[ Strohl frowns, still mildly discomfited by Louis's unexpected praise, and his own realization that he's slowly getting used to addressing the man like any other member of their group. In his mind, he fully understands that this isn't necessarily a bad thing — but it would have been unthinkable to him only a few short weeks ago.
There's a real fear, deep in an anxious corner of his heart, that this might be the thing that finally claims Will's life, either because they only ever bought him a little more time from the curse that Rella admitted was killing her too, or because this is all some dastardly machination of Louis's. But it's hard to argue with the tender expression on that man's handsome face when Strohl walked in — and Fidelio and Basilio never described him as a great actor. He was many things before he died, but he was never particularly adept at lying.
...Sometimes Strohl suspects that he of all the Partisans knows best how their group is largely held together by Will. Maybe it's because he's been with Will the longest; maybe it's because he's usually the fastest to admit to his own faults and shortcomings. If the king died, he doesn't think they'd all fall apart — but the rifts between them would rise up again, and secretly, he's not sure that any of them are above infighting and petty squabbles.
When she found out that Will was sick, Junah had said, "If only Rella were still here!"
And then, for some reason, Heismay had drawled, "She never had the best track record of treating him, mind."
Junah had sort of — she hadn't gotten angry. But she'd sort of stuttered, in a strangely flustered and then broken-hearted way that Strohl had never seen from her, and then she turned on her heel and made up an excuse to leave. There's a part of him that sort of thinks that Heismay was being a bit of an ass about it, given the way Rella died in front of her; there's an equal part of him that sort of sees what Heismay was getting at, the way Rella had lied about everything, and wasn't without her faults, though they'd all agreed that Forden was at the heart of them. As for Heismay, Strohl hadn't pressed the old eugief on why he'd been so cruel. It's a small comfort to him that Heismay doesn't complain about the paripus anymore.
Still, he thinks. It wouldn't have happened if Will had been awake. Something about him makes the rest of them better people than they'd be without him, and part of that is scary, too.
Who would I be if I didn't have Will? he thinks.
And then, on a different topic: Louis would probably still hate Rella if she were still alive.
Sighing, he takes the few long strides towards Will's bedside, reaching out to the king with bare hands to check his temperature. "Hey, Will," he says softly, as if speaking to a younger brother. The tone of his voice is warmer and stronger than he feels at the moment. The elda's forehead burns under his palm. "How are you feeling?"
Will smiles, falling back against the pillows. "I'm okay," he murmurs softly. "Louis has been really nice to me."
Strohl lets out another quiet sigh of relief.
In the next few moments, Will is rubbing his face against Strohl's chest, ostensibly because he likes the soft material of Strohl's turtleneck sweater, and as the poor clemar turns redder and redder by the second, babbling awkwardly and glancing at Louis with some strangely guilty expression on his face — it is at least some relief that when Heismay steps in to help, Will also scoops the eugief up in a hug, squeezing and rubbing his face against the man's soft ears.
Gallica, who has by now materialized with Eupha, presses her small fairy palm against her face in exasperation. "What is he, charmed? Does someone have Patra? Can someone try Patra?!" ]
[ Louis wonders, absently, if Strohl thinks that he's jealous. that's quite a funny look he's getting from Will's bedside, and while his eyes wander over, he finally turns his head to look at him and makes it a deliberate point of discomfort.
then, he says, both to the red-faced Strohl and the Heismay whose ears are now framing Will's face: ]
Should you not comfort your king?
[ there is an aloof confidence that he oozes when he says that, as if the words were thick in his mouth. Louis is not certain when he fell into this – this sort of ... joking with them. still, as if unused to it, the whole room goes quiet for a moment, eyes fixed on Louis, the only noise a soft intake of breath from Eupha.
the room remains tense for a moment, and the Basilio cracks. it's hard not to laugh at the Very Serious expressions everyone is making. Fidelio cracks a semi-amused smile.
"The lot of you have got to get used to this."
one of the frustrating aspects of this entire ordeal is not whether or not Louis would harm the king, but rather the way in which he would. curses and poisons, while are in his toolkit of magla arts, are not his preferred method of battle. for Will, especially, who earned his respect enough for Louis Guiabern to become his partner, he would end at the tip of a blade – or, perhaps, Will would end him. they owe that to one another.
so, yes, he would hate Rella if she had lived – he does still hate Rella now. it wasn't her that ruined his life, but she was a stark reminder how the church viewed any combatant. she was someone seen as pure, saintly, and then in contrast, he was the power-hungry aristocrat.
just as Louis has settled in his joke, he notices a flap of wings in front of his face, and a fairy buzzing around his head.
"You can't – you just can't joke like that with a straight face! Not when you're you," Gallica is waving her finger at him.
is he being scolded? is she scolding him? so brashly, too.
Louis stares at her looking bright-eyed and a bit like he's never been told off like this in his life. ]
[ The thing that breaks the tension is the sound of sweetly innocent laughter from the bed.
It is Will, of course, who is laughing in a manner that is far too alert for someone who currently has his head cradled atop Heismay's fuzzy head and between his long, fluffy ears.
"...Hey!!!" Strohl blusters, having finally caught on. "You aren't delirious at all! You, you rascal — !"
It's some moments more before everyone realizes that Will has, at least at this juncture, been faking his illness; certainly he is still feverish, certainly that part can't possibly be faked, but he's not so far gone as to have become a monstrous cuddlebug for anything less than his own amusement. (And what a cuddlebug he is! Strohl is still beet-red as he leaves the room, blushing all the way up to his ears, and half-clutching his chest as though he feels as if he's had some sort of maidenly virtue plucked from him. Heismay flicks his ears, apparently more amused than bashful, though something about the curve of his lips is somewhat more smug than usual.)
Gradually, the Partisans aside from Eupha are convinced to leave (aside from Hulkenberg, who has continued to ferociously guard the door), and Will, who is now sufficiently "comforted," sinks back into his pillow. He is not so prideful that he does not allow Eupha to gently mop at his brow with a cold towel.
She makes as if to wipe down his body as well, but Will furrows his brow a little and bats at her as if his hand is a cat's paw. ]
Don't, Eupha, please... Edeni would kill me.
[ If he found out I was treating his sister like a common nursemaid, he means, but Eupha only shakes her head. "When the villagers on the island were sick, I would do this for them, too," she says solemnly, but she does relent, dropping the towel back into the bowl.
She looks towards Louis, at length. "Well?" she asks. "Has Lady Gruidae's book provided any enlightenment? I stand ready to assist you as needed."
