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006 » how to turn back the time
fanart by tamaon2525.bsky.social.
for louis at archdaemon.
fanart by tamaon2525.bsky.social.
for louis at archdaemon.
fanart by tamaon2525.bsky.social.
for louis at archdaemon.
fanart by tamaon2525.bsky.social.
for louis at archdaemon.
no subject
Louis nearly rises to his feet then, magla burning at his fingertips. He had come to this revolting spectacle of an auction because his intel had placed the possibility of a Divine Relic at this scene, to be peddled among hungry collectors. There had been even more whispers still that there were belongings from the late prince that had wound up in circulation here, items of value that had been illicitly moved from the palace. No doubt by certifiable lowlifes. The sheer shameless greed of it all leaves a foul taste on his tongue.
And despite it all, the rumors ring false. There is nothing of value here. On the stage, they merely parade before them slave after slave.
He has suffered through enough of this spectacle.
Best, then, to lay waste to this pitiful scene and move on. An utter waste of time. He ought to have sent an agent here on his behalf instead of indulging a whim, chasing threads of rumors. Even now, as untouchable as he is by Forden and his thoughtless sycophants, there are those in the palace who insist his hands are stained by His Highness' blood. It has been years and years, and still those Sanctists know no honor.
Just before he moves, a ripple of mingled surprise and interest sweeps through the crowd. On the stage, pulled along by a chain, hands desperately reaching out for a book in his ruthless handler's grip, a boy is being led to the front. Amidst his struggling, the handler seizes him by the chin to turn him to face the audience, the lights above illuminating his bright, mismatched eyes.
"And the last of our wares—you've not seen an elda around these parts, have you? We have a rare one here, just caught recently in the wastes of the desert! Collectors won't wish to pass this one up. Hah, he's a pretty one, with odd eyes! We'll even include this rare tome with him—the poor thing bites when you take it away. Oh, he tries!"
It's the sight of him that gives Louis pause. An elda—and it's the first he's seen another in countless years, ever since he left the sanctum.
"We'll begin the bidding at 200,000 reeve!"
"210,000 reeve!"
"250,000 reeve!"
The bids continue several moments longer. And then Louis makes a decision. ]
Eight million reeve.
[ His voice brooks no argument as it travels from where he sits. There are gasps and murmurs. The announcer on stage freezes for a moment, eyes gleaming with a voracious greed.
"You hear that? The gentleman in the hood bids eight million! Anyone else? Going once—going twice—"
Louis does not delay. He does not bother to avoid the people in his path; they part to let him pass instead, sufficiently cowed by the briskness of his stride. He makes his way to the steps of the stage and ascends them, ignoring the stammering excitement of the announcer, and goes to the elda.
There can be no mistaking it, not with his rounded ears, the lack of horns or other features that would mark him as part of the other tribes. There is no glamour in place that may have changed him. Louis looks at him for a moment, his eyes meeting the boy's from beneath his hood, scrutinizing him, and then he turns, as though to circle and examine his prize. As he rounds to the boy's back, the announcer taps a foot in impatience. The handler draws a blade, and Louis does not so much as flinch.
"Sir, you cannot touch him until you've paid—" ]
How disappointing that our fair city still breeds dens of filth as vile as this one.
[ From where he stands, he reaches out, gloved fingers gliding over the elda's eyes to cover them firmly in a gentle touch, shrouding his vision in darkness. It's all he does before magla ripples from him, sharper than an executioner's blade, cutting a seamless arc through the room. The magic surges as easily as he draws breath. There are a few screams cut short. A few telltale gurgles. A sharp, metallic stench fills the stale air, thick and coppery. Everything, all of it—it ends in just a moment, and then there is stillness.
Louis draws his hand back from the boy's face now that the deed has been done, only to slip off the coat he was wearing. His clothes today are plainer than his usual garb, so it's of little consequence to shed one layer, fitting it around the boy's slender shoulders where he has been shivering in the cold of this underground space. Then he draws his sword, destroying the shackles with only a careless flick of his wrist, as though cutting through butter.
The book, still caught in the hands of the handler's cooling corpse, is a familiar sight. It bears an identical likeness to the volume in his own personal library. Louis bends slightly to pry it from the man's fingers before the nearby puddle of blood touches the worn pages. It's plain to see: the volume is somewhat battered, not from mistreatment, but because it must have been leafed through countless times, adored by its reader.
He extends it to the elda boy in offering. ]
If you value your life and don't wish to wait for the next band of slavers to set their sights on you, we will quit this place.
no subject
As much as people looked down on him for being a penniless, wayward elda, he managed to beg his way onto a carriage to the capital at first, in search of — something, he knows not what — perhaps a father who would only be as hollow as he himself is — perhaps something else, something greater, like destiny. But the carriage was waylaid by bandits, and he fell off a ravine into the Tradia Desert below, hardly dressed for the sands or the dangerous beasts that would have ripped him apart if they had found him. The slavers found him instead, saw him as a prize.
Lookie here, an elda! And he's got curious eyes — yellow an' blue, like gems.
He'll make us a fortune at market, you know how them collectors get. And what's this book he's got?
As much as he struggled, as much as he bit and clawed and pitifully broke skin with teeth and nails, nothing he did was enough. They lashed his wrists together with rope and cut a gag into his mouth; they'd done their best not to harm or bruise him, but only because they needed to keep the merchandise pristine. They fed him on meager scraps of bread and water until they'd transported him to this black market; starving, weak for it, his attempts to escape only grew more and more feeble. His burning need to be rejoined with the book they always kept out of arm's length slowly drove him near-mad; he could barely think of anything else but getting that book back into his own hands. And then, of course, they'd hauled him to the auction block.
He only has time to note that his mysterious hooded bidder has remarkably long lashes, and then the darkness closes around him, and he feels something malevolent.
When he opens his eyes again, everyone in the auction house is dead. Will's eyes glance over a body, sawn in half, for only a moment; wincing, he averts his gaze. It is not quite that he feels pity for people so depraved as to engage in slavery — but the sheer amount of bloodshed in the room is more than he thought he would see in his life.
His bidder offers his book to him; Will's mismatched eyes widen with hope. He practically snatches the book out of Louis's hands, but not quite because he doesn't trust the man; it's only desperation that motivates him, as his shoulders sag and he sinks to his knees again once he has the book clutched against his chest. He takes several shaky breaths, stabilizing himself. The book is his again. This man gave it back.
He looks up again, eyes watery and grateful, pulling the cloak his savior gave him more tightly over his shoulders; it is still warm from his body, and Will is shivering, with no cloth around his legs, his tunic keeping him barely decent. His voice sounds a bit rusted from disuse over the past few days. ]
Where...
[ He coughs on a dry throat, covering his mouth with the back of his hand as he struggles to his feet. If nothing else, he is at least determined to stand. ]
Where are we going...?
no subject
Louis looks at him for a moment, studying him silently. Then he turns on his heel, expectant. The boy seems well enough to walk. Well enough not to be left behind if he grasps the situation he is in, now that he seems a touch more possessed of his senses and less like a fawn on trembling legs. ]
A place far grander than this, and by far more secure. You will decide there what you will do with your freedom.
[ Something inside him that he thought he'd razed and burned years ago twists in his chest. All the elda he knew—they had turned away from the rest of the world, content to hide away and languish in their sanctum. And now there is this boy, far away from home, having journeyed far enough that slavers seized him in the wastes of the desert. Daring, foolish, or both?
And yet he is not the first elda to have at least made the attempt to see the sky, casting out into a foreign world.
He sets off, trusting the boy to follow closely, whether behind as classic deference would call for, or by his side, in what would be an audacious but not unwelcome gesture. But the pace he sets is not nearly as brisk or brutal as one might expect. Louis has looked at the elda and taken his measure; a lesser individual would have crumbled before the wave of magla, would have flinched away, decrying the bloodshed. That the boy hasn't already tells Louis plenty. So this, then, is a small, silent mercy for his benefit. ]
I would have your name, and how it is you came to possess that book.
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Even so, he perseveres. This elda boy must be starving and shaky, but he still manages to run a few strides to catch up to Louis. Then he begins walking by his side, into the purposefully slower pace he's set. Barefoot, he clutches his fantasy novel to his chest and settles close to Louis, almost under his arm, as if wary of potential threats, and cognizant of the fact that this man will protect him from harm. ]
My name...
[ He speaks a little thickly, as if still half-asleep, sorting through a dream. ]
My name is Will... Wilhelm. I was... I'm not sure...
[ Scrunching up his brows, Will tries to remember, but it's as though he's hit a wall in his mind. Amnesia, perhaps? Or something the slavers gave to him? Common brutes such as this wouldn't have access to such potent drugs, though, nor would they have used them on an elda they meant to sell as chattel. Curiouser and curiouser. ]
I was going to the capital to see someone, I think. I can't remember now... I only remember fire. The smell of something burning...
[ He shakes his head, wrinkling his nose. ]
The book belonged to my friend. That part... that part, I'm sure of. I know he loved it...
[ The boy's expression softens slightly as he clutches the book to his chest again. ]
I love it, too. I want... to live in a world without strife.
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Oh? So you remember flames and a purpose. But not where it means to lead you.
[ The path to the exit is strewn in bodies, and Louis simply steps over them as though they may not have even existed. Not even the guards poised near the entrance have escaped death. All those in attendance feasted upon the misfortune of others, delighting in keeping the downtrodden beneath their heels. None of them have earned the privilege of drawing another breath again, and those who have already left with their unearned spoils in tow will hear of what happened eventually and know fear.
Who could condemn him further than he already has been? All those who were present for the sordid affair have been silenced, save the boy by his side. What is another sin to crown the others he must have already committed?
By this point, they have swept out of the sorry excuse for an auction house and into the open air of the city outskirts. The sky is clear today, bereft of clouds. Louis takes a look at the midnight expanse yawning above, around the tops of the houses outstretched toward it in the barest mimicry of the glittering towers that decorate a chapter of Wilhelm's book. ]
A world without strife... You believe such a thing possible, after you were waylaid by slavers and shown the true thoughts the other tribes bear toward an elda like you?
[ A nostalgic idealism. So strange to see it again, long after the person he once thought embodied it has fallen from grace, a pathetic corpse of a man suspended on puppet strings even as he lies in his sickbed.
Louis does not pause in his steps as he begins leading Wilhelm toward the other district where the Guiabern manor waits. He knows the city's streets well enough that they will be able to travel a route that avoids undesired attention. There will be little foot traffic at this time, and his own staff know better than to question their lord when he comes and goes without explanation. ]
no subject
They will not have to worry about being tracked, of course. The city streets are always thirsty for more blood; the cobblestones drink the blood off their soles so thoroughly that by the time they've cut through the streets into Louis's neighborhood, any trackers that come to investigate will have lost their trail several blocks ago. Anyway, Louis Guiabern needs not fear common slavers, bandits, and gang members of their ilk. Will is smart enough to realize that he has made a good choice in staying close. The man who bid eight million so carelessly — even without real intention of paying it — must think nothing of living in a home in a neighborhood like this. ]
...I do. [ He clutches the book to his chest again, takes a deep breath. Something about it seems to stabilize him, make him feel better. It's hard to say whether or not needing such a thing is a weakness or a strength. ] It wouldn't be fast. But I really do think... that people can create a world where the horrible things that happened in that room don't need to happen.
[ His expression tightens with a sudden sadness. ]
...I think that the other people who were sold were far less fortunate than me.
[ The hour of night is far too late, and all know that, outside of the square outside the Regalith Grand Cathedral, Grand Trad is not a place to walk freely after dark. No one sees the clemar lord and the elda boy arrive at the Guiabern manor.
The manor staff know of their lord's storied legends. They know better than to question him, or his choice in guests. They number very few; Louis only needs the barest minimum to keep his home clean, elegant, and well-stocked on the rare occasions that he needs to use it when he is in Grand Trad. Those that are in his employ are trustworthy and serve only the Guiabern family.
That said — even so — an old butler starts slightly when he sees his young lord returning with a slightly bloodied elda slave in tow. "My lord" — he starts, and then catches himself. "I — welcome home, Lord Louis." ]
no subject
Would this boy have perished wordlessly if not for this, culled by those with more power?
But Wilhelm's thoughts will have to be examined at a later time. In the privacy of the Guiabern manor, there is no sense in leaving him as he is now, dirty and starved from days on the road in filthy conditions. Louis has long removed anyone extraneous to his needs, anyone incapable of discretion, and those too dimwitted to read his intentions and respond adequately. The butler who greets them by the entryway is the oldest in his employ, with the perceptiveness to show for it. Their staff may number few, but their competence could make any other household tremble. ]
I will take my meal in the study of the eastern wing.
[ Louis' gaze settles briefly on Wilhelm, the way he has a faint bruise on the visible skin of his throat where he must have been cuffed once, before the slavers thought to remove it in fear any markings would devalue their merchandise. ]
Run a bath by the spare room with an appropriate change of clothes, and prepare a series of light courses.
[ The old butler does not seem terribly surprised as he gives a bow, but a pensive look settles on his face. Nothing quite like sadness, but something quieter, almost nostalgic. "It will be done, my lord," he says.
Perhaps it is nearly a familiar scene. An elda brought into the manor with minimal fanfare, next to no explanation—only back then, well over a decade ago, the blond boy trailing by the clemar master's side was but a child, expression shuttered and guarded. There are old secrets the butler has borne witness to, and he knows they will die with him the day he passes.
Orders given, the man silently departs to carry out his duties. Meanwhile, it is only now that Louis finally sheds the hood of his garb. There is blood on his clothing as well as Wilhelm's—articles to be discarded and burned. But he is not bothered as he turns to look at the boy in what is perhaps the first time Wilhelm will see his face without shadow. ]
Come. We will go to my study, and I'll see your injuries mended, however few or many.
[ Louis Guiabern may have high expectations of those who serve him, but he is not unreasonable. The other preparations will need some time. But this much is simple for him, especially with all the magla at his disposal, ready to be called upon and woven into any spell in his repertoire. Healing magics are not beyond him—they were drilled into his skill set, once. ]
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[ Will had attempted to nod to the old butler before he left; now he trails off a little as the hooded man finally removes his hood. He was close enough to catch a glimpse of impossibly long lashes, to see his well-formed nose and perfectly shaped lips, yet even so, seeing the man's face in all its glory makes him stutter to a stop. The man is beyond beautiful. For moment, Will is so stunned by his face, and the way his turquoise eyes so perfectly complement his blond hair, that he fails to register the large pair of clemar horns atop his head.
...Even so, beauty is not to be remarked upon. Or is it? Will, knowing little of the world, says only what he thinks, blinking as if to shake off his confusion. ]
I — sorry, you're so beautiful that I forgot what I was...
[ Well, surely many people have thought this over the years. Will may well be the only one bold enough to say it. What were they talking about?
Ah, yes, his injuries. Will counts his wounds as they walk to the study. ]
Nothing too serious. Just my neck, here... and my wrists... [ From when they grabbed him and twisted his wrists so hard that he cried out. ] And — [ he hooks a finger into the corner of his lips ] — here, in m' mouf, 'cause I bit myshelf...
[ It's a strange thing, to watch him catalogue the various faults and flaws of his slim, elfin body. Will gestures to his ankles; it's a subtle thing, given that he isn't limping, but one is ever so slightly more swollen than the other. ]
And my ankle... I twisted it trying to run. And... here...
[ As if he doesn't know what kind of danger he could be in, Will lifts the hem of his tattered tunic as he walks, revealing a nasty, mottled set of bruises on his thigh: someone's fingers brutally wrenched his legs apart. ]
They were checking if I was... intact.
no subject
The boy seems to know not who he is. It is a refreshing sort of change to not simply sense but know that the words coming from him are genuine.
Louis catalogs each indicated injury with a glance. The elda conducts himself like a lamb unaware he walks in the midst of a wolf, not even double-guessing his own gestures and the invitation they could present before the eyes of others. Too trusting, as though to embody that over-soft belief of his. But I really do think that people can create a world where the horrible things that happened in that room don't need to happen, he said so sincerely, after only a thought.
Would he still have said the same if he had been taken away by an ill-intentioned bidder, to be consumed and ruined of everything he is?
A brief frown crosses Louis' face before it departs. He opens the door to the study with a firm hand, allowing Wilhelm to follow him inside. It is warm, filled with the scents of tomes, paper, and ink. He is due to relocate his collection to the Charadrius soon now that it is nearing completion, having passed recent tests in secret, locked away from Forden's prying eyes. But for now, the books remain on their shelves here in the study, Louis' favored room in the manor. It is furnished with rich, warm colors—bookshelves in deep mahogany, a comfortable, lush couch not far from where they stand, another armchair by the other side. Louis' desk stands by the far end with just a few documents strewn about on it, though a book with a familiar gold-edged cover sits innocently atop the polished surface. By another quadrant, there is a small, ornate table with a set of chairs.
Before Wilhelm has very long to examine the room, Louis speaks, distaste coloring his voice. ]
It seems the bruises on your legs mark the worst of it, then. No matter. There will be nothing left of them soon.
[ Long, gloved fingers catch Wilhelm by the delicate contours of his chin, tilting his head up. This close, it's easier to see why he drew interest from the crowd; his eyes are large, soulful, jewel-like. Gold, like magic from tales of yore, and a blue almost familiar, not unlike the sky.
Louis' thumb skims the corner of the boy's mouth, by the spot he had indicated earlier. His spell is wordless, an older one first woven by others. He had taken it, improved upon it in their stead where they no longer could. Perhaps Wilhelm is still too new to the world to realize, but the warmth of it is different from the cast of an igniter, or any of the Dei line skills. Either way, the spot where he bit himself heals over, leaving no room for infection.
He releases Wilhelm's chin only for his hand to skim downward, alighting against the vulnerable column of Wilhelm's throat where the next bruise mars the flesh. The boy before him seems a small, fragile thing like this, enough that Louis could fit his hand around his neck and tear the last stuttering breaths from him in mere moments. Instead, his fingertips glow with magla in a gentle green color, something a far cry from the malevolent energy he had used to execute the filth in the auction house.
With that done, he draws back and makes a sweeping gesture to the room. ]
Take a seat and I'll see to the rest. No doubt the bath will be ready by the time you're mended.
no subject
He lets his head loll to one side as Louis touches him; he lets out a soft sigh, half-voiced, like a cat's mewl. So fragile, so meek. So innocently trusting. Surely he knows that Louis could kill him as easily as he killed all those people in the auction house? And yet, here he sits, offering his trust and his life to Louis as easily as he might hold a crisp red apple out to the man to bite.
When Louis pulls away, Will looks up with big blue eyes, seemingly disappointed at the end of the contact. Nevertheless, he does as he's told, daintily taking a seat in one of Louis's beautiful armchairs — he looks almost as though he's afraid of getting them dirty, the way he sweeps his tunic behind him as if flattening a skirt. The bruises on his bare legs stick out, like dirt smeared across a pristine canvas. ]
...Lord Louis?
[ Certainly he is aware that Louis did not introduce himself, earlier as they were exiting the auction house — but Will is observant enough to have remembered that the butler gave his master's name, and he is also audacious enough to claim it without asking. His gaze is fixed on the beautiful gilded book on Louis's desk. ]
You have the same book...
no subject
But none would have known of his whereabouts this evening, not even his closest lieutenants, and he had not been tailed. Then it is instead a strange turn of fate to have met this elda, thought twice about him and the book in his possession, and brought him back into the manor.
A mere matter of curiosity. ]
I do. Imagine my surprise when an elda appeared before me, bearing another copy of a book that has not seen the light of day since the Sanctists deigned it too blasphemous to escape banning. Better to continue pulling the wool over the eyes of their herd, lest one man's careless words ignite a spark they cannot take back. And so, they would cast aside anything that does not align with their false promises, that does not serve them and their injustices.
[ A sardonic expression twists at Louis' voice. He draws closer, his footsteps subdued against the plushness of the carpet. In the quiet of the room, there is no one but Wilhelm there to see the way the lord of the manor kneels in front of him, hand brushing over the soft heat of the boy's leg in a clinical touch, not at all similar to the gestures that caused the bruises in the first place. Another flare of magla, another gentle green glow, and the marks fade as though Wilhelm had never been touched in the first place. ]
You are a long way from home, deep in the capital so many Sanctists call home. If you recall fire and burning, then you know the shameless atrocities of which they are capable, even if the memories remain lost to you.
[ Another fleeting touch, this time to the boy's ankle, soothing the spot where it was twisted. That Wilhelm managed the entire walk from the outskirts to this district without a single sound of complaint is commendable. The glow from Louis' hand gleams as it spreads. The cuts on Wilhelm's heels and soles, too, begin to knit together. It's a nostalgic feeling for him as well. The same sensation and light preserved in that spell, and he'd made sure it mirrored what he remembered from those years ago, even if everyone else who knew it was dead. ]
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But he's certain of one thing, he's certain he knows — ]
...They burned the village. Almost... almost everyone died. The ones that didn't... weren't the same afterward.
[ Louis is so gentle with him, so patient. His touch is healing, bringing soothing calm to the smarting pain of his wounds. At last, the burning sting in his ankle, which he has thus far borne without complaint, melts away; tension eases out of his body, too, leaving him relaxed and pliant.
Sighing with gratitude, Will reaches out, tentatively, and touches Louis's beautiful face. ]
Louis, are you lonely, too?
[ What does he mean by "too"? Lonely, like the survivors of that ashen sanctum? Or lonely like himself? Will does not clarify, but his thick-lashed eyes are focused only on Louis's face as he gently strokes the man's high cheekbones, his gaze warm and sympathetic. ]
I'll stay with you, if you want. I don't want you to be sad.
[ Tempting, tempting, tempting. Oh, surely the boy is a spy. Only a trap would be this inviting, this sweet, in a world so bleak and full of broken promises. And yet, the look in Will's mismatched eyes is warm and guileless in a way that no spy could ever manufacture. No one could pretend at such innocent care. ]
no subject
Louis has not worn his emotions plainly on his face since the day the sanctum turned to ash. His expression does not change even as the boy touches his face; he does not lean into the touch, but neither does he pull away. For a moment, only stillness. His gaze settles, inscrutable and thoughtful, on Wilhelm's eyes. There is no judgment in them, only an acceptance so soul-rendingly gentle it nearly begs the question of whether this is merely a dream.
Well... It is not untrue that those who survived the flames could no longer be who they were prior to the massacre.
Louis raises a hand, fingers curling in a deceptively light touch around the slenderness of Wilhelm's wrist. It seems almost a frail thing in his grip, as though he could easily snap it with just a careless twist. Beating softly beneath his thumb, the boy's pulse is melodically steady. If his words carry deceits, if he could lie without any tells at all, then he truly carries mastery over himself. ]
And you would do such a thing, in lieu of your true purpose for coming to the capital? You said you came to meet someone. Surely you recall something of the person you seek.
[ Earlier, Louis had told the boy he could decide himself what to do with his freedom. How strange to think that so soon after arriving here, the little stray he found might opt to stay. There was no recognition on his face; this is not simply a matter of name, title, or leverage. Gratitude, then—but even gratitude will show its limits, once someone has been pushed far enough, as soon as the balance is no longer in their favor. ]
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I don't remember...
[ He struggles visibly. He closes his eyes in an attempt to break through the barriers in his mind that are preventing him from remembering, but the harder he tries, the faster his breath comes. His thin wrist shakes in Louis's grip. His pulse has quickened slightly beneath Louis's thumb. ]
She said... she said... "Thy fate yet unknown dawns in this moment" —
[ What would that mean? Who would have said it to him? Shuddering, Will stops trying; his shoulders sag with the alleviated pressure of release. Again, he shakes his head apologetically, as if expressing his sorrow to Louis that he could not be more helpful... with regard to his own past. The beating of his heart soon settles. ]
I'm sorry. I just... can't seem to recall who it was.
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No. Impossible.
Wilhelm's pulse is settling again beneath his thumb, but Louis remembers the shift of it, like the frantic flutter of a hummingbird's wings. The boy seems such a pitifully trusting creature, trying his utmost to answer a simple inquiry rather than offer a palatable lie. But this is a credit to him. Louis has long tired of prevaricators who cannot rise to meet the promises they champion. ]
...So be it. If you cannot remember your purpose and wish to stay, I'll not deny you.
[ He releases Wilhelm's wrist only to touch his face, brushing his thumb right below the nostalgic color of the boy's lone blue eye, not so dissimilar from a sight that's lurked in his distant dreams. His voice lowers to an almost intimate timbre, eyes burning with a wild intensity darker than the flames they must have both seen as children. ]
You are an elda, member of the most downtrodden of tribes, spurned at every turn by those who believe themselves your betters. Even with your memories in tatters, you have suffered firsthand what others would do to you given the slightest opportunity. In this, you grasp more than many the injustices of this world and what those standing at the precipice of power would do to perpetuate them.
[ His thumb drifts dangerously close to Wilhelm's jewel-like eye, skirting with a dangerous softness over the boy's long lashes. ]
I have a vision for this world, and you will stand by my side as my witness. I will have you join my retinue and see with your own eyes what this kingdom could be if it were free of the yoke of the church's hypocrisies. And if your memories return, you can judge for yourself whether the one you seek is worthier of your loyalties.
[ And if Wilhelm proves lacking, inadequate, too feeble-minded to grasp the glories that ought to be theirs, or simply an enemy to all they mean to stand for—Louis will kill him himself.
Would a boy so guileless and free of the conceits that mire so many others come to despise him as well? Only time will tell his true loyalties. ]
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...If that is what you wish.
[ His voice is so soft that it seems to tremble in the air. ]
I... wish for it, too. I want to see... what you will make of this world.
[ The young eldan boy rests his hand lightly atop Louis's knuckles, holding that touch against his face. It's partly because he likes the attention; it's also partly because, however intuitively, he senses that Louis also needs the attention. For all that he's been quiet — seemingly ignorant, uneducated — he understands fully what Louis has promised him. ]
I trust you, Louis.
[ When the bathwater has filled the tub and Louis orders him (softly, but even so, all commands sound like orders out of his mouth) to clean himself, Will sinks into the hot, melting embrace of the water gracefully and lets the steam knead his sore muscles into compliance.
Once he's finished just relaxing, he stirs himself into action, tentatively exploring the fine toiletries that Louis's manor has provided him. There's soap, shampoo, even a product called conditioner that Will is certain must only rest on the shelves of the noble and fortunate... Will uses all of them, and indulges, and emerges smelling fresh, with softened skin, his cuts and bruises faded, harsher aspects of his body pampered and exfoliated away.
He's very like a pleased kitten when he trots out of the bathroom in fresh clothes in search of the man who has taken him home and gifted him the world. (His shirt and pants are borrowed from Louis's closet, from a time when the young master of the house was much younger, though the shirt is still somewhat large for Will's reedy frame; he wears it much like a dress.) ]
Louis?
[ As he emerges, he finds Louis at his desk in the study, and the old butler from before dutifully laying out a selection of small dishes on a nearby table from a serving cart he rolled into the study. He bows in Will's direction, too, as though acknowledging an esteemed guest.
"Dinner is served, milord," the butler says politely, and then gestures for Will to sit down. ]
Ah... yes. Thank you...
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Like a benediction crowning the bed of thorns forming the path he must tread. It should be a meaningless thing—trifling words from one who knows little of the world, who cannot possibly fathom what it all entails—but Louis smiles anyway, something sharp that betrays a glimpse of the hunger and fury lining the core of his soul. ]
I will show you, then. A land of eternal, perfect equality beneath the full sky—something beyond the promises of the tome we both bear.
[ By the time Wilhelm emerges from the bath, Louis has also opted for a change of clothes and groomed himself, shedding the nondescript layers of the traveling garments he had donned earlier. He is clad now in something closer to his usual attire, sans armor and full military coat. Clean and unmarred, without a single trace left on his person of the fact he had brutally executed a room's worth of faceless degenerates earlier in the night. He is paging through a thick volume on Wilhelm's arrival—a historical text—one that he closes and sets aside with a quiet rustle of pages. Rising gracefully to his feet, Louis steps around his desk to join Wilhelm by the table.
To the butler, now that the spread has been laid out: ]
You are dismissed for the time being. Return later. Wilhelm will need to be shown to the guest quarters.
[ "As you command, my lord," comes the reply, immaculately level. In his own show of loyalty, the man asks no questions nor spares anymore curious glances at Wilhelm; it is not his place to inquire further about the developments of the evening. As he departs, Louis' attention shifts instead to Wilhelm. The clothes are not a perfect match for his size, but they are not so loose as to hinder or obstruct him. With a few adjustments, he could easily look the part of a young lord, if not for the fact that this city would not suffer the supposed indignity of an elda holding any measure of power here. The irony is not lost on Louis.
A bead of water clings to a lock of Wilhelm's hair, the strands glistening under the lamplight of the room. It slides down the length and clings to the end the way raindrops linger on the edges of leaves. A vision strikes Louis for but a fraction of a second: faint sunlight dappling the grass, falling over the pages of a book open on his lap. The soft scent of flowers mingling with a distant petrichor, remnants of a rain so gentle it had failed to dampen the ground beneath the trees with their branches sprawling above, drowning out the sky. A tiny hand curling in his sleeve with a small tug, and bright eyes peering at the ink on an open page.
The memory dissipates with Louis' next breath as he casts it aside with an inscrutable expression. ]
You look far more presentable now. I trust the accommodations have been to your liking thus far.
[ At the very least, Wilhelm seems happier, more relaxed now, smelling softly of pleasant scents. Louis regards him for a moment, satisfied. Then he reaches out, a new spell on his fingertips, hand touching the silken softness of Wilhelm's freshly washed hair. For an archmage of Louis' caliber, he needs few incantations and even fewer moments of theorycrafting to weave most of the spells he seeks. For something simple, it comes together on the fly, a simple fire spell adjusted in intensity until all that happens is that Wilhelm feels a gentle warmth before the dampness of his hair fades. It dries silently, cutting any of the remaining chill he might have felt on the walk back through the hallway.
Without offering any explanation, Louis pulls back and takes a seat of his own across the table, gesturing to the spread of plates. It is not a full-fledged feast considering the late hour, but there is a respectable variety. Most of all, each dish, though delicious in flavor, is light enough not to upset a stomach that has not enjoyed the pleasure of steady meals in several days. ]
Dine as you please. You may partake of anything you like.
[ It seems, too, that the lord of the manor has relaxed a bit more compared to his earlier demeanor. ]
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Will tips his head to one side, fluffed and dried, and then he giggles.
The house butler has truly brought a most respectable spread of light appetizers. It's enough to fill an empty stomach, but not so much as to send it towards bloating; the ingredients have been chosen with an eye towards nutrition and what a body needs, especially when that body belongs to a slave that has just been rescued from his captors. There are slices of pear and cheese — an unusual combination of surprisingly complementary flavors — atop pieces of flatbread; roses of sliced salmon atop crisply fried potatoes; grilled artichokes drizzled with a lemon sauce; two delicate eggs, deviled with something creamy which Will can't identify. A glass of wine for Louis has been set to one side of the table; to another side, a glass of juice for Will.
It's all much more than the young elda has ever eaten in what he can recall of his short life. His eyes go wide as he looks over each and every beautiful plate. He can't even imagine what some of it might taste like; he knows only that it must all be exquisitely delicious. His eyes have gone wide with unbridled excitement. ]
Anything? Really?
[ Shyly, he fidgets with obvious desire; he's almost too nervous to sit down, but Louis has gestured to the dishes, indicating that Will should indulge himself. Obediently, Will takes his orders once more, seating himself daintily across the table and takes up the tableware properly. (Oddly, the way he grasps his fork and knife reflects some degree of etiquette training. But where would an elda from the sanctum have received such lessons...?) ]
It all looks so delicious...
[ Tentatively, however, Will opts first for a salmon rose, lifting the potato slice delicately with the tips of his fork and knife. Once he has properly cut it in half and carried it to his lips, allowing the salmon to melt on his tongue, his eyes go wide, sparkling with delight — ]
Mmmh...! It's good!
