to keep a straight face at his rambling, her eyes bright with amusement. Kelly looked as inscrutable as he always did, having witnessed Tony’s verbal flailing first hand on several occasions.

“I must admit that I never thought you’d get this far.” McGarret swiveled in his chair a bit to face them all. “I mean, a spoiled and swaddled gilded bird choosing to walk the path of sacrifice? Giving up your life of luxury for a life of service, of battle.”

McGarret leans his cheek against his fist and gives Tony an appraising look. Tony can feel Scuito bristling like a cat behind him, hear Kelly clenching his gloved fist and pushes down his own ire at the commander’s careless words. Tony narrowed his eyes with a small smirk.

“Mayhap I decided that a life of service and sacrifice was preferable to the alternative.”

The Commander’s eyes narrowed. The broken betrothal to former Commander Gibbs still a sore spot for the soldier. Just as he was about to open his mouth to speak, no doubt to deny or delay Tony’s request out of spite, a messenger came through the office door with an urgent missive.

McGarrett scowled as he read the small scroll, curling his lip in distaste. He threw the scroll onto the paper strewn desk and fixed Tony with a heated glare.

“Looks like your request will have to wait until we get back.”

Just great. Tony just knew that McGarret would try something like this. Pushing back his decision again and again while making Tony wait. But it wasn’t just Tony anymore and the man had no right to be treating his Cadre like this.

But… wait a minute. He runs the last words again in his mind. “Uh… get back?”

Ien Commander smirked as he stood. “Yes. We’ve been summoned to a War Council by the Elect and that means you too Summoner. Report to the Cohort in one hour and pack for campaign. We may not get the chance to return. Looks like you get to find out if you are truly suited to walk the path eh? Dismissed.”

Tony lets Kelly guide him back to the barracks by a hand at his elbow, his mind racing. Scuito jumping around in front of them in excitement.

“War! Can you believe it? A war council called by the elect. There hasn't been a war council in over twenty seven years. Sacred Spirits we get to go up to the Battle Hall at the very top of the keep. Do you think we’ll get a chance to see the great orchards, or see the vast greens… ooh ooh maybe we can get to see the sisterhood of threads. I saw one once you know… just a glance though. Did you know that they cleansing powder they use are made up of he ground bones of the dead…that's why their skin is bleached white like that. well ... that’s what my nanna said but she was a bit crazy so I’m not sure if I believe her.

Scuito stopped dead and turned wide eyes to Tony. “T, do you think we’ll get to see the Gilded Cage? Up close I mean. I know you came from there. Would that be too awkward for you? We don’t have to go near it if you want, it’s just that I’ve never been. And i….”

Tony smiled and slowly placed a hand around Scuito’s shoulder, hugging her carefully to his side. He and Kelly had earned a couple of lacerations by not properly telegraphing any movements into Scuito’s personal space.

“Hey it’s fine. We can try to see as much as we can if you want. What I’m really concerned about this War Council business. What to do think Kelly? What are we looking at here?”

Chin Ho shrugged, his heavy shoulder guards shifting with the movement. “Pack smart. Travel light. Use storage scrolls and supplies to make more. Scuito and I will also carry extra Summoning supplies in our gear. Favoured weapons and at least two back ups. Don’t leave anything behind that you wouldn’t mind never seeing again. Say your goodbyes to your families.”

Tony looked at them both and gave a rueful grin. “I guess I’m not too concerned about that last one.”

Scuito shrugged. “Said goodbye the day I left for placements.”

Kelly nodded once. “last of my squad died along the outer walls three years ago. Night wraith incursion.”

It’s said in such a matter of fact way that Tony is hit with a sudden pang of sadness. He shares a glance with Scuito who is also frowning. Tony rests a hand on his Bulwark’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze as he hug Scuito tighter to him. This is his team. His Cadre. The only family he has to say anything to.

He gives them both a grin “Come on slow pokes. We’ve got packing to do. We can’t keep Ien Commander waiting can we?”

Scuito gives him a sly grin. “speaking of Ien Commander…”

Tony backs up, shaking his head “No no no…. just no. don’t you start too.”

Scuito grinned wickedly “ Too?” she turns to Kelly, “You know?”

Tony scowls, stopping in his tracks “Know what?”

Kelly chuffs “Of course I know. I’m not blind”

“Know what?” Tony demanded, head swiveling to glare hotly at the both. “Tell me”

They both grin at him and take off down the path to the barracks, leaving Tony to run after them or get left behind, his voice echoing through the halls.

“Come on you guys… tell me”

............................................................................

They make it to the meeting point with time to spare, Ien Commander scowling at them from atop his battle salamander. Tony had only ever seen one up close as they tended only to be used along the outer walls but he’d heard that McGarrett had earned his rank and his men’s fealty in skirmishes in the outer lands.

As a boy Tony often wondered what it was like to leave the walls of the keep. To wander the bad lands where the night wraiths waited in every shadow. Almost everyone knew the nightmarish tales of Bogluttons that could swallow rider and steed whole, the CarverWings that snatched men up two at a time in their giant claws, spitting toxin that paralyzed a man while they used the edges of their large wings to slice them stem to stern and feast on their still beating hearts. Or the GimmelFrogs with their toxic tongues, the weeping trees that drove men insane.