The expression on her face is a little drawn, a little tight. Despite Will's good cheer, Eupha knows full well that his magla is still rather snarled and knotted. ]
[ it's oddly soothing to see Will interact with his friends, perhaps because he's been ill enough to be concerned over his comfort. it's odd for Louis Guiabern, as well, so much that a passing thought flits across his mind about how soft he's allowed himself to become. yet despite that, Will, stronger than him, does not compromise his strength for affection. it may be that fact, the one Louis is slowly allowing himself to realize, that is truly soothing.
the Partisans stay their welcome, then slowly begin to trickle out with the understanding that it's time for treatment. Louis expects some push-back from at least one of them, but it doesn't come. he's not quite sure how he feels about that, but luckily for him he has means of sucking down how he feels tossed into Will's condition.
the book is laid over the table, and Eupha comes to review the magla pathways. it's dissected over several pages, the information having been re-drawn and re-imagined over the centuries. they are intricate, beautiful works of art, showing the way magla moves between the blood vessels and dances around nerve endings. it even shows at which points the magla enters each organ, and the symptoms of what happens when the pathways are diverted. there are several yellow-edged, folded papers within the book, either adding to the list of symptoms or relaying unique patient cases.
"I did not know that such knowledge even existed ..."
Louis sighs, and somewhat blandly replies: "The elda like to keep most of their cherished knowledge to themselves."
Louis goes on, and doesn't linger too long on the thought. the book is in his possession now, and he's most likely going to deliberately (and spitefully) make it part of his own library.
"I believe that the king's former curse is causing restriction in the flow of magla in the physical sense. His body is receiving it as an obstruction, and thus the fever. Possibly due to his own anxiety, and physiology as an elda."
"Then we can clear it," Eupha replies. she gets the gist of it, anyway.
"It's not so different from creating humans," Louis says with clinical distance that makes Eupha shudder. she shakes it off, focusing on how his light fingers glide across the page, tracing the pathway that the magla should be taking. in all honesty, she does not want to think about how she's alone with Louis in this, and just how it will help Will.
Louis presses his palm to Will's forehead, brushing back his bangs and holding the contact. ]
This treatment will not be kind to you.
[ it is a warning. he knows that Will is strong, and his pain tolerance is rather high, but it needs to be said. more so, Louis' concern lays in that it may remind Will of something else: how he was violated on the steps of the Grand Cathedral. ]
[ Will has a way of closing his eyes and leaning into Louis's touch whenever it's offered, as though gentle contact alone will soothe his aches and pains. This case, too, is no exception. he doesn't seem to have any shame about cozying up to Louis in front of Eupha; maybe it's because Louis has already primed him to act without shame in front of his friends. Regardless, he looks relaxed as he states with confidence: ]
I can endure.
[ The memory of the pain that seized him outside of the Grand Cathedral no longer disturbs him as it once did — indeed, it stopped hurting him the day he accepted his true identity as the kingdom's prince. And, of course, he has forgiven Louis. If he can forgive his people for their initial rejection of him, how could he not forgive Louis?
...Though, in a different way — the level of trust needed for this is nearly painful. His friends would surely ask: how could he forgive Louis? How is it that he sits here now, fully willing to give control of his body over to a man who previously used it, twisted it to his own satisfaction?
Will offers no answers. He leans back into his pillow and relaxes his shoulders, looking for all the world the way he did when he was only a vision in the Farsight Mirror, caught in eternal slumber, the invalid who was as good as dead to the masses and could only dream of a better world. Do your worst, he seems to be saying to Louis. ]
[ in a way, it is a subtle ask for trust; it's never been something Louis has been particular good at. trust had failed him over and over again, and then was discarded for his own ambitions against those that trusted him.
finding the meaning of such a concept when he had grappled with it all his life is slow going, but there is progress. ]
Good.
[ Eupha, who wears her heart on her sleeve, finds it difficult not to worry her bottom lip. it is just her and Louis, and if Louis does betray them, she doesn't know if she can take him alone. the rest of the Partisans are outside the door, she knows, but would it be too late? could she counter Louis Guiabern for the fragile moments needed if he wages an attack?
"Come, focus. There is no room for failure" he demands. as if to do so himself, he pulls his hair up into a tall ponytail, keeping the flyaways from his face.
"Oh, yes!"
under Louis' guiding voice, the two begin. the process is quite long, careful, and strenuous. Louis has Eupha brew a diaphoretic tea, one that's made to "move Will's blood closer to the skin," to begin to clear the pathways and make them more malleable. when the tea settles, Louis gets to work, it's not unlike the spell he used to turn Will human, leaving dim lights of glowing magenta in the air, lingering around his body as each river of magla comes to life. there is discomfort, as there are some nerves in the body more prone to the anxiety than others, causing a clench in the belly, nausea, pain – bringing with them exhaustion, trembling and tension. Eupha holds a bowl in case Will loses what little he has in his stomach. the first knots release, and it's like a wash of relief for all of them.
the session goes into the night, lasting almost until dawn.
there's more to be done, but come the early morning hours, Louis considers them finished for the night. it would be cruel to put more strain on Will's body, and he'd like to allow the king some rest. she wanders, exhausted, to tell the Partisans of their progress, alleviating their worries and allowing them to rest as well. Hulkenberg comes in to see Will, noting that Louis, despite holding himself admirably, looks rather drained. (he'd admit later that it was a worse exhaustion than being in battle, and that he'd take the battle over the healing.)
when she leaves, they're left alone again, and everything seems quiet and still. Louis peels back Will's shirt from the perspiration, now damp with fluids, pressing a cool towel to his sticky neck. ]
Rest now.
[ Louis says, his own eyes half lidded with circles that look like fresh bruises beneath them. ]
[ Will's one regret, when all is said and done, is that Eupha had to see him like that.
As Louis promised, it was not a kind process. Will tried to be strong, he really did, but the agonizing feeling of having his magla undone and rerouted got the better of him eventually. He did retch into that bowl Eupha so thoughtfully prepared for him, although he hadn't eaten much in the morning; what came out was largely only clear bile, but even so, it had left an acrid, sour taste at the back of Will's throat until she came back to him with water. He'd gripped his sheets until his knuckles turned white, wrists shaking with each helpless spasm of his body.
The young king is lying in bed now, completely spent, too weak even to protest Louis's ministrations. His body feels too hot, but his hands are too cold. His voice feels a little hoarse, though he'd largely been quiet, and kept his muffled screaming to a minimum; even so, his throat aches when he tries to speak. The weight of his limbs feels like too much, even to himself, though the cooling touch of Louis's towel makes him feel much better, more invigorated.
Weak and drowsy for it, he looks at Louis, swallowing hard on a sudden lump in his throat. ]
...You need to rest, too...
[ Even through his blurry vision, Will can see, clearly, that there's an exhausted pallor to Louis's already-pale skin, and dark circles underneath his eyes. And yet, the elda only thinks to himself: He's truly the most beautiful man in the world. ]
[ Will is right, of course, Louis does need to rest. they will need to follow-up with treatment and do this again as Will regains his strength. one more and the king should be well, Louis figures, knowing that the longer the king is absent, the more rumors will pass between those who wish to harm him. any fracture of strength could be seen as a weakness for anyone with the taste for power and destruction.
it would be a shame for a king who has so much of the world to change. ]
There will be a time for it when you're on your feet. The council will note your absence ...