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Telltale signs of a baited trap, or facets of a far more compelling enigma?
The fascination of the puzzle keeps Louis silent for several moments longer as he watches Wilhelm savor the food with too-sharp eyes. He's quieter in his appreciation, serving himself some of the pear slices and cheese for a few bites as he nurses his glass of wine. Still, his gaze never leaves Wilhelm for very long, edged with an unspoken curiosity, even if it lies buried beneath his usual poise. ]
I should hope that it is. The staff here is competent and more than capable. [ For all that he is considered a harsh man, though Louis does not give praise easily, he issues it more than willingly in the face of true merit, and he seems pleased in the face of Wilhelm's obvious enjoyment. ] Should you have anything else you require, I can send for someone.
[ The wine today is a mild red, pleasant in its subtle notes. Now, unencumbered by the weight of the usual scrutiny upon him, the airs he would ordinarily take care to dawn, Louis is content to observe. A moment's solace in the company of one who has not yet been ruined by the vilest aspects of this kingdom... How fitting. Wilhelm has been naive, but not unintelligent—if he were, he would not have sparked Louis' interest so—and there is a lovely rawness in the subtle strains of his magla, something unlike that of anyone Louis has encountered in the past decade. It had been clear each time Louis had touched him. Perhaps he would make a powerful mage of his own in due time. The other tribes, so unfamiliar with the truths of the Old World, could never manage this the way the elda do. It is a shackle that only the worthy will manage to cast aside, once things are set into motion.
Despite it all, something tells Louis that the most suitable weapon for Wilhelm would be not a staff, but a proper sword. ]
We will have a full itinerary in the coming weeks. Avail yourself of every resource and bolster your strength, lest you fall behind. Our stay at the manor will be but a brief reprieve.
[ There will be things to do, like having proper clothes fitted for Wilhelm so he does not reflect poorly on Louis. It will be akin to armor of his own, a necessary thing when the boy will be met with constant derision for simply being an elda. It seems almost a shame to allow him to be spoilt by the odiousness of society, but it will be necessary. A tempering, to see if he truly understands what it means to stand by Louis' side as a witness to all to come, that he may emerge all the more brilliant for having faced everything there is to face. ]
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You'd like me to train? Then I'll need a sword...
[ Apparently he is of the same mind when it comes to what form his ideal weapon should take. For a moment, the boy perks up over a new forkful of deviled egg, his voice rising in pitch hopefully: ]
Are you going to teach me?
[ ...It occurs to him, however, that a man such as Louis likely does not have the time to dote on his new charge, however kind and generous he's been thus far. Suddenly finding his confidence flatlining as he takes in what he knows of Louis's conditions, Will falters, lips gnawing gently at the tip of his fork as he stares with watery eyes across the table at Louis. ]
Oh... but you must be busy. I'll teach myself if I have to...
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Leveling a look of some amusement at the elda and the somewhat dejected expression shadowing his features, Louis helps himself to one of the salmon roses as well, cleanly placing it on his own plate without any wasted motions or unpleasant scrapes of utensils against the platters. ]
You wish for me to instruct you? I am not opposed to the idea.
[ A proper sword will come later, after they have assessed the correct weight and balance for the weapon that suits Wilhelm best. There are ample practice swords of varying designs available in the manor, and the training facilities at the not yet debuted Charadrius are top of the line. They can begin here in the manor while Wilhelm grows acclimated to the capital, before they're due to tour and relocate to the skyrunner, and everything can resume there. ]
Prove your potential and I will personally see to your training. Any fool can cast with an igniter, but only those with aptitude will find a knack with sword and spell alike. Shall I test you on the morrow, Wilhelm, and reveal where you stand in this?
[ The name is soft as it unfurls from his tongue, half couched in a caress. Louis' gaze is considering as it settles on Wilhelm, as though studying him long enough might unravel some of the secrets he carries by virtue of existing. He has not lied in saying he isn't opposed to teaching the boy. Wilhelm is a curiosity he wants to take apart himself; he wants to test him, tease out whether the rawness of his magla might mean something, if it bears implications of potential, danger, or even something more. This single, new, and tenuous link to the sanctum he had left so many years ago... Will this bear fruit, or simply prove another disappointment to crown so many others?
Even as he enjoys the salmon and takes a sip of his wine, the silent anticipation in Louis' eyes has not dimmed. ]
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Part of him is aware that it might be dangerous to fall into servitude with such a man, but another part just can't help it; instinctively, as any innocent creature might, Will just loves the way Louis says his name, soft and gentle, like he's something important.
He lights up when Louis accepts his initial demand. (He will learn from this not to doubt himself before his asks have been rejected or accepted.) Eyes wide, practically bubbling with glee, he manages to swallow on his mouthful of egg and answer: ]
...Yes! I want that! I won't disappoint you, I promise.
[ More time? Yes, more time spent in glorious solitude with Louis before he is whisked away to whatever it is he must do, the other responsibilities that must call to him — oh, Will wants this very much. Again, things that no spy, no matter how well-trained, would ever be able to feign: he does such a terrible job of hiding how eager he is for Louis's attention, and how much he wants to earn it. ]
I want to be of use to you, so I can't be weak.
[ He's surprisingly sure of this. Equally surprising is that he doesn't seem to be daunted by the prospect of learning either spellwork or the blade. ]
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That determination will serve you well. After all, it is the reason you managed to travel so far from your village and are now here before me now, is it not? Since you wish to be of use to me... I will grant you a purpose in place of the one you have lost.
[ Because such devotion deserves an answer. The ease of Wilhelm's response suggests either conviction or a foolhardy misunderstanding of all that being in Louis' service might entail. But perhaps there is a charm to this eager boldness. The time they have spent together so far has proven the odds increasingly slim that Wilhelm crossed his path by someone else's design. For all that the masses have judged Louis to be a man who spares no attention for those beneath him, he has never shied away from granting others the opportunity to prove themselves. Whether unintentionally, or in a clear bid for his attention.
His next words emerge softly, thoughtfully—and all the more dangerous for it. ]
A promise is a lofty thing to make. Take care not to break yours.
[ He knows what it is like to witness a pledge unfulfilled, a dream shattered. It is not the sort of thing one so easily forgives or forgets. The most he offers now is not a threat but a warning.
Louis has not been deprived of simple pleasures and comforts the way Wilhelm has, so he dines sedately, a graceful ease to each motion. Content to savor some of the other dishes, he leaves the second deviled egg alone on its platter for Wilhelm to enjoy, after glimpsing the breadth of the quiet delight on the boy's face upon tasting the first. The salmon as well, since Wilhelm seemed partial to it. ]
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Sated once the plates are cleared, Will relaxes slightly in his seat, sipping his juice with the same gusto as one might drink deeply of fine wine. ]
Is all food going to be that good...?
[ It's a rhetorical question — of course he knows that some meals will be unremarkable — but this series of light appetizers was so delicious to his half-starved mind that he can't help but question whether or not he'll ever have anything as delicious again. Eventually, however, he stirs from his contented state, plagued by a different concern he's been worried about. ]
Ah, um... Louis?
[ He hates to ask for too much — he wonders if he should call Louis Lord Louis instead — but for the time being, the man seems willing to indulge him. Surely it's only prudent to take advantage of such interests. ]
Can you... [ He falters. ] When you said, earlier, that I'd stay in the guest rooms. Could I... Could I stay with you instead?
[ He knows he might be asking for too much at this point, he knows, and yet — ]
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Still... Louis does not dislike this. There is a certain novelty to being addressed as simply Louis and not Lord Louis, in not keeping with the part he plays before Euchronian society. In other circumstances, he would have thrust forth his name like a proclamation, an extension of what he represents—I am Louis Guiabern—as he has done before so many. But the setting of their meeting had not warranted such introductions, and like this, in the quiet company of just one other person, the closest to understand their shared, tattered roots, perhaps he can be Charadrius in mind. After all, the boy has learned his name, at least the one borne unreservedly, and in equal turn learned to use it freely.
Yet another allowance alongside many others. Perhaps it is because of the slight plaintive note in the boy's voice, or the way he had murmured I trust you, Louis earlier so softly, as though that faith resonated through all he is. Devotion, but not one so blind as to forget what Louis is capable of—the sort of romanticism that dares believe the world need not be the horrible place it is. If, despite it all, Wilhelm would be the assassin that dares plunge a dagger in Louis' back, he is doing a splendid job. ]
I've not shared quarters since I was but a foot soldier in the royal army.
[ Wryness colors his tone at the memory; he had ascended and fallen swiftly, then risen even more swiftly in the aftermath, colored by the lessons he'd learned. ]
...I will grant your request. If through this you will not be ruled by nightmares this evening, so be it. My quarters can more than adequately accommodate another.
[ His eyes glance over the salmon and egg platters, both cleaned of their contents in particular, prey to his little stray's voracious hunger. Then, with a hint of amusement tinging his voice: ]
And if you behave yourself, perhaps tomorrow's meals will be even better.
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Yes! I'll behave, I swear.
[ As if on cue, the stately butler soon wheels his cart back into the room to collect the used plates and utensils. As a rhoag, he has excellent hearing, despite his age; he is of course aware that he does not need to show his master's guest to the guest chambers. Briefly, the old man makes eye contact with Will and smiles; this makes the elda beam even more brightly, and he kicks his feet a short, demure distance in delight. ]
...Everyone's been so kind to me... I'm so happy.
[ But — considering that he was enslaved, so close to being sold for the most nefarious of purposes to the most nefarious of people — is that really true? Haven't more people been unkind to him than kind...? ]
[ Once he has washed up a second time in the restroom and brushed his teeth clean of the meal he just had, Will is led merrily to Louis's private bedchamber for the night. Again, as before, Will can't help but glance around in awe and wonderment, dazzled by all of Louis's fine things. A true noble with a keen and judgmental eye might note that some of them are quite old — but what does that matter to Will? He cares not for the latest fashions or the current trends; he cares only that he is fortunate enough to have Louis's attention right now. ]
Your room is beautiful, too...
[ Shyly, the young elda laces his fingers in front of him, smiling brightly at Louis as he asks: ]
Should I sleep on the floor?
[ There's no shame to it, not even the barest hesitation. The slavers had him sleeping in worse conditions, and all he wants is the comfort of being close to Louis. ]
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The drawn curtains of the windows are thick in material, embroidered with unusual, but elegant patterns that are rather unlike those that other noble families might favor. The armoire, fashioned of a sturdy blackwood, is impressively tall, seated beside another door that must lead into a private bathroom or closet. Much like the study, there is a couch and coffee table here as well, the latter of which home to several scattered papers. Other antiques sit atop decorative tables, but most worthy of interest is a particular vase by the far side of the room filled with beautiful white lilies, their blooms impressively stately.
It is true that many things lie on the older side, for a reason, but if it escapes Wilhelm's notice or commentary, then there is nothing to say. His starry-eyed excitement speaks for itself. But despite his initial silence, Louis's gaze is keen as it sweeps over Wilhelm's expression. If the boy has no reaction to the flowers, no indication of the secrets that lie here in this room—neither horror over the prospect of the so-called royal flowers being taken, nor the realization of what they could truly mean—then it may seem his amnesia could be unfeigned after all.
At his question, Louis arches an elegant brow. ]
Do you believe this the extent of my hospitality, after bidding you stay? [ Rather than affronted, however, he instead sounds vaguely amused. ] No, I would not have you rest on the floor like a mere dog, as a master would. To the bed, Wilhelm.
[ Even in the usual regalia, lacking the sweep of his cape, Louis's air remains authoritative and commanding all the same as he turns on his heel and takes to one side of the bed. It is an impressive thing, framed with a luxurious rug and adorned in sheets spun of a soft, superior cotton. The blankets, too, are blissfully smooth in texture and thick in material. Louis peels them back from the head of the king-sized bed, revealing the invitingly soft pillows beneath.
A pleasant surprise for Wilhelm lies atop the end table on the other side of the bed: his own copy of the novel, which he had clung to so dearly earlier. It has been moved from the study to join its owner where he has opted to stay, a quiet comfort at the end of a harrowing day. Perhaps it was an unnecessary gesture; still, Louis has found himself relenting to more and more whims today, strange as it is. ]
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Pretty...
[ But he soon moves on, lured by the call of Louis's voice.
The fine luxuries of the room appeal to him, after so many days dragged through sand and thrown upon stone. Will can hardly believe his luck; he would have considered it great fortune merely to be allowed to sleep on Louis's fine rug and listen to the sound of his breathing through the night. Instead, his savior magnanimously prepares the bed for them both to sleep in, and Will almost wants to throw himself on the mattress and roll around in glee. For a moment, he looks at Louis with such fervently blossoming hope that he looks almost as though he could float right off the ground — but then his eyes fall on the book set on the bedside table, and he gasps. ]
Oh — my book!
[ It's his copy too, he realizes quickly; he can recognize it at a glance, despite the fact that it isn't significantly different from Louis's. He picks it up, flips quickly through the pages to ensure that his captors didn't damage it. When it appears to be much the same as always, he breathes an audible sigh of relief and clutches it to his chest, as if hugging a beloved toy.
(An interesting quirk: there appears to be some minor magla flow between Will and his fantasy novel... almost as if the novel itself is a relic. But no, it can't be, given that Louis knows full well of that book's provenance... and it's hard to tell, anyway, without the eye of the mustari to bless one's sight. But the sense of magla resonance in the air, that's unmistakable, especially for an archmage as accomplished as Louis...)
Regardless, Will soon obediently crawls into bed, scuffing his heels against his ankles before slipping into the sheets, as if concerned about removing invisible dirt — he needn't be concerned, even the very floors of Louis's manor are spotless. ]
Thank you... so much, really, for everything.
[ A moment's hesitation, and then he settles against a pillow, opening his book up to a random passage; then he makes eye contact with Louis, holding the novel up in gentle offering. ]
Um, shall we read together? [ A soft smile. ] I know you've read this already... but it's nice to reread it sometimes, don't you think?
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His instincts around magla have never led him astray. There is something of note here, something resonating between Wilhelm and the book he cherishes so dearly. It brings to mind the unusually raw quality of the boy's magla, as though he simply radiates it—but magla emerges most under specific conditions, spun from the threads of anxiety. Perhaps there had been a near-animalistic desperation haunting his every gesture back in the auction house, but Wilhelm has seemed nothing but wholeheartedly delighted to simply be here, basking in Louis's presence like a flower in the sun. Even in the face of the eldan lilies, he had revealed no flash of flame-scorched memory, nor trepidation over some perceived wrongdoing Louis must have committed, only a quiet melancholy. If anxiety shadows him, he does not show it at all.
And yet the aura of his magla is potent. Intoxicating, in its own way. Raw and near unadulterated, quiet as it is—as though it pulses from every pore.
How had Louis not taken note of it sooner? ]
No doubt we have both read it a great many times. [ A slight sardonic twist of his mouth—but it goes as quickly as it comes. ] But very well. A brief passage, then, before we rest for the evening.
[ He slips into bed as well, graceful even as he settles. It feels—strange, decidedly. Louis has been wary of would-be assassins for a long time, his paranoia well-justified with the enemies he has made on account of simply existing, but Wilhelm's presence is almost a comfort. Nostalgic, even, with the way the gold foil of the book's cover glitters in the soft candlelight. He looks back into Wilhelm's bright, mismatched eyes, and then he reaches for the book.
There it is again. The slightest flicker of magla, resonating gently. Has it grown stronger in the past hour, solidified with the more time Wilhelm has had the book back in his grasp? He had been separated from it for what must have been days at the hands of the slavers, kept just out of reach. Had it taken until now for that tenuous link to strengthen?
It was not a mistake to keep Wilhelm close, then. Every enigma he unknowingly presents—Louis will unravel them all, take them apart, until he has a name for the feeling that has grown roots in his thoughts.
The novel, so large in Wilhelm's hands, is small in Louis's. He eases it open, the whisper of the binding soft amidst the quiet turn of pages. Then Louis finds the first chapter. The familiar illustration—people's silhouettes splashed against a backdrop of glittering, glass buildings, breathtakingly evocative even in the limited colors of the ink. ]
"The young traveler was amazed by what he saw. In this world, there is only one tribe. All people accept each other, and no soul is born into discrimination."
[ Louis's voice settles into a hypnotic rhythm as he reads. It is not the orator's charisma he wields now, as he would for his speeches. It is something somewhat more subdued, pensive. ]
"In such a world, there is no need for sorcery. A megapolis is built through learning and labor. Towers of glass that reach the heavens. Safe nights with no dark shadows. Busy streets well traveled." [ A pause, and then he reads on. ] "And in the laws of these emotionally satisfied people, it reads: All lives are equal."
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His eyelids droop. He feels very nearly lulled to sleep by the hypnotic tones of Louis's voice, low and powerful even in this quiet reading voice.
By now, Louis has undoubtedly come to this conclusion, but even so — no assassin would possibly be like this, even in a honeypot operation authored by the Church's most evil strategies. And what dastardly schemer would have placed such an innocent lure before Louis Guiabern, anyway? Even if Forden knew — even if he suspected Louis Guiabern's provenance, and he quite possibly never has — no one in Euchronia would think that the great and mighty, the infallible and invincible Count Louis Guiabern might be swayed by an innocent elda boy curling up to him in the dead of the night. No one would imagine how his heart might feel, reading a book published decades prior, one which was long banned by the Sanctist church. No one would think — no one would suspect... ]
...
[ This feeling between them — what could it be? Will feels it, too, as he closes his eyes and sinks deeper and deeper towards slumber.
The boy himself says nothing, though he makes a soft, appreciative sound of comfort, but the way in which this reading soothes him is obvious to see. Tentatively, he twines his arm with Louis's at the elbow, breathing out slowly. It is almost as if speaking the words of the book is an incantation which can control him, and right now, Will's orders are to sleep. ]
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Quietly, Louis eases the book closed and reaches around Wilhelm to deposit it gently beside the pillow, where it will lie for the remainder of the evening, like a charm to ward off the boy's nightmares. Despite the motions, Wilhelm does not stir, only clinging to his arm. For several moments, Louis looks his fill now, studying him without concern of scrutiny. The faint magla current ebbs and flows, clearly not something that was consciously being manifested.
Where his touches were clinical before, this time, Louis reaches out to skim curious fingertips over the boy's cheek, then over the soft strands of a lock of hair framing his face. ]
...In that utopia, the elda would be no different than the others, free to walk unfettered through the land with no need of magic or defense against the forces that would sooner see them turned to ash than granted passage. And yet you seem as though you would languish in such a place, robbed of the magla that clings to you so.
[ Wilhelm is too untrained, too unfeigned in his reactions. He may have crossed Louis's path by some stroke of serendipity, but for all that he is sweet in his naivety, this, too, must be ruined. A necessity that Louis will handle himself. If the boy is to stand amongst his retinue let alone by his side before Euchronian society, he will have to learn to fend for himself even in the absence of Louis's protection. He will need to learn what it means to withstand the schemes and machinations that thrive in the capital.
Lest he be another innocent executed for Forden's wretched schemes. That pretender playing at being a nurturing hand for Euchronia's most unfortunate would no doubt delight in having another elda butchered, and especially if Louis shows him any favor. What happened years ago must not happen again, and Louis has long exhausted every avenue available to him in fully unraveling the truth behind the incident that has haunted him so long.
Another task to handle come tomorrow. For now, a flick of a finger and the wisps of a wind spell smother the candlelight. Louis shifts Wilhelm so they may both lie down properly, and after a thought, pulls up the covers to properly ensconce them both.
Soon, he too closes his eyes. ]
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Louis sets it all aside and untangles himself from the boy to start the day.
By the time Wilhelm wakes fully, no doubt catching up on all the rest he was bereft of during his time in captivity, breakfast is ready. Just as they ate together the previous evening, Louis dines with him again in the morning—heartier dishes, but just as delicious if not more so than the previous fare, to prepare him for the events of the day. After the rest of the morning rituals, and with some assistance from the butler so that he is made presentable, Wilhelm is sent back to Louis. And off they go again to the first order of business: ensuring he remains fully presentable for the rest of the days he may be seen by Louis's side or in his company.
Which is how they find themselves in the shop of an upscale tailor—one who has pledged many of her services to Louis's cause, diligent and tasteful in her work and designs. Though there was a brief flicker of surprise on her face at the sight of an elda accompanying the seemingly unmovable Count Louis Guiabern, she gets to work quite promptly, gentle as she nudges Wilhelm this way and that for his measurements while Louis scrutinizes the fashion collections on display.
"Your other arm, please, sir," she says to Wilhelm. But despite her professional tone, there's a slight crinkle to her eyes that gives her a warmer, almost matronly look. Then, to Louis: "My lord, your thoughts on what he shall have for his wardrobe?" ]
Wilhelm will need numerous sets for travel, lounging, more formal occasions, and training. Garments that are adequately stately, as befits a member of my retinue.
[ A pause, and then, as he examines a lovely coat on a mannequin, gaze flitting back and forth from Wilhelm back to the plaid fabric: ]
White would suit him well. Your thoughts, Wilhelm?
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Something about being near the man just feels right.
Which is why Will continues to be soft and sweet and full of unbridled joy, even as he is made to pose this way and that atop the tailor's stool (she is a fair bit taller than he is) as she takes various measurements. Some would bask in this sort of attention, preen for it, but others — Basilio comes to mind — would gripe and fidget and be deeply uncomfortable with standing still. Will somehow manages to be neither, seeming docile and pliant as he follows her every order with an attentive and genuine interest in everything she is doing. ]
I like white. That way, we can match.
[ The tailor may be holding back unspoken questions about how this elda came to join Louis's personal retinue, but she seems to have grown fond of her strange customer's behavior nevertheless, and is growing increasingly excited about dressing him by the moment. "He'll do wonderfully in that windowpane plaid I've draped over the mannequin there — the designer's latest, very on-trend for the season, but classic enough that it will always be in fashion. And he's so slim that he'll look lovely in any pattern. For loungewear, I'll draw up two sets, one for warm weather, the other for colder..."
The seamstress goes on in this vein for some time, drawing up sketches of her plans for Will's wardrobe, presenting them to Louis smoothly and skillfully at every turn, making adjustments whenever Louis requests them (a belt for his overcoat, butter-soft gloves to ensure his grip on a sword). She designs fanciful add-ons: a fur cowl around a shawl for colder weather, a headband to keep his hair in place if needed. The order will be completed in a few days — rushed to finish, of course — but that suits Louis just fine: the Charadrius is not set to fly for another week.
After the tailor's, Louis takes Will to the blacksmith's to pick out a new weapon. Once again, as before, Will seems charmingly distracted by the wares on sale; he gravitates towards a selection of simple blades, though Louis could surely afford any of the most expensive, magla-laden swords in the store. ]
Oh... this one is pretty. [ Half-mumbled, as if he's worried Louis might hear him: ] Maybe... too pretty for me?
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And his own explicit confirmation he favors white and wishes to match with Louis—that, too, brings a a certain satisfaction.
At the blacksmith, Louis does not move from his place for several long moments, content to survey as Wilhelm meanders between the racks. Nearby, the rhoag shopkeeper remains poised despite his unexpected clientele for the day. Much like before, they remain in the upscale district; with the resources and wealth at his disposal, Louis has no reason to stray from his favored spots in the city.
Unfortunately for Wilhelm, with the quiet of the shop and Louis's keen hearing, his half-mumbled words don't go missed. With a mere few strides, the count closes the distance to where the boy stands, following his gaze to the indicated sword. He scrutinizes it for a moment, and then, without any qualms, acting in the manner of a lord with all the world at his disposal, he lifts the sword from its rack. ]
The heft of it is adequate for one of your stature. [ His gaze lingers for a moment on the design of the slender handle, the elegant silver trim woven with the other materials in lovely arcs and flourishes. ] If your concern is that it ill suits you, you need not entertain such thoughts.
[ It's near imperceptible—only the slightest quirk of his mouth, a gesture only Wilhelm is close enough to discern—as Louis gracefully adjusts his grip on the sword, grasping it by its sheath, and offers it handle-first. ]
Test it for yourself.
[ His eyes gleam, as though he's already aware which way the pendulum may swing. ]
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...Then the vision in front of him turns and offers him the selfsame blade that he expressed interest in, and Will jolts back to reality.
Nodding to hide his own flustered reaction (he's not hiding it very well), Will takes the blade by its sheath and tries to steady himself. Being the type of establishment meant for high-end clientele, the blacksmith's store has more than enough space for prospective buyers to test their sword forms with a new blade if needed. Squaring his stance properly (and isn't that interesting, the way he seems to have such little experience with other ways of the world, and yet must have had impeccable training in the art of combat, somewhere?) Will pulls the sword from its sheath and strikes, instinctively, three times through the air —
He has excellent form and posture. He's just as pretty as the blade.
All his coldly noble sense of dignity melts away, however, when he turns to look at Louis as if seeking the man's approval. Will half-smiles, almost sheepish at his own display. It was clear, however, that the blade suited him from the moment he held it; it's on the shorter side of things, making it perfect for Will's small stature, and it's light enough to suit his thin arms. ]
It's... it's a good weight! I think I like it.
[ ...He's realized by now that this means Louis will likely get it for him. But, ah, mustn't look at the price...! ]
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Once again, the boy never ceases to rouse Louis's curiosity. And as he is now, unaware of the cutthroat politics of the capital, he does not fully grasp the weight of it. Right now, the only thing Louis sees in his clear eyes is that consistent, earnest eagerness. ]
Then it will suffice for your first weapon. And when you hone your skills further, we will see to something even better.
[ If the tinge of magla that follows Wilhelm like an ever-present mist is any indication, they will have need of something that can amplify his magic eventually. That, though, will be something to decide on once Louis has had more time to gauge the boy's capabilities for himself, beyond what his instincts are telling him now.
The corners of Louis's mouth curl slightly in an expression that isn't quite a smile, but approving nonetheless—a reward for Wilhelm's knack for being a source of intrigue no matter what he does, where he's taken, or whatever is requested of him. ]
We will take this one.
[ With only a few words to the shopkeeper, barely batting an eyelash over the price, Louis pays for the sword without taking it from Wilhelm's grasp. A sword should remain with its master, after all. ]
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Louis may not be openly smiling, but Will is as they leave the blacksmith's shop and turn towards the apothecary's. He walks a little closer to Louis, emboldened perhaps, or maybe only more comfortable and confident that he is valued by his savior. At one point, when no one else is around to see it, he even dares to tuck his arm into the crook of Louis's elbow.
They go on in this vein for some time; they spark a few rumors as they do it, too, given that Louis attracts attention wherever he goes. By midday, the city's taverns are abuzz with gossip.
Did you hear? Count Louis has taken an elda into his retinue. Spent lavishly on him, too.
An elda? Blimey, what's an elda going to do for him?
Can't say. Streetwatchers say he took some lad 'round all the stores in Grand Trad and bought him the finest of everything. A sword, clothes... even a little medicine kit, like he expects the moppet to need first aid.
I heard someone say that the boy was a little too close... Do you know anything about that? I'm a Junah fan, so I've got to know...
Can't say. Didn't see them myself. Heard the Count spent quite the sum on the little devilspawn at the emporium, though.
I didn't even think the elda really existed. Thought they were fairytales the Church tells us to keep us in line.
Maybe it's true what they say, then. That the elda know curses the other tribes don't. Louis would want something dangerous like that on his side, now wouldn't he?
Oh, I wish I could go around town being spoiled by Lord Louis...
Will hears none of this gossip, but by the time they head back to the Charadrius, perhaps it has already reached the ears of the soldiers stationed there. Some are visibly startled by the sight of their lord returning with an elda in tow; others look on with a resoluteness that seems almost knowing past their helmets.
"Attention!" yells one superior officer, perhaps a quartermaster of some sort. "Count Louis has returned!"
The man's loud yell seems to startle Will; he jolts visibly, scurrying a little closer to Louis again, though he seems to realize that he is in formal company, and so he does not cling to the nobleman's arm as he did in the quieter streets of Grand Trad. ]
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It is a rewarding excursion. Louis allows the closeness—does not even move away when Wilhelm dares to tuck his arm into the crook of Louis's elbow, as though amply prepared to escort his new charge. He cares not to address the newly forming rumors on anything but his own terms. A man who cared more for the concerns of the masses would tread more diligently, but for Louis, his actions will speak for themselves, especially his lack of hesitation in letting himself be seen with an elda by his side.
Frankly, all the better if gossip winds its way to Forden's ears and that treacherous serpent has to stomach the knowledge that one of the elda he so despises is in the capital.
Louis is in something of a good mood as they return to the Charadrius, mouth set in a subtle expression that would seem neutral to those who don't know him well. He strides easily past the soldiers who part to make way, saluting their lord, his steps brisk and measured. For the superior officer, he spares a brief moment. ]
Inform Fidelio and Basilio that they are to report to me upon their return from their assignment.
[ The man snaps a salute as well. "Yes, sir!"
With a toss of his cape and no explanation to the murmuring soldiers, Louis heads for the end of the corridor, keeping a pace that ensures Wilhelm stays by his side despite the chaos of the room and the distractions surrounding them. Introductions will come at a later time, after he has further assessed the boy's worth and had the opportunity to settle more arrangements.
No doubt Wilhelm will be curious about the skyrunner as well. Though Louis has been aboard countless times already, it still makes for an impressive sight from afar.
Just a single swipe of his card, and the doors part to allow them passage. Louis guides Wilhelm to the elevator. ]
Magnificent, is it not? You stand aboard the Charadrius, the first skyrunner to grace Euchronia's skies. The Charadrius's maiden voyage is scheduled to take place soon, and soon, no corner of this kingdom will be beyond our reach.
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Will stays close, even as he and Louis cross the throngs of soldiers into the interior of the ship itself. As they enter the elevator together, Will looks around quizzically, as if not sure where to go next. ]
It's very beautiful... and so grand.
[ Comically, as the elevator lurches upward as elevators are wont to do, Will sways a little, his eyes still wide as he experiences the mild surprise of going up for the first time. Still — he's had a lot of first times in the last few days, so he doesn't comment on it as he rights himself, staying close to Louis as if in hopes that the man will catch him if he falls. ]
But... a ship like this.... it must require a lot of power to operate.
[ The boy frowns, unexpectedly contemplative. ]
Where is it all coming from?
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At the question, Louis's gaze settles on Wilhelm. The elevator continues moving, steady now, without any pauses. This one will carry them directly to the floor of his quarters, as well as the rooms designated for Wilhelm's use, which are not far from there. Also needing introduction are other intermediate locations, like the commissary and training rooms, though those will come after. ]
The propulsion system contains a network of igniters and magla accumulators to harness enough energy for flight. Where the accumulator proves insufficient, we maintain a separate supply of magla crystals.
[ The elevator comes to a stop, the doors gliding open before them, revealing the length of another lobby and hall. Louis's voice is steady, but there's a mild quality to it—something almost indulgent. ]
It is indeed a power-hungry mechanism. But with magla so rich in the air, we will not want for fuel.
[ His voice shifts, almost sardonic in those last words. This denizens of this kingdom bask in their ignorance and their anxieties, willfully dependent on the strengths of others. Is it any wonder why they will never lack for magla? ]
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The elevator stops. Patiently, Will allows Louis to exit first and then follows after him, once again eagerly taking in their surroundings as they walk. A wide bookshelf, stuffed to the brim with tomes of all sorts; a comfortable-looking couch; an imposing desk; royal flowers in a glorious porcelain vase. All luxurious things, all beautiful things, and yet, there is also a touch of emptiness to them...
Will peeks at what he can see of Louis's quarters, and then at an adjoining room on the other end of the office. He thinks he can guess at what Louis's intentions are... ]
...Am I to stay over there, Lord Louis?
[ They'll effectively have the floor to themselves, in that case. The Charadrius is massive, but in this respect, even if they technically have separate bedrooms, Louis and Will might be said to share this suite. ]