These were stories told to every child. To warn them of what happened if you went outside the walls. Even the bravest of militia patrols only ventured so far before turning back. The great Mishanter and the Falling Skies that followed had poisoned the earth and had given birth to the abominations… ‘the folly of our fathers’ they were sometimes called.

Some days Tony would watch from his father’s office window out unto the vast barren plains, dark and grey despite the bet efforts of the weak sunlight. The mountains beyond were all but black lumbering figures n the distance, crown by eternal thunder and burning rains.

Tony shivered at the memory, drawing his attention back to the commanders steed. Kelly steps up to his side, adjusting the bulky pack on his shoulder. They watch together as attendants strap armored plates unto the beast, dodging quickly as it hissed and snapped sharp teeth at them. McGarret grunted and flexed his thighs and the salamander calmed enough for the rest of the armor to be outfitted. The lizard’s skin looked rough to the touch but somehow warm, a slight sheen to its reddish brown colour.

“Ever been up close to one?” he murmured to Kelly without breaking his gaze from the creature.

“Had two riders seconded to my squad once for night patrol along the singing cliffs. Needed climbers to scale the cliffs and check for wraith nests. Stumbled unto one halfway up the third cliff and the wraiths went crazy. There must have been fifteen of them at once. One rider took out six, the other seven. All by them selves. Never seen anything like it. Everyone came back alive. Only time that ever happened outside the keep.”

“No shit.” Tony boggled, “Seven wraiths? By themselves.” He whistled appreciatively, turning back to look at McGarret with greater regard. The man was still a bastard though… but still. “that is seriously badass.”

“Salamanders are strong, fierce and savage. It takes someone strong, fierce and savage to control them.” Scuito spoke from behind them. She too had a bulky pack and was wearing her full militia kit. She grinned at them and pulled out a pair of darkened goggles. “I got these on Merchant’s Row for the sunlight up there…” she pointed to the upper steppes, “don’t want to go blind stepping into sunlight for the fist time. Is it true that it’s warm? And that t shows you what colours really look like… truly? Oh… hang on…. they are almost ready to move out. Let’s go low pokes.”

She punches them both on the shoulder and heads to where the rest of the delegation is forming ranks. Tony hustles to catch up with her, taking in the lines of Ien Commander’s wide shoulders and strong back as he sits astride his steed. As if feeling the press of the stare against his back, McGarret turns in the saddle, meeting Tony’s admiring gaze. Tony startles and looks away, his cheeks colouring from being caught. By the time he chances a look back, the man is facing forward once again. Tony can feel heat crawl up his neck and wishes the stone walkway would crumble and crack, swallowing him whole.

Thankfully, Scuito’s enthusiasm over absolutely everything distracts him. He knows that both he and Kelly have been to the upper steppes before, Kelly as part of the Militia and his being a former cages bird but Scuito had never been further that Merchant’s row and even then never to the upper levels of the ring until after she’d been made Gamesman.

She practically vibrated when they made it past militia command and unto the Steppe where the Sisterhood of threads held court. Whereas the elect ruled over the living and the Temple held unto the past, the sisterhood took care of the dead and planned for the future. Everything from carefully crafted and planned bloodlines, marriages and childbirth; the internment of the wealthy dead, the burning of the poor; the healing of the militia’s wounds, a comfort to the sick.

Their bleached white skin from years and years of coating their faces and hands with bone dust and ash. The mother superiors in all white an flowing habits, their young initiates following like ducklings in their pale blue and their still mournful, yet to be jaded eyes.

They could just see the sunlight on the tops of the taller buildings and as they ascend once more. Tony braces Scuito as they emerge unto the farming steppe, grasping her elbow as she stumbled into the light and violent burst of green that made even McGarrett give pause.

Tony and Kelly brace Scuito between them as she stumbled along, surreptitiously wiping away moisture from her cheeks. Her breathing evens out as they pass unto the forestry steppe, this time Tony had to take a shaky breath because by the spirits, he missed this place. The squadron takes a break under the trees for a water break and Tony takes a moment to step away from the group sitting in wonderment at the sun dancing through the leaves.

He leans against a fruit tree and grasps at a branch, bringing it down to his face so that he can smell the fragrant blossoms. It’s too soon for this particular fruit to be in season and the first flowers are just opening into vibrant reds and oranges.

A sound startles him and he quickly spins to face it, blade in hand. A familiar raspy chuckle greets him ad he relaxes. “Master Mallard.”

Mallard chuckles again, one hand settled on the shoulder of a large salamander while the other hand feeds the beast small black berries. A long rough tongue snakes out to grab each berry and deposits them unto row upon row of small razor sharp teeth. Tony sucks in a deep breath, fascinated.

He takes a step closer, his hand itching to touch that rough skin, to find out if it is warm or cool, clammy or dry. His mind races with questions until he blinks and realizes that he is one step away from the creature. He glances warily at Beast master Mallard, he remembers him well from his childhood. Mallard always had a way of knowing exactly where Tim and Tony were hiding, rousting them out and cuffing them gently around the ears before sending them on their way. The beast master didn’t seem like one to care about rank or recognition and probably would not hesitate to cuff Tony around the ears even now, summoner or not.

“You were always too curious for your own good, young DiNozzo. Good thing you were as skilled at getting out of trouble as you were getting into it.” Mallard smirked, feeding another berry to a questing tongue. Tony grinned impishly.

“I am certain that I don’t know what you are talking about. May i?” he gestured to the salamander, who grumbled and shifted a little. Mallard raised an eyebrow.

“It is not my permission you should seek young master.”

Tony’s smile softened as he turned towards the beast. He slowly took another step, keeping an eye on the salamander’s wary gaze. “I’m not exactly young anymore Master Mallard.”

“Ch.” The old man scoffed. “I was beast master before your sire was even born, you will always be young Dinozzo to me.”

Tony acquiesced, never one to defy his elders- except well.. that time he defied his father, this future husband and the Elect of the entire keep- but that was extenuating circumstances. He gently laid a hand on the salamander’s shoulder, just above the armor, and gasped. It was as warm as he imagined. Not clammy at all, but dry and rough. He marveled at the feel, the muscles shifting beneath the skin, the rise and fall of its chest as it breathed.

Joy spread through Tony like warm sunlight. “You’re gorgeous” he breathed, running his hand along the flank. “Magnificent is what you are, aren’t you? Yes you are. I can just imagine you in battle… all wicked teeth and brute strength… just like your rider. Just glorious savage beauty. I wonder what your name is? Master Mall-”

Tony turns and freezes, smile falling from his face. In place of the old beast master, stands the Ien Commander, arms folded across his broad chest, an undecipherable expression on his face. The salamander shifts beneath his hands and Tony stumbles away, his eyes never leaving the other man. Words stick in his throat and he can only stand mortified as McGarret swings himself up unto the saddle with a narrow eyed look and a brisk order to make ready to leave.

Tony makes his way back to the others, waving away is Cadre’s concern an trying to ignore the flushing cold in his entire body. He keeps his head down, shouldering his pack without a word. It is only when they have been walking for a while that rider and steed pull up beside him. Tony keeps his eyes on the ground in front of his feet, the straps of his back digging into his palms because he’s clutching them so tight.

“Honos.”

“What?” Tony looks up, startled but McGarrett had already moved on to the front of the line. He looks at his team who seem just as confused and tries to figure out what just happened. Then he remembers the orchard and blinks rapidly, realization making the anxiety that was squeezing his heart loosen and fall away. He searches for and catches a glimpse of the salamander through the column of troops and gives a small smile.

“Honos. God of Chivalry, Honor and Military Justice. “ he murmurs to himself. It’s a fine name. a fitting name.

He catches a glimpse of McGarrett as he directs the men forward, confident and strong as his trusty steed. One question down. A million more to go. The man was confusing. A bastard… but still confusing. Tony sighed, readjusting the straps of his pack and nodding at Scuito’s non-stop commentary as they continued to travel up and up towards a place he used to call home.

Could this day be anymore surprising?

............................................................

Ok this is the part where i have to start typing from my tablet.
And you know what that means.
Capital letters? Apostrophes? Aint nobody got time foh dat!

,,...............,.........,..

It turns out that this day could. and not in a good way.

Because tony is so caught up in answering scuito's numerous questions as well as keeping her from running off to investigate every shiny thing, and there many, many shiny things; that when they finally step into the council room he doesn't know that anything is wrong until Kelly nudges him in the ribs with an elbow. Across the room mcgarret is standing ear the elect and greeting a man with a head of silver hair and the bottom falls out of Tony’s world.

Gibbs. Dammit.

Tony knew that he would have to face the man one day but he thought that there would be time for tempers to settle. For time to dull any sore and to smooth any ruffled feathers. He knows that that did not happen when Gibbs pins him with a caustic glare that fills tony with dread. He makes a vow never to allow himself to be alone with the man any time soon and shares it with his cadre as they are led to their seats.

He distracts himself by looking over the gathered crowd. There were people from all seven districts, militia men, caged birds, merchants, a couple of temple monks looking detached from the present as they usually did. There was a clutch of thread sisters in one corner staring calculatingly at anyone dumb enough to catch their eye.

Tony's cadre is shown seats near the back, up on a dais that allows them to over look the proceedings but not be noticed. He looks around and sees similar groups occupying the same seats all around the large circular room and realizes with a start that they must be the other summoners.

He hears scuito’s hiss as she realizes the same thing and sees her staring at them one by one as if committing them to her memory. Maybe she was doing just that, he has learned not to underestimate his cadre.

He's heard about them in passing of course, having never left ien district himself and never traveling along with his father on his rare trips to other districts for business, all tony ever had to go on was his father’s vague stories and hot gossip his fathers manservant always spilled after being bribed with mulled wine and sponge cake dripping with stewed fresh fruits.

He'd heard stories of the belligerent talking toads, the child who ran with foxes, the immortal serpent. But it had not struck him until now that he could've counted among them now. That he was a summoner too just like them. He too had singed the ancient scroll and lived.

As he tried to wrap his mind around that mental punch to the chest, the elect strode up to the podium at the centre of the room and motioned for silence. Tony pushed everything else aside and focused his attention on the man in the middle of the room.

It was time to find out what all of this was about.

..............................................................................................

“Twenty seven ago, we lost contact with the cloister outpost to the north. “ the Elect began, after a brief terse greeting, “… they missed their monthly check in. After trying to contact them via messenger bird to no success, we sent an armored squad to check up on them.” 

One of the militia commanders spoke up. “With all due respect Elect, the northern outpost is a month away even by salamander… and that is without monster trouble. How could we have gotten a squad out there so quickly?” 

The man shrunk back into his seat as the Elect glared bloody murder at him but Tony had to admit that it was a good question. The northern Cloister of the Temple of the Deep was a small, heavily fortified structure built into the side of a small mountain range. Manned by a small group of temple monks, the cloister was a secluded place, shrouded in secrecy and wild speculation. No one knew for sure that really happened out there, not even Tony’s father had been able to find out anything but the vaguest of rumours. 

The Elect made a disgruntled face and rolled his massive shoulders. “The Njoggentjin have been out on the edges of the northern range doing exploratory maneuvers for the past six months. We were able to re-direct them to the cloister to investigate.” 

Tony straightened in his seat, exchanging curious glances with his team. He could see others shifting and murmuring around the room. The Njoggentjin were legends among the militia. Made up of a weird mix of militia warriors, temple clerics, thread sisterhood healers and craftsman, they travelled for months sometimes even years on end through the badlands, living, even sleeping on the backs of the great white albatross birds with huge wingspans that they bred and trained from hatchlings. 

“They found the place deserted, no signs of the thirteen monks that had been sequestered there. The heavy wooden doors of the cloister looked as if they'd been broken outward. It was only when they got down to the secured records room deep within the cave structure that they found the head of the cloister… or what was left of him.” 

The elect paused, gesturing to a nearby temple elder. “But I did not call this war council because of what we found. I called you here because of what we did not find. Father Brother here will explain.” 

He stepped aside, letting the monk in his heavy knit robes take the dais. 

“Blessings and salutations from our Earth Father in whose bosom we find comfort and solace.” 

He smiled benignly at them as the crowd murmured the scripted response. 

“Even though our brothers at the cloister were there purely for research and study and preservation of the ancient tomes of the ancestors, the cloister was also the resting place for the final three summoning scrolls that survived the Falling Skies.” 

A shocked gasp rippled through the collective. 

“Three more ?…. “ someone’s voice carried’ “ I thought that there were only seven path left.” 

The monk nodded in agreement, “In the Time Before there were many ways to walk the path of summoning and a great any did. Then came the Great Mishanter and many summoners died in the tumult that resulted. Out of the ashes, only seven summoners remained with their contracts still intact. Though another three scrolls survived, unsigned yet tucked away in what would be the first temple of the Deep."

In the days following, many volunteered to sign the scroll, seeking to serve. All but one of them died. The only one to survive soon went mad as the path proved too overwhelming to walk. It was then that scrolls were locked away for the good of all as they were too powerful to control. The remaining seven paths remained and thrived, protecting the seven districts of Ierde from the abominations beyond the outer walls. But now the scrolls are gone and I fear for us all."

Another voice came from the collective. "What were the three summons for Father Brother?"

The monk frowned, marring his serene and almost jovial countenance.

"Lion, Eagle and Dragon."

Kelly hissed a sharp breath next to Tony as the hall erupted in noise.

……………………………………………………………………………

The elect called for a short recess and Scuito wasted no time in dragging Tony and Kelly into a nearby alcove. She pulled the heavy curtain shut and turned to stare at Kelly.

"Ok tell me everything you know about the three missing summons. Why did all the militia men lose their collective minds when the monk called their names?"

Kelly leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "there are stories soldiers tell, passed down through the barracks. Stories of war, monsters and such. There are even a few stories from the Times Before. One of them is of a great battle leading up to the Great Mishanter. It's called the battle of Dongarten or as some have come to call it… the Massacre of Dongarten or the Waterfalls of Blood."

Kelly shifted, getting a faraway look in his eyes. "Ten thousand enemy soldiers forming a sea of swords and shields. The only thing that stood between them and the city of Dongarten were three summoners. The Lion, the Eagle and the Dragon path. The details vary from telling to telling but the end is always the same. Ten thousand enemy soldiers slaughtered, rivers of blood flowing over the rocks.

The city of Dongarten had been decimated, their buildings burned, the people killed in the streets as they tried to flee… in their houses as they tried to hide. The very summoners who were to protect them their killers. No man woman or child survived. No living thing escaped the destruction. It was said that the Dragon Summoner went insane, his family burned to death by his own summon's breath. He killed himself then and there, leaving Lion and Eagle to bring his body back."

Scuito had a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide and filled with sorrow. "but… Why?"

Tony rubbed a fist over his heart. "Power. Their summons were too powerful and overwhelmed them right?"

Kelly nodded. "Lion died in battle not long after that. Some say it was suicide by enemy sword. Eagle flew off into the badlands on one of her birds and was never seen again. One day her name just turned black on the scroll."

"Sacred Spirits preserve us." Scuito breathed, turning away, her mind racing. "why do I get the feeling that there was more going on at the Cloister that they are telling us."

"Because there is more going on than they are telling us." Tony drawled. "you have monks doing so-called research in a secret mountain temple, all the monks but one are missing and the one left behind had been all but ripped apart. The heavy fortified doors broken from the inside as if something large and strong wanted out. The scrolls for the three most power summonings are missing. Am I the only one who thinks that somewhere out there in the badlands may be a lion, eagle or a dragon having a monk or two for a midnight snack."

Scuito dropped to sit on a nearby stone ledge with an explosive exhale. "Muckraker's Sweaty Ass Crack. If they come to Ierde we're screwed."

Kelly snorted. "Yeah. What she said."

Tony could only nod in agreement and caress the summoner's seal peeking out from under the cuff of his sleeve.

Sacred Spirits preserve us indeed.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

On their way back to the Council Chamber Tony stops by a large window looking down unto one of the curved edges of the gilded cage, the ornate gold metal workings that form the barrier between them and the forestry step glitters in the setting sunlight. He's alone, having sent Scuito scuttling off to network and gather information and let Kelly mingle with the clumps of militia men speaking in low conversations.

The glass is warm against his forehead and he takes off his glove and places a hand on the pane, looking down on the gold and green of his childhood. He can just see the stone walls of the outer steppes until they finally disappeared into the mists and the darkness. The lamps and lights of the lowers steppes twinkling like a reverse starry sky surrounded by the heavy black of the badlands.

Something moves in the reflection of the glass and he can only blink before he's shoved against the large window, a hard body braced against his and a strong hand on his throat. He struggles against the hold. Bringing up his hand only to have it grabbed and twisted behind his back painfully, the gloved hand squeezing his throat painfully until he stops fighting for lack of air.

He slumps against the glass, gasping harshly as the hand eases its grip. His legs are pinned by armored thighs and his free hand scrabbles uselessly against the window. The hand pulls his chin back harshly and he sees icy blue eyes reflected in the glass.

"You think that you can escape me so easily." hot breath against his ears make him shudder in revulsion and the hand tightens. "You are mine. You were given to me and no one takes what is mine away from me."

"Unhand me Gibbs." Tony grits his teeth with helpless fury and bucks against the other man, wishing he could just reach his summoning mark. He hadn't gotten to the point of wordless summoning yet so he could not call for help. "I am not now nor was I ever yours to possess. I am not some 'thing' for you to own. Even when we were to be wed. that matters not now that I have been chosen to walk the path. You have no claim on m- *urk*"

Gibbs growled, squeezing Tony's throat until black spots danced in front his eyes. "Walking the path will not save your slender neck. I own you and I will have you regardless. Make no mista-- *ow* Spirits damnit."

Tony slumped against the window as he was released abruptly. He gasped for air, scrambling away from his captor as he fell unto his rear, crawling backwards to put some distance between them. He brought his hand to his tender throat, coughing harshly as he looked up at his former fiancé. Gibbs was snarling at something at his feet, a small white fox with red eyes and blood on his mouth that corresponded to a jagged hole in Gibb's boot. The man snarled at the animal and made to kick at it but it nimbly jumped away, scurrying over to a young man who stood at the end of the hall.

The man, a boy really was slim and pale with freckles that dotted his face and neck and shrewd whiskey coloured eyes that glared at Gibbs. He was dressed in Messenger Red, the short crimson cloak a perfect backdrop for the pure white fox that now lay curled across his shoulders.

Gibbs glared at them both, his lips curled back in a cruel smile, before spinning on his heels and stalking away from them both. As he spun the corner and disappeared, Tony let out a weak moan and slumped further against the wall, his heart pounding as he swallowed painfully. Some came in close and he flinched before realizing that it was the boy.

He tried to give the boy a grateful smile but it just came out as a grimace as tender fingers felt at his throat. The boy smiled back, clucking worriedly as he examined Tony's neck. He twisted, digging into a small sack he had slung unto his belt and took out a small darkened glass vial. He held it up to Tony and mimed drinking.

"this will help with the soreness and will let you talk without much pain. It tastes like month old pipe muck and won't help with the bruising any but it works."

Tony frowned at the hand holding the vial, taking in the pale wrist and the edges of a summoner's seal peaking from the cloth cuff. He tried to swallow once more and the pain made his eyes sting. Nodding, he gingerly took the vial and uncorked it, throwing back the vile tasting liquid in one go. He gagged at the taste and the slimy texture but in the end kept it all down.

"That's filthy." Tony rasped, scraping his tongue against his teeth. The boy chuckled.

"But it works though. You're already talking. How's the pain?"

Tony swallowed again. "Better."

"Good." the boy holds out a hand, pulling Tony up to stand, bracing him as he stumbled.

"Thank you" Tony rasped.

"No problem. " he said kindly, glancing at the hall that Gibbs had just stalked down. We summoners need to stick together." he stuck out a hand to shake.

"Stilinski. Foxes. Fjouwer District. Well met"

"Tony. Dogs. Ien District." Tony grinned weakly and took the outstretched hand in a warrior's clasp. "Well met."

Stilinski rocked back on his heels, giving the fox on his shoulders absent minded scratch behind the ears.

"so… bad break up?"

Tony touched his finger tips to his neck where he was sure bruises were already forming.

"Something like that."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

It's just there luck that the first person they meet on the way back to the chambers is Ien Commander. He's scowling, just about to lecture Tony on being late no doubt when his eyes widen, his hand coming up to touch Tony's neck only to freeze when Tony flinches away. According to Stillinski, the bruising was pretty epic, in the clear dark shape of a hand against Tony's pale skin.

McGarret's face hardens but his eyes are surprisingly vocal, running the gamut of fear, anger, concern, finally settling on cold hard fury.

"Who would dare lay a hand on a summoner?"

Stilinski chuckles bitterly. "There are more who would dare that you know Commander. Especially those who would see us as property of the keep."

"Or their own personal property." Tony rasped, smirking when the fury in McGarret's eyes is replaced by confusion, realization then finally disbelief. The soldier shakes his head in denial but Tony has no time to wait for him to go through whatever internal crisis he was facing. There is no way to touch Gibbs for his actions anyway.

It was Tony's word against the Elect's Favoured. Even if people believed him, there were so many ways that the Elect could make his life more miserable than it already was. In fact, most would probably think Tony deserved it if they found out the true nature of his becoming a summoner. If it wasn't for the old laws, Tony would have been given lashes for what he'd done. If not thrown into a hole to rot, or worse, sent to the mines to work until he died. Or worse yet, given to Gibbs as a pet, a plaything for him to use and discard without even a passing respect to the bonds od marriage.

Tony shuddered, walking around the Commander when the man raises his hand to stop them. McGarret's eyes hold a tumult of emotion but without a word, he takes scarf from around his own neck and hands it to Tony, stalking away when Tony has taken it gingerly from him. Tony and Stilinksi look at the man's retreating back before looking at each other and then at the scarf.

It is finely woven, not the normal militia issue, grey with fine hints of brown red and yellow woven into the fabric. It is soft from repeated use and feels like heaven around Tony's neck. It smells like the Commander and Tony feels both his pulse and his dick jump when he takes a deep breath. He tucks the edges into the neck of his leathers as Stilinski gives him a final once over and a nod.

They had back into the council chambers where Stilinski introduces him to his Cadre. His Gamesman is a stunning redhead with large luminescent eyes and full lips. She has a sharp wit and a sharper tongue but looks at her summoner with a soft gaze that one would have for a younger brother. The Bulwark, Boyd, is a tall youth with broad shoulders who does not speak a word the whole time, grunting only when necessary. It's alright though because the Fox Summoner talked enough for them all.

Tony waves over his Cadre and introduces them as well, ignoring for now the looks he's getting from his team mates because of the scarf around his neck. He knows that once they see they bruising, he'd have a hell of a time convincing them not to just go over and cut Gibbs down in the middle of the hall so he lets his cadre be guided up unto the seats at the back with Stilinski and his people once the council session begins again.

He finally signals Scuito and Kelly that he would talk to them later and they calm down but he can see Scuito itching to pluck at the scarf. Only a hand on the shoulder from Kelly has her settling down. As the elect's second in command takes the dias to expound on some trivial matter, Stilinski takes up a running commentary in a low voice out of the corner of his mouth. Tony leans in closer, squirming when fluffy fox tail tickles the back of his ears.

"there hasn't been a full complement of summoners in over fifteen years. The last Dog Path died of old age and no one took up the call until now. I remember the old bugger, had this pug with him everywhere he went. It peed on everything. He kept saying that it was old but I feel he got a kick out of it pissing on those expensive rugs every time he was invited anywhere fancy.

He was decent enough to me, young as I was when I signed. My maw was Fox path before me and when she died I stayed with my dad for a while. He was a militia man. He died soon after that. Weak heart. It was around that time that a nest of carver wings had taken up near the walls of Fjouwer District and they were down on fighters. Of course the old elect decreed that we had to fend for ourselves to things were getting pretty hairy for a while.

The head of the militia decided the only way to win against the monsters was for someone to walk the Fox path and since my mother had done it before me and because I was a war orphan and no one would miss me if I died, he scrambled me out of the orphanage one night and took me down to the temple. Zim zam zoom and here I am. Walking the Fox path.

Martin was an initiate at the Sisterhood of Threads when I found her. Boyd was the son of a farmer. Within the month we had cleared all the Wings out of the District and since we had survived, they gave us training. "

Tony sat back, aghast. "Harsh"

Stilinski smirked, nodding. "But necessary."

They talk about the others. About the mysterious Stark, the Monkey path of Twa DIstrict, who rarely came up from his Forge cut deep into the bedrock of Ierde. The Immortal Potter who walked the Serpent Path of Trije District, whose blood pact with the Snake Boss Manda gave him the ability to talk to all serpents and slowing his aging almost indefinitely. There was a story behind it Stilinski was sure but he'd never been privy to the details. Potter's cadre sat by his side, their older faces contrasting oddly with his youthful countenance.

There was the Raven Path, Chang from San District, a dark and lovely man with pale skin and slanted eyes popular to that district. The was the Tragic Cat Path from Fiif District, Jones, who against all rules, fell in love with her Gamesman, the one only known as the Tsein. The Tenth. Tenth of what Stillinski did not know. Finally there was the outspoken McKay from Seis District, the Frog Path. It was said that he was a genius and could most often be found at the militia think tank, his talking frogs famous among the halls of command.

As Stilinski spoke, Tony and his cadre listened and watched, peppering the Fox Cadre with questions until the elect called and end to the Council session. As the crowd dispersed, Scuito grabbed tony by the arm and yanked him out of the doors while Kelly gave his goodbyes to a smirking Stilinski and his cadre.

Secured in the same alcove as before Scuito, with a solemn Kelly at her side, stared unblinkingly at the scarf around Tony's neck. Tony gulped, noting that the pain was mostly gone thanks to the vile potion Stilinski had made him drink.

"Don't do anything rash." he pleaded softly, trying to calm the man and woman watching him with growing alarm.

Scuito turned to Kelly in exasperation. "Is it just me or do those words want to make you go out right now and do something rash?"

Kelly nodded and raised a skeptical eyebrow at Tony. With a defeated sigh, Tony reached up and carefully undid the scarf, closing his eyes at Scuito's enraged hiss and Kelly's startled growl.

"Whose body are we throwing over the outer wall tonight?"

Scuito nodded, reaching up to gently touch her fingertips to the vivid hand shaped bruise on Tony's neck.

"I know a place in the pipe works where we can get rid of a body easy."

Tony Shook his head, wrapping the scarf around his neck once again. "We are not getting rid of any body's because we are not killing anyone either."

Kelly snarled, "Anyone who assaults a summoner walking the path faces death. There is an entire scroll of law dictating the protection of the summoner. This cannot be ignored. It will not."

"it will this time." Tony stated calmly. "It will if the Summoner assaulted is me and the one doing the assaulting is the Elect's favoured."

"Gibbs." Scuito's eyes are spitting fire but she hasn't stormed off yet to rip Gibbs a new one so he knows that she understands. "You can't come at him… not if you don't want thing to be worse for you. He has the ear of the Elect. So does your father. Whatever punishment he would receive would be a pyrrhic victory. You are the one who would suffer in the end."

Tony nodded. Kelly swore under his breath and Scuito ran her hands down her face.

"What about McGarret? As Ien Commander he's responsible for the safety of his squadron."

Tony fiddled with the edge of the scarf. "He came upon me after Gibbs was gone. He knows what happened. He gave me the scarf."

Scuito nodded. "Was it because he wanted to cover it up or is he also stuck in a hard place?"

"Gibbs was his mentor, a father figure to him. I'm surprised he didn't try to strong-arm me into silence."

Kelly shook his head. "McGarret has a healthy respect for Summoners. Even if he didn't like you for personal reasons, he would never let those affect his responsibility as Command. "

"So in a hard place then. He would only have your word against Gibbs'"

Tony shrugged, "And my word right now isn't worth a barrel of pipe muck in the Elect's eyes."

Scuito blew out a heavy sigh. "Ursula's dried up titties."

Kelly chortled. "Tell me about it."

..................................................................................................................................

The weak moonlight paints the small forest clearing in a delicate silver light, making just the edges of the leaves and the trees visible in the darkness of night. Tony can just see the inky black of the starless sky through the tips of the trees as he laid on his back, his head pillowed on his hands. A warm weight rests across his chest and he reached one hand down to scratch behind furry ears. The giant Shepard dog rumbles in pleasure, rubbing his cheek against Tony's chest, blinking slowly and yawning widely. Large white fangs reflect the dim light, rows of wickedly sharp teeth set in wide jaws strong enough to crush a man's thigh bone.

Tony had always thought that summons were nothing but weapons, built to protect… summoned to kill. He'd been pleasantly surprised the day he'd summoned his first nin dog. Aacht was snarky, grouchy and had a dry sense of humour that endeared him to Tony like nothing else. Aacht was large, his head coming up to Tony's chest, with red and black fur and shiny black razor sharp claws. He was supernaturally strong as were most summons Tony had learned, with corded muscles and a barrel chest that put out heat like a furnace on cold nights in the barracks.

Although Tony had met a couple of other nin dogs via summoning, Aacht was by far his favourite fighter and friend, despite his propensity for lewd jokes and his stubborn reluctance to speak to anyone but Tony in human language. Even Tony's own Cadre had not heard more than three words strung together from Aacht, even when in Combat training. When they were alone though, Tony couldn't get the summons to shut up.

Aacht grouches and noses tenderly at the bruising on Tony’s neck, cocking his head at the scarf’s foreign smell. Tony chuckles, sinking his fingers into the thick pelt, breathing deeply and letting all the day’s problems go one by one. It had taken him summoning Aacht to finally get his Cadre to leave off sticking to him like glue since they'd found out about his run in with Gibbs.

It had been equal parts heartwarming and irritating and soon enough he was chomping at the bit for a chance to clear his thoughts in solitude. After the war council had been dissolved for the day, the militia commanders had been called in for private conference and the rest of them had been sent down to the Forest Steppe to bunk down among the trees. The beast masters had brought fresh game and had built fire pits to roast them.

After the meal, Tony had been itching to take a walk to clear him troubled mind and it had taken some cajoling, a solemn promise to stay close by and a hasty summoning to finally get Kelly and Scuito to let him wander off alone. They walked a ways into the forest before Tony ran the pad of his thumb along the small sharp spike on his belt and pressed the drop of blood on his wrist.

His hands flashed through the summoning signs, there was a small pop and when the puff of smoke cleared the large Shepherd Dog was revealed. Aacht sniffed at Tony curiously before nodding to Kelly and Scuito. They melted into the darkness at the signal and Tony and his summons walked for a minute before settling in the small clearing.

"Out with it." Aacht's voice is growly around human words. "you’re like a pup struggling with a piece of rawhide. Is it that fangless two leg you’ve been lusting after like a bitch in heat? Is that why you are wearing his scent? Has he finally decided to throw you a bone? Or did he let you throw him one.”

Tony choked on a laugh. “No. there was no throwing of any type of bones.” He ignores the ‘you wish he'd give you the bone alright' that the non dog mumbles not to softly against his chest. He touched the scarf, taking in its heady scent before tucking it further into his leathers against the night chill.

“I don’t know why you don’t just mount him and be done with it. It would certainly help you both if you took the stick out of his ass and replace with something just as hard. You don’t even have to whelp the bastard. Sometimes all you need is a good rut, knot them up good and go your separate ways. No fuss.”

Tony groaned and covered his eyes with his arm. “Kelly and Scuito never believe me when I tell them what a filthy mouth you have. They have this belief in their minds that summons are all noble but you’re really not. You’re crude and tactless and you say such filthy things that half the time I myself can’t believe what you’ve said. Why do I even summon you every muckraking time?”

Aacht’s laugh was a cross between a yowl and a rumble. “Because I at least have the balls to say aloud what you’ve been trained from birth to only say in your head. My humour is the same a your humour don’t deny it. I can also rip aa armored militia man to shreds in ten seconds flat. Admit it… you know you love me. “

Tony feels a warm squeeze to his chest as he wonders if this is what love is. If this is what the love he’d only ever heard about in tragic tales of the gilded cage feels like. There was no room for this kind of emotional attachment when he was growing up. To his mother he was and obligation, to his father he was an investment. To the servants he was a meal ticket, a source of income.

Even Tim, sweet and sticky kisses and fumbling in the dark Tim who card for him when he was sick and helped him escape his dark fate. Even though Tim held a special place in his heart, he’d never been able to feel much more than a fondness for anyone in his life. He’d never had a pet or a friend that wasn’t used as some sort of leverage or tool by his father or by those around him.

Kelly and Scuito were fast becoming what he would call friends and Tony was slowly accepting that the loyalty shown by the others may just be genuine. He o longer lay in bed at night thinking up ways to get people to do as he wanted. Manipulating them by carefully chosen words and actions. Using his mind and his body to draw them in, to snare them.

He didn’t have to do that to them anymore, he didn’t want to. For the first time in his life Tony as learning to trust. Trust in others and trust in himself. Tony didn’t have to be what his father made him into. He could be what he made himself into.

And Aachtt was a huge part of that. The dog, through endless patience and darned orneriness, had taken a fumbling terrified sheltered caged bird and trained with him, learned with him, bled with him until he had become somewhat of a half decent summoner. The thought of what his life would be like without his nin companion squeezed his chest like a vice and stole his breath. There was a warmth just below his ribcage made him uncomfortable and he shifted uneasily. Was this love? He hoped so.

He sank his fingers into thick fur smiled softly. “Yeah. Yeah I do.”

…………………………………………………………….

To say Aacht is livid when Tony shows him the fading bruise is an understatement. It’s only the promise he had made to Tony’s cadre that he would see the summoner safety back to his camp that kept him from dispersing himself and going straight to the Dog Boss summons Drixa about Gibbs. That and the bruise is almost gone thanks to the stinky poultice Kelly always has on hand. Tony’s is not sure he would have been able to stop his nin dog from biting out “the scummy meat bag’s tender weak throat.”

Of course, he’d be protected by the law that ruling all deaths by summons in protection of their summoner as justified but the Elect would surely find a way to make Tony’s life a living hell afterwards. Not that he hadn’t considered watching Gibbs bleed out on the marble floor of the hall of command for a brief yet satisfying moment.

In the end,Aachtt harrumphed and fell silent but Tony had a feeling that the summons was just biding his time and humouring his sad and simple minded two leg summoner. Tony could only roll his eyes and start the trek back to camp. Just as they could see the light of the bonfires through the trees the nin dog began to growl. Tony's hand immediately went to his knife as he spread his senses out, tapping into Aacht's nin hearing.

Stepping slowly from behind a tree ien commander hailed Tony, his hands kept away from his sides and empty as he stared at the growling nin dog. Aacht stopped growling as Tony relaxed his stance but did not take his eyes off the other man.

“Out for a midnight stroll?” Tony nodded, stepping closer to the other man. “ The forest is beautiful in the moonlight.”

McGarret crossed his arms and leaned against the nearby tree. “I’m more of a lake in the moonlight man myself.”

Tony raised a appraising eyebrow. “I will have to keep that in mind. “

Ien commander gave a small smile that changed his whole face. “You do that.”

Tony flushed and swallowed heavily, fiddling with the scarf. “Oh you can have this back if you wish. The bruises are almost gone and I have another in my pack. “

He pulls the cloth from his neck somewhat reluctantly, holding it out to McGarrett. The commander frowned heavily, his eyes roaming over Tony’s neck. He stepped forward into Tony’s space, slowing at the deep rumbling growl at Tony’s side.

His hand comes up and his eyes seek permission. Heart racing, Tony leaned his head back, shivering slightly at the gently probing fingers, warm calloused hands that feel like a brand against the night’s chill. The fingers tilt Tony’s head to the side, exposing more of his neck and he hears McGarrett hiss at the still visible hand print.

“Keep it for a while longer” The man’s voice is rough and a bit shaken as he steps away.

Tony blinks up at the other man and can feel his cheeks heat. Aacht makes a noise between a chuff of laughter and a whine and McGarrett startles and steps away. Tony narrows his eyes at the dog but the nin summon pulls off a pretty convincing look of innocence.

“I uh…” ien commander stammers and rubs the back of his head with his hand like a shy youth. His cheeks colour and he quickly clears his throat and straightens his armor. “I actually came to look for you Summoner”

“For me?” Tonys eyes widen then narrow. “Has there been more news?”

Mcgarret nods. “Get your cadre together and come with me. The council has decided to take the fight to the enemy before it reaches the keep. We are to make ready for war.”