[ a pause. ]
And how I excused your healers.
[ he'll have to deal with that one later.
discarding the shirt (and the rest of his clothing), Louis presses the cloth against the groves in his chest, and down his stomach. he's careful to use his long fingers to clean at his hairline, his collar, and even under his arms without a flinch. Will is still a little clammy, now cool in some parts and hot in others; Louis takes it as indication his fever may break soon, and that's a welcome thought.
when the king is fresher than he was before, Louis brings a change of clothes. sitting him up, he tugs a soft nightshirt over his head that feels feathery light, and seems more appropriate to sweat in.
when he's done, he sits at the edge of the bed, letting the exhaustion sink in. still, if someone ended up coming through the door with ill intent, he was sure he could gather enough adrenaline to kill them on the spot. ]
[ It's quiet, here in the deepest part of the castle where the king's bedchamber is. This is as it has been since the nation's founding: the king could, if he so chose, ignore the country for which he is responsible, and live a life of luxury within the castle walls. If it were not for the bed of rot that controls the kingdom's politics — if it were not for those conspirators who would swallow the king whole if it meant a tiny bit more power and influence than they already had — they two, Louis and Will, could live a comfortable, quiet life, unbothered by the nation's ills.
But Will would not be such a king. Even now, as he languishes in illness, he is thinking of what Louis is thinking: the snakes in the council who will leap at any perceived weakness. No, he cannot afford to stay sick for long, particularly when they will jump at the opportunity to cast Louis as a kingslayer for a second time. But at the same time —
Nothing can happen if they don't properly rest.
Limp and weak, Will settles into his pillow, nearly dwarfed by his own bed, little more than a round head peeking out of his sheets. But he is not so weak that he cannot state, very clearly: ]
Louis... Sleep beside me.
[ Not without a faint trace of wry humor, he adds: ]
[ moments like these, with thoughts of politics and snakes, make the reasons for Louis' brutality apparent. yes, if some ill were to befall the king, the finger would be pointed squarely at him, no matter what anguish he went through to stop it. sometimes it's so much easier to become the monster that everyone expects him to be.
is he so adamant to stay here with Will because he'll be blamed for what may happen to him? or is it out of true affection, or some mixture of the two? does it matter? his touch is surprisingly gentle, and there is concern in his sharp, teal eyes.
it's weak, but he laughs, a low, dangerous thing in his chest. ]
You put all your energy into that, didn't you? As you wish, your Majesty.
[ Louis is too tired to give a mock bow, but there is amusement in his voice.
it takes him longer than usual to shrug off his jacket and toss it over closest chair, to remove his boots and pull his hair down. each movement threatens an ache, one that doesn't just come from physical exertion, but mental and emotional drain. it's a deep, lingering pain that will only go away with rest.
eventually he slides between the sheets, with admirable elegance even, and joins Will as he sinks into the bedding. it's not the way he thought he would be in this room, laying there after an exhausting medical procedure, allowing the small king to find new ways to tuck his limbs around him.
there is not many times where Louis Guiabern feels peace, but Will's company is soothing, and he's far too tired to feel anything else. ]
[ They stay like that well into the morning, each tangled in the other, pressed so close that an onlooker would be hard-pressed to tell where one ended and the other began. Will's soft in the best of times, softer still in his nightshirt; he finds comfort in his plush pillow and the curve of Louis's chest, one arm wrapped around his waist, another leg fully thrown over his thigh. He clings sweetly. What they both have in common is this: once they are asleep, neither is prone to fitful turning, and both sleep calmly, utterly exhausted, through the night.
(Hulkenberg checks on them in the middle of the night, accompanied by Heismay, who has come to relieve her of her shift on account of the fact that his eugief body needs less sleep than the average person of another tribe. When they see the king and his past nemesis — future consort — entwined with one another, they say nothing, but share a mutual glance. Hulkenberg closes her eyes and seems to find something like acceptance in her heart of hearts.)
...
Will wakes up with the smell of Louis's skin on his own.
Louis himself is already awake by then, less prone to full nights of sleep than Will is, perhaps; his hand is still cradling the back of Will's head, as if to marvel, really, at just how small he is, how seemingly fragile, when in reality his body holds the power to defeat Louis's own convictions. The young king presses a gentle kiss to his jaw before suggesting that they take a morning bath.
Since the royal retainers are not allowed in Will's quarters at present, they have to draw the bath themselves, but that's little work, and not nearly as difficult as it would be on the runner, besides. Will seems to have a good time choosing bath salts; eventually, he settles on something soothing and woodsy and floral, in part because he figures Louis prefers that sort of thing to anything more artificial or aggressive.
Once the bath is drawn and Will has settled into its depths — once again, he's small enough in the kingly tub that he nearly seems to be buoyed by his own bathwater — Will sighs contentedly and leans against Louis, relishing the way the hot water seems to seep into his aching muscles. Though he feels much better than he did the previous night, he's still not fully recovered in the least; exhaustion still digs at his limbs, and he feels vaguely nauseous, perhaps in part because he hasn't had breakfast yet. It's been hard for him to want to part from Louis's body. ]
I suspect... the council will have heard of my illness by now...
[ He says this in a soft voice, so like a loving murmur; unfortunately, it's just that he's feeling weak, though it's true that he does feel a great deal of love for Louis in the moment. ]
[ during Will's extended nap period, Louis reads. there's other parts of the book that he stole from Gruidae that's enlightening. it proves to keep his attention under the slow, steady breath of the king curled up beside him. somewhere in there Louis idly plays with his hair, perhaps unknowingly, as he flips the pages with his thumb.
Louis falls easily into taking control and giving orders when needed: he's instructed Heismay and Hulkenberg to keep an eye out for those straying in the hallway, Strohl and Eupha to the council and the courts, and Gallica as a spy. he figures they will figure out how to delegate specific tasks among themselves. the prince's meals he gives to Hulkenberg specifically, ensuring that they are brought without suspicion. it's porridge and tea, mostly, some broth when it seems appropriate, for now he's giving Will's stomach some time to settle before lunch.
there is still treatment to be had, but Louis finds it difficult to argue with Will who wants a bath – he still must be sore and sticky from the prior night. as much as Louis wiped him down, some sweat still manages to stick around in small patches. so he draws the water, checks the temperature, and gives Will room to pick the salt that he wants. for a little bit he listens to him chatter about what they are and where they came from, small remnants of prior adventures. some were made specifically for him, as some sneaky merchant or politician had learned of the king's interest in them.
Louis ties up his hair to keep it out of the water, folding his ponytail over to keep it manageable before he follows after Will makes himself comfortable. in the center of his chest is that black heart that he keeps wrapped up in his uniform, beneath his tunic. it remains halfway submerged in the bath, its reflection marring the mirror surface. the bath is nice, and he sinks a with a quiet sigh, drifting among the steam. he doesn't open his eyes when he speaks: ]
Most likely, but we've been scarce enough that they will not yet know the details of it. Between the two of us not making any appearances, I'd imagine we have them all simply bursting at the seams with curiosity, though I'm rather surprised that such recklessness has not caused a slip yet.
[ as a hated enemy, Louis cannot imagine they'd not be doing something in retaliation. ]
You will be well soon, have you thought about how you'll return?
[ his voice is lazy, less careful in execution, with a slight, heady drawl. the water is nice. ]
[ Will leans his head back against Louis's chest. He has to suppress a slightly ridiculous urge to lower himself until he's nose height in the water and burble bubbles out onto the water's surface; doing so, he reminds himself, will not reassure Louis of his control over the situation, or his readiness as king. (As much as he thinks he knows the man quite well, it must be said that they are only engaged and not yet married. He still very desperately wants them to be married, and will be on his best behavior until then.)
He gives Louis's question some thought for a brief period of time — it takes some doing, he is still queasy of stomach and cloudy in mind — but, after a moment, he answers: ]
Do I have to return in any particular way? I don't think I owe them an explanation even if they request one.
[ Will flips in the water. His stomach doesn't particularly agree with it, and he still feels weary down to his limbs, but the heat from the bath is beginning to make his joints feel loose and limber again, and he is rewarded for his efforts by the angelic sight of Louis with his hair tied up. Vaguely, Will recalls thinking even through his haze of sickness that Louis looked beautiful with his hair up. He's glad to see that it still holds true, and doesn't bother to hide how he gazes at his betrothed dreamily for a few moments, taking in the vision of his good looks. ]
It's only been two days or so... We'll just resume business as usual. Maybe I just wanted to laze in bed for a while.
[ Impetuous as always. Despite his travels and the fact that he once had nothing, he truly has the temperament of a king.
Slowly, Will's hand glides down the column of Louis's neck towards his sternum and the center of his chest where his black heart is. Curiously, Will pokes at its gilded frame and is surprised to find that it is both warm and hard. Emboldened, he presses his palm against it. ]
...
[ He lowers his voice to a more gentle, curious pitch. ]
[ Will's insolence is charming, it's one of the aspects of him that Louis always liked. sometimes, it feels as if the council and the nation exploits him, pulling him this way and that way toward their every whim, and then he makes a cheeky comment about wanting to stay in bed – Louis will need to make sure to hold him to that.
settling in the heat is nice as Will wiggles around him, slightly more lively than he's been in days. it's comforting, at least, and it crosses Louis' mind to wonder when he suddenly became the young king's protector. he's certainly been here since he collapsed, sleeping in his bed or at his side, his hand firm, but still caring. is this something that happened these last few months, or something that's always been there, hidden beneath his ambitions?
there's a warm hand over his black heart, one that presses against it curiously. beneath it a faint beat against his palm.
Louis opens his eyes, half-lidded and quiet. ]
... No.
It doesn't hurt. Perhaps it did once, or it does still, and I've just learned to live with it as it is.
[ that is the truth of it, because there is pain in prying it out, but that sort of pain fades. this is the sort of pain he has to live with. ]
[ Will hums thoughtfully, taking Louis's answer in stride. His mind is already on something that he wants to do, something which he has wanted to do for a long time, but he is pretending to think about it in order to buy himself a little time, and give Louis a minute to brace for whatever it is he's about to say. (It is quite possible that Louis already knows this about him, and is waiting for the inevitable insolent demand from his fellow elda. How did they settle into these roles, anyway? Why is it that Will is always perfectly, distantly respectful and supportive with everyone else, but then finds no shortage of ways to gently demand more and more and more from Louis?)
At length, and while Will is casually thumbing over Louis's heart again, he asks: ]
...May I pull it out of you?
[ An outlandish demand, to be sure. He does follow it up with his best, biggest, most pleading doe eyes. It helps that the water is so hot, so relaxing, and they're both so tired, after the events of last night. ]
Louis opens his eyes, gazes down at Will who's pressing that warm palm up against his heart. there had been many times that Louis had tried to rip it from his chest, gripping desperately at the golden setting as if he could rip it from the depths of his body. in all of his rage and desperation, it had never moved, as if a part of his own body was somehow mocking his own desperation.
he despised the feeling.
there is discomfort that stirs inside of him, as his body reminds him what a vulnerable position that he may be in. ]
You wish to do that here? Now?
[ when Will brought him back, he hadn't thought to try to remove it again. it somehow just became another part of him, one half-lodged in his chest between his ribs, unnatural and not unlike one of the monstrosities that he created. ]
[ They are both weary, after all; they should both rest. The last thing that Will wants is to cause Louis any more pain. But now this has seized upon the young king's interests, and his mind refuses to let go of the possibilities that are laid before him. Suppose he could just pry Louis's heart out of his chest and tuck it back into him, suppose he could...
He himself hesitates for a moment, but then pushes forward, in his usual way, with earnest conviction. ]
...I won't do it if you don't want me to, of course. But it looks painful. I've always thought that it looks painful.
[ Softly, Will caresses the black heart's golden frame, as if testing to see whether or not his fingers can sink in, rip it open. Louis's skin, all porcelain and alabaster around it — he's just so beautiful and delicate, like something that was made to be torn apart by the world.
Not that Will would let that happen again, or anymore. Louis seems slightly uncomfortable, though. The young man tries to reassure him, leaning against his body again, nestling into his neck, as if to remind him that his king is harmless, and adores him. ]
Louis never thought such a phrase would be so blatantly directed at him. while Will had brought him back, took him into the palace and proposed marriage, none of those acts were preceded by such a question. it's as if Will is finding new ways of begging him to allow him to let him in – just a little bit more, just a little more – until he can see all of Louis that he had hidden away from everyone else.
he tilts his head back to look at the fine engravings on the ceiling, his voice low, quiet. ]
A pacified heart or a painful heart – the one in my chest has served me a long time.
[ both good and bad – it protected him, but damned him, too. ]
It may not just be the pain that may linger, but the thought of what it would be without such a feeling is foreign to me. Perhaps it's what causes such unrest, but it is also mine, and mine alone.
If such a thing is pulled from my body, will my hatred part with it? Where others fear what theirs will make of them, I already know. It has come to pass. That hatred is a testament of the person that I have become. The reminder in suffering, even slight, is part of who I am.
[ there's no move to stop Will from tracing it's shape, pressing his hand against it or anything of the sort. the king's small body presses up against him, and Louis puts a hand on his shoulder to keep him close, causing faint ripples in the water. he does not think it beyond Will, no – he's certain that Will can do it. if there's anyone that can, it's him.
perhaps that's what unnerves him: his life with it, or his life without it? his loneliness has shaped him, but there is no reason for loneliness anymore. ]
[ It is a rejection, and Will understands that; it is a rejection softened by a large hand smoothing his wet hair back against his scalp, but it is a rejection nonetheless. Still, undaunted, Will persists. Continues to linger in Louis's hold, continues to keep his palm over that black, beating heart. It's always looked as though it aches in Louis's chest. So twisted, so full of bottled-up emotion that finally it had burst from behind his ribs and tried to raze the world that had broken it.
Will's voice is soft and steady. ]
...I told you once that I want to make a world where no one has to suffer. That includes you, Louis.
[ Calmly, he pets and caresses Louis's heart, pressing a soft, pleading kiss to the man's jawline, and then the exposed column of his throat, where his Adam's apple juts out slightly from the way he is staring at the ceiling. ]
I understand... that you wouldn't know a world without pain. Perhaps you would not recognize yourself without pain. But I don't think that means you should live with that pain forever. Nor do I think that ridding you of pain would necessarily heal the other things which have shaped you.
[ Voice at a whisper, like he's confessing a great sin — ]
I love you for your hatred and your loneliness, too. I've never thought that you needed to change yourself like that.
[ Will sits up properly in the water again, trying, despite the ache in his limbs, to gaze into Louis's eyes properly. See him truly as he is, and not as a distant ideal, or the representation of some form of perfection that he never achieved and was doomed to embody to the world around him. ]
But... can't you try, Louis? What it would be like to live without pain — for me, if not yourself?
[ there is no world to conquer and tame, no great wrongs and evils that he can fuel his suffering and pain into to turn into a new world, just the two of them in this bathtub. for so long, it had been Louis Guiabern against the world, and he had, through his spite, survived and even flourished; then he had fallen. now the king faces him with pale blue eyes and quiet demands, where no one else had ever dared to make such a move.
but perhaps Louis would only listen to a king – the king.
Louis lifts his head to watch him quietly, his gaze steady on Will who gently picks through the strands of his own stubborn words. he looks rather beautiful while he does it, even strung-thin and exhausted, there is a regal air to Will that Louis cannot deny, even disrobed and flecked with droplets of water. ]
... The world never made a place for me, I always made my own place in the world. If it's your world, perhaps it will be different. If it is as you say, then the time will come for it.
[ there's a small gap between them, and Louis urges Will forward until their lips touch. it's a brief kiss, one meant more to seal a pact than to indulge a desire.
for himself? no. but for Will, now that sounds like something he may be able to do. ]
[ It is not wholehearted acceptance, no, but it is an affirmation of their values — the values that they share between them. Secretly, Will is relieved that Louis has not rejected him outright; part of him had worried that Louis would bristle at the thought of needing someone else to help with his aching heart.
He draws his hand back, lowering it back into the water and then wrapping it around Louis's waist once more. He always feels delightfully small when he's buoyed by the water, held in the arms of the man he loves. Will has not felt well these past few days, no, but at the very least, he has the luxury of feeling safe. Despite everything, despite the enemies lurking behind closed doors and the schemes that would end with the taking of his life — Will feels safe in Louis's arms.
He's smiling sweetly as he settles his cheek upon the man's heart. From what the man has said, he doesn't quite seem ready to let Will's fingers pry his heart out of his chest — but perhaps he will be ready sometime in the future. Tomorrow is always a brighter day in Will's heart, and he will not suffer his beloved to suffer for long. ]
I believe in the future, the same way I believe in you.
[ Firm and resolute, as always. Unyielding, unbending, as always. ]
When we get out of the bath... you can dispel the last of this sickness. And then, I think, we should start planning our wedding.
[ A brief pause. Will lifts his head slightly. ]
No, wait... lunch first. And then we should start planning our wedding.
[ the water creates small waves around them, breaking on limbs and hearts, and Will settles with those words. for now, at least. they float and relax until the water gets lukewarm, and then Louis drops a kingly-sized fluffy towel on Will to dry him off enough so he can change.
he's looking tired, but far more lively. it's a curious thing to know that the treatment has worked, and that the knowledge he had used to turn normal people to monsters has saved the king. while he had used it for healing this time, it meant that it may go deeper than that, and that there are still secrets of the elda that he has not uncovered.
once Louis is dressed he calls for Will's lunch, something simple that's brought in by Hulkenberg. she makes a comment that Will is looking well enough that he may soon get antsy if he remains idle, and Louis can't say that he doesn't agree – Louis is beginning to get antsy, as well.
the last stretch of treatment is not nearly as hard as the night prior, nor are they in need of Eupha's help to finish it. there are a few magla pathways that need rerouting, and others that Louis needs to check remain intact. ]
Come now, stay still for just a moment longer.
[ he says when Will twitches under his touch.
well, it's far more obvious how much touch the treatment requires when the circumstances are not-so-dire, and it's obvious the way that Will shifts a bit beneath it that all thoughts aren't just on healing. such things cross Louis' mind too when he traces the pathway down his sternum to his navel, a warm palm dipping down smooth skin that seems so natural that Louis almost forgets that this isn't foreplay, it's the last in a handful of examinations.
drawing back quickly, he arranges his expression and wonders if he needs another, colder bath later in the day.
now that Will is no longer ill, Louis takes his leave of his chambers, as it no longer seems appropriate to keep Louis Guaibern within the same quarters as the king. not necessarily because the two of them care about their nuptials, but rather, there was a former king that Louis had seen an end to. the current political state needed no more rumors to mill around it until they were married. ]
[ Everything had been so different, somehow, with Eupha no longer in the room with them. When it was just Will and Louis doing the treatment together — the king's attention and eyes only on Louis, only on Louis and no one else — there had been, somehow, a greater intensity of feeling, a heightened sense of tension. Did Louis notice the way that his touch made Will's breath catch in his throat? The way he'd pressed his legs together, wanting, as Louis's hand slid down his belly and traced the dip of his navel? Somehow, even the pain and discomfort had been lessened from the day before. Will ended the session exhausted, too warm, and too flustered. Sinking into his cool bed afterward had been a comfort.
In the evening, when "Louis Guiabern" has left the king's chambers, Will regrets not keeping the man in the room with him. Somehow, he finds that his bed has become too big for his body alone.
The rumors that circulate around the palace go something like this:
The king was sick for the last few days. Most of the royal doctors can confirm this, and have been loudly griping their misfortunes, as the king's chief of staff was given direct instructions from one of the Six Partisans (or was it the king's fairy companion?) to have them all fired. Some of these former doctors claim that Louis Guiabern himself removed them; one young chef was even claiming in the palace kitchens that Louis threw them out of the king's room by his own hand, though this seems likely to be an exaggeration. Still others are still uncertain of precisely what role Louis is occupying in court. He is not the state army general or the court archmage, so under what title is the King keeping him? A royal advisor, perhaps? But is that not a dangerous position, for a man who killed the preceding king?
Beyond the fact that King Wilhelm has been ill, no one can agree on how he was treated. Only the Partisans and Louis Guiabern have been seen entering and exiting the king's chamber in recent days, ever since the doctors were dismissed. The palace maidservant (King Wilhelm commented once that they were to be considered "cleaning staff" and not "maidservants," but truthfully, even most of the maidservants still prefer to call themselves maidservants) normally assigned to clean the King's chamber has confirmed that she was reassigned to another section of the palace — to protect her own health, she thought, but as for who gave her that impression, she couldn't say.
There are still other, more outlandish rumors. A gardener working on some of the king's requested adjustments to the garden swore casually, over a few beers with friends, that he saw Louis Guiabern leaning over the king's bed through the window — to kill him, perhaps? Or something else? Kiss him? It wasn't in the gardener's power to stop him, in any case, so he did nothing. Another palace maidservant who eventually came to collect the king's used linens noted stray blond hairs atop the pillowcase and dutifully said nothing — at least until the right hands came with coin and implicit threats. Then, being a very practical woman, she talked.
All of this is to say —
— that as the Prince of Oceana reclines in his seat and sighs, knowing full well that he is in no position to negotiate with the man who once served as church crier and now serves as chairman of parliament, his thoughts are on the only way that these rumors can possibly all tie together. For all that he has been a blundering oaf in the political realm, the Prince is an old man, and not a particularly unintelligent one. There are things about being a young man that he remembers very well, and cheap infatuations are one of them.
"I'll be blunt," the one-eyed Prince begins, folding his hands atop his lap.
"I like that in a guy, sure," Batlin drawls casually with his hands in his pockets, mostly to make the Prince uneasy, and something in the irreverent sarcastic compliment does seem to make the old man somewhat unmoored.
After a light cough, the roussainte tries again. "This... talk of the young King and Louis. What have you heard of it?"
"Only what others have told me," the redheaded clemar quips. "I've also been told that you've been snooping around trying to find out what the situation is."
"I have the king's best interests at heart," the Prince of Oceana claims.
"Do you?" Batlin asks. "Because I've known you for a long time, Your Highness, as my father knew you before me. Seems to me that you only swore fealty to His Majesty because you thought Louis's supporters would come for your head at the time. Tell me, what's it matter to you? Sending eavesdroppers around the castle, bribing maids — never thought you'd stoop so low, really. What are you going to do if the king is shagging Louis?"
"He must see reason," the Prince protests, in a faux-sympathetic tone that implicitly implores Batlin to join him. "He is a boy of only eighteen. I can see why a — glamorous man such as Louis would appeal to him, if indeed he has a predilection for other men. But he knows not what danger he plays with. Louis is not a man content to be a king's toy."
"And what are you going to do about it?" Batlin asks again, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "Listen, Your Highness. It's not that I don't understand. I don't trust you, and I don't trust Louis, myself. But I do trust His Majesty's judgment. I'm warning you now, you'd best not try him. He doesn't need me heading parliament to get what he wants."
"Then you will not join me in this?" the Prince demands. "You would allow a boy of eighteen to marry his father's killer, a power-hungry, raving murderer, and put him closer to the throne than us —"
Batlin tuts his tongue against his teeth. "Ah, but that's what this is about, isn't it? Us." Shrugging broad-shouldered as he grins and turns on his heel, the middle-aged clemar manages a jaunty wave as he turns and exits the otherwise-empty parliament chamber, clutching loose sheafs of paper in his hand. "So sorry, Your Highness, if I gave you the wrong impression. There never was an us." ]
[ Louis Guiabern is not unaware of his position: he is not a member of the court, the Partisans, nor holds any office that would allow him authority. that does not mean that power is beyond him, of course, he still has those who support him, those who fear him, and the ear of the king. it puts him in a position where he has nothing to display but his own raw abilities, however it also keeps the vultures guessing. after he had treated the king, the golden bracelets were put back on his wrists, much to his displeasure, but it still comforted those that would fear him.
"They're not all that happy with you," Gallica says.
them meaning the senate, and not all that happy meaning nervous, Louis assumes. though Louis has always made them nervous, shows of self-made power really makes them tremble. they have not forgotten the young lord from their own rebellions, when Louis' grip on the military had brought both Oceana and Montario to their knees.
"Of course they aren't," Louis replies, leaning back in his seat. "There are two minds of this: those that think they can control a boy king, and those that would rather see this nation burn to the ground than an elda sit on the throne. One may serve the other, as they are both means to the same ends for them. Voices that have they have feared in the past are cause for threat, if the engagement is announced, the senate will do all in its powered to delay the ceremony."
"The Prince of Oceana is planning on it, I overheard him talking to Batlin. He thinks that the king is someone who needs to be reasoned with because he's so young," Galica says with obvious distaste in her voice. there was a time when she, too, didn't understand what had gotten into Will, but the more time she spent with Louis, the more she gets it. it's why she's there now, her fairy bottom perched on a pile of books, while Will is meeting with the law makers.
"We must not allow them the chance." Louis taps a quill against a parchment in thought, the tip dry enough to leave a small indent of a dot on the page.
"He's been looking forward to this ever since I heard about it. He deserves to be happy, and not have to wait because of some stupid politics. They'll just pull him into meeting after meeting and make him sign a ton of paperwork. How do we head that off?"
Louis had taken most of Will's excited looks in stride, but now that Gallica lays it so openly, it's hard to ignore. there is complicated feelings regarding himself as the cause of that joy, but he agrees with Gallica: Will should not have to wait for what he wants because of stupid politics.
"We skip the engagement announcement and set a date for the ceremony," Louis says, leaning his temple against his knuckles. "We'll ruffle a few feathers, but save ourselves the headache of their squalling. The public will hardly notice, their intent will be upon the marriage itself and could care little of the details."
"He'd go for that, too."
"It is rather enjoyable when he sets himself aflame," Louis starts. he realizes his slip, and then lifts his gaze to Gallica. "Tell Batlin to have a little fun with them in the interim, and I'll press upon the king my own eagerness for our nuptials."
"Are you?"
"Am I what?"
"Eager?" Gallica asks, taking to the air and flitting up next to Louis' face.
"My sentiment favors action," he replies flawlessly. "While I am patient, there are certain things that are best if they come to past sooner rather than later, and it will be in the king's favor that they do."
"Sure sure."
"Send Fidelio in to see me."
Gallica makes an affirmative noise and heads toward the door before she can see the face that he makes.
there's also Louis' own followers to attend to in this matter. while neither Fidelio nor Basilio work for him particularly anymore, they do see reason when it comes to caring for the king. perhaps Fidelio has been a witness to Louis' fondness for Will for so long, that this hardly surprises him – neither of the two believe that Louis, in his current iteration, would harm the king. it's one of the only reasons they currently still listen to him.
when Louis next sees Will, it's for supper after a long day of court and paperwork. ever since he'd been ill, their meetings had been sparser, further in between. it's the nature of the beast, Louis supposes, as Will is the king, and his attention is something demanded by his patrons. ]
If we take to the gauntlet runner again, I'm certain that I'll be blamed for such recklessness. We should take advantage of that and take a trip north.
[ he says absently, knowingly, perhaps as a joke, but perhaps also not. ]
[ Will enjoys being king, but in his heart of hearts, he also knows that this palace will suffocate his ambitions in the long run. This past year he's spent passing policies, ousting corrupt nobles and forcing in his own hand-picked, trusted politicians has been necessary for the country, and he sees that more clearly than his father likely ever did — indeed, sometimes Will suspects that he is even more suited to govern the people than his mother was, as well.
But being good at something, and that thing being necessary for society, also does not equate to happiness. Will also knows that there are corners of his own country in which he has never ventured, and still more hidden legacies from kings of yore to find and explore. He knows that he was never happier than he was at the bow of his runner with all of his friends — his beloved family in tow.
Sometimes, he knows, he needs vacations from being king.
He is never lonely in a way that hurts him, but secretly, Will's been a little lonely these past few days. His Partisans are rarely ever in one room together, these days. They came the closest to being reunited, that one time he was sick, but even then, Junah had still been busy with the Mage Academy, and Fidelio and Basilio had only been around for a little while. Will misses having dinner with everyone as a group in some small, podunk tavern with greasy food and cheap beer. He managed to eat lunch with Strohl and Hulkenberg recently — that pleased him — but both are occupied with things related to the state army and the royal knights today, and won't be back to the capitol until next week. Will half-suspects that Gallica arranged dinner with Louis just to cheer him up.
Well — it's working, in any case. Will always seems pleased to see Louis and be in his presence — however unofficial, the man is his betrothed after all. He positively lights up when Louis suggests running away again. ]
Really? You'd do that with me?
[ Neuras would do it too, and they both know it; the royal engineer's job is to spirit the king away to wherever it is he wants to go, after all. Will looks so happy and radiant that there might well be flowers blossoming out of his ears. ]
You don't have to be the villain all the time, you know. I'm just as happy to get into trouble. Is there a reason that you want to go up north?
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There's a real fear, deep in an anxious corner of his heart, that this might be the thing that finally claims Will's life, either because they only ever bought him a little more time from the curse that Rella admitted was killing her too, or because this is all some dastardly machination of Louis's. But it's hard to argue with the tender expression on that man's handsome face when Strohl walked in — and Fidelio and Basilio never described him as a great actor. He was many things before he died, but he was never particularly adept at lying.
...Sometimes Strohl suspects that he of all the Partisans knows best how their group is largely held together by Will. Maybe it's because he's been with Will the longest; maybe it's because he's usually the fastest to admit to his own faults and shortcomings. If the king died, he doesn't think they'd all fall apart — but the rifts between them would rise up again, and secretly, he's not sure that any of them are above infighting and petty squabbles.
When she found out that Will was sick, Junah had said, "If only Rella were still here!"
And then, for some reason, Heismay had drawled, "She never had the best track record of treating him, mind."
Junah had sort of — she hadn't gotten angry. But she'd sort of stuttered, in a strangely flustered and then broken-hearted way that Strohl had never seen from her, and then she turned on her heel and made up an excuse to leave. There's a part of him that sort of thinks that Heismay was being a bit of an ass about it, given the way Rella died in front of her; there's an equal part of him that sort of sees what Heismay was getting at, the way Rella had lied about everything, and wasn't without her faults, though they'd all agreed that Forden was at the heart of them. As for Heismay, Strohl hadn't pressed the old eugief on why he'd been so cruel. It's a small comfort to him that Heismay doesn't complain about the paripus anymore.
Still, he thinks. It wouldn't have happened if Will had been awake. Something about him makes the rest of them better people than they'd be without him, and part of that is scary, too.
Who would I be if I didn't have Will? he thinks.
And then, on a different topic: Louis would probably still hate Rella if she were still alive.
Sighing, he takes the few long strides towards Will's bedside, reaching out to the king with bare hands to check his temperature. "Hey, Will," he says softly, as if speaking to a younger brother. The tone of his voice is warmer and stronger than he feels at the moment. The elda's forehead burns under his palm. "How are you feeling?"
Will smiles, falling back against the pillows. "I'm okay," he murmurs softly. "Louis has been really nice to me."
Strohl lets out another quiet sigh of relief.
In the next few moments, Will is rubbing his face against Strohl's chest, ostensibly because he likes the soft material of Strohl's turtleneck sweater, and as the poor clemar turns redder and redder by the second, babbling awkwardly and glancing at Louis with some strangely guilty expression on his face — it is at least some relief that when Heismay steps in to help, Will also scoops the eugief up in a hug, squeezing and rubbing his face against the man's soft ears.
Gallica, who has by now materialized with Eupha, presses her small fairy palm against her face in exasperation. "What is he, charmed? Does someone have Patra? Can someone try Patra?!" ]
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then, he says, both to the red-faced Strohl and the Heismay whose ears are now framing Will's face: ]
Should you not comfort your king?
[ there is an aloof confidence that he oozes when he says that, as if the words were thick in his mouth. Louis is not certain when he fell into this – this sort of ... joking with them. still, as if unused to it, the whole room goes quiet for a moment, eyes fixed on Louis, the only noise a soft intake of breath from Eupha.
the room remains tense for a moment, and the Basilio cracks. it's hard not to laugh at the Very Serious expressions everyone is making. Fidelio cracks a semi-amused smile.
"The lot of you have got to get used to this."
one of the frustrating aspects of this entire ordeal is not whether or not Louis would harm the king, but rather the way in which he would. curses and poisons, while are in his toolkit of magla arts, are not his preferred method of battle. for Will, especially, who earned his respect enough for Louis Guiabern to become his partner, he would end at the tip of a blade – or, perhaps, Will would end him. they owe that to one another.
so, yes, he would hate Rella if she had lived – he does still hate Rella now. it wasn't her that ruined his life, but she was a stark reminder how the church viewed any combatant. she was someone seen as pure, saintly, and then in contrast, he was the power-hungry aristocrat.
just as Louis has settled in his joke, he notices a flap of wings in front of his face, and a fairy buzzing around his head.
"You can't – you just can't joke like that with a straight face! Not when you're you," Gallica is waving her finger at him.
is he being scolded? is she scolding him? so brashly, too.
Louis stares at her looking bright-eyed and a bit like he's never been told off like this in his life. ]
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It is Will, of course, who is laughing in a manner that is far too alert for someone who currently has his head cradled atop Heismay's fuzzy head and between his long, fluffy ears.
"...Hey!!!" Strohl blusters, having finally caught on. "You aren't delirious at all! You, you rascal — !"
It's some moments more before everyone realizes that Will has, at least at this juncture, been faking his illness; certainly he is still feverish, certainly that part can't possibly be faked, but he's not so far gone as to have become a monstrous cuddlebug for anything less than his own amusement. (And what a cuddlebug he is! Strohl is still beet-red as he leaves the room, blushing all the way up to his ears, and half-clutching his chest as though he feels as if he's had some sort of maidenly virtue plucked from him. Heismay flicks his ears, apparently more amused than bashful, though something about the curve of his lips is somewhat more smug than usual.)
Gradually, the Partisans aside from Eupha are convinced to leave (aside from Hulkenberg, who has continued to ferociously guard the door), and Will, who is now sufficiently "comforted," sinks back into his pillow. He is not so prideful that he does not allow Eupha to gently mop at his brow with a cold towel.
She makes as if to wipe down his body as well, but Will furrows his brow a little and bats at her as if his hand is a cat's paw. ]
Don't, Eupha, please... Edeni would kill me.
[ If he found out I was treating his sister like a common nursemaid, he means, but Eupha only shakes her head. "When the villagers on the island were sick, I would do this for them, too," she says solemnly, but she does relent, dropping the towel back into the bowl.
She looks towards Louis, at length. "Well?" she asks. "Has Lady Gruidae's book provided any enlightenment? I stand ready to assist you as needed."
The expression on her face is a little drawn, a little tight. Despite Will's good cheer, Eupha knows full well that his magla is still rather snarled and knotted. ]
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the Partisans stay their welcome, then slowly begin to trickle out with the understanding that it's time for treatment. Louis expects some push-back from at least one of them, but it doesn't come. he's not quite sure how he feels about that, but luckily for him he has means of sucking down how he feels tossed into Will's condition.
the book is laid over the table, and Eupha comes to review the magla pathways. it's dissected over several pages, the information having been re-drawn and re-imagined over the centuries. they are intricate, beautiful works of art, showing the way magla moves between the blood vessels and dances around nerve endings. it even shows at which points the magla enters each organ, and the symptoms of what happens when the pathways are diverted. there are several yellow-edged, folded papers within the book, either adding to the list of symptoms or relaying unique patient cases.
"I did not know that such knowledge even existed ..."
Louis sighs, and somewhat blandly replies: "The elda like to keep most of their cherished knowledge to themselves."
Louis goes on, and doesn't linger too long on the thought. the book is in his possession now, and he's most likely going to deliberately (and spitefully) make it part of his own library.
"I believe that the king's former curse is causing restriction in the flow of magla in the physical sense. His body is receiving it as an obstruction, and thus the fever. Possibly due to his own anxiety, and physiology as an elda."
"Then we can clear it," Eupha replies. she gets the gist of it, anyway.
"It's not so different from creating humans," Louis says with clinical distance that makes Eupha shudder. she shakes it off, focusing on how his light fingers glide across the page, tracing the pathway that the magla should be taking. in all honesty, she does not want to think about how she's alone with Louis in this, and just how it will help Will.
Louis presses his palm to Will's forehead, brushing back his bangs and holding the contact. ]
This treatment will not be kind to you.
[ it is a warning. he knows that Will is strong, and his pain tolerance is rather high, but it needs to be said. more so, Louis' concern lays in that it may remind Will of something else: how he was violated on the steps of the Grand Cathedral. ]
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I can endure.
[ The memory of the pain that seized him outside of the Grand Cathedral no longer disturbs him as it once did — indeed, it stopped hurting him the day he accepted his true identity as the kingdom's prince. And, of course, he has forgiven Louis. If he can forgive his people for their initial rejection of him, how could he not forgive Louis?
...Though, in a different way — the level of trust needed for this is nearly painful. His friends would surely ask: how could he forgive Louis? How is it that he sits here now, fully willing to give control of his body over to a man who previously used it, twisted it to his own satisfaction?
Will offers no answers. He leans back into his pillow and relaxes his shoulders, looking for all the world the way he did when he was only a vision in the Farsight Mirror, caught in eternal slumber, the invalid who was as good as dead to the masses and could only dream of a better world. Do your worst, he seems to be saying to Louis. ]
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finding the meaning of such a concept when he had grappled with it all his life is slow going, but there is progress. ]
Good.
[ Eupha, who wears her heart on her sleeve, finds it difficult not to worry her bottom lip. it is just her and Louis, and if Louis does betray them, she doesn't know if she can take him alone. the rest of the Partisans are outside the door, she knows, but would it be too late? could she counter Louis Guiabern for the fragile moments needed if he wages an attack?
"Come, focus. There is no room for failure" he demands. as if to do so himself, he pulls his hair up into a tall ponytail, keeping the flyaways from his face.
"Oh, yes!"
under Louis' guiding voice, the two begin. the process is quite long, careful, and strenuous. Louis has Eupha brew a diaphoretic tea, one that's made to "move Will's blood closer to the skin," to begin to clear the pathways and make them more malleable. when the tea settles, Louis gets to work, it's not unlike the spell he used to turn Will human, leaving dim lights of glowing magenta in the air, lingering around his body as each river of magla comes to life. there is discomfort, as there are some nerves in the body more prone to the anxiety than others, causing a clench in the belly, nausea, pain – bringing with them exhaustion, trembling and tension. Eupha holds a bowl in case Will loses what little he has in his stomach. the first knots release, and it's like a wash of relief for all of them.
the session goes into the night, lasting almost until dawn.
there's more to be done, but come the early morning hours, Louis considers them finished for the night. it would be cruel to put more strain on Will's body, and he'd like to allow the king some rest. she wanders, exhausted, to tell the Partisans of their progress, alleviating their worries and allowing them to rest as well. Hulkenberg comes in to see Will, noting that Louis, despite holding himself admirably, looks rather drained. (he'd admit later that it was a worse exhaustion than being in battle, and that he'd take the battle over the healing.)
when she leaves, they're left alone again, and everything seems quiet and still. Louis peels back Will's shirt from the perspiration, now damp with fluids, pressing a cool towel to his sticky neck. ]
Rest now.
[ Louis says, his own eyes half lidded with circles that look like fresh bruises beneath them. ]
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As Louis promised, it was not a kind process. Will tried to be strong, he really did, but the agonizing feeling of having his magla undone and rerouted got the better of him eventually. He did retch into that bowl Eupha so thoughtfully prepared for him, although he hadn't eaten much in the morning; what came out was largely only clear bile, but even so, it had left an acrid, sour taste at the back of Will's throat until she came back to him with water. He'd gripped his sheets until his knuckles turned white, wrists shaking with each helpless spasm of his body.
The young king is lying in bed now, completely spent, too weak even to protest Louis's ministrations. His body feels too hot, but his hands are too cold. His voice feels a little hoarse, though he'd largely been quiet, and kept his muffled screaming to a minimum; even so, his throat aches when he tries to speak. The weight of his limbs feels like too much, even to himself, though the cooling touch of Louis's towel makes him feel much better, more invigorated.
Weak and drowsy for it, he looks at Louis, swallowing hard on a sudden lump in his throat. ]
...You need to rest, too...
[ Even through his blurry vision, Will can see, clearly, that there's an exhausted pallor to Louis's already-pale skin, and dark circles underneath his eyes. And yet, the elda only thinks to himself: He's truly the most beautiful man in the world. ]
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it would be a shame for a king who has so much of the world to change. ]
There will be a time for it when you're on your feet. The council will note your absence ...
[ a pause. ]
And how I excused your healