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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
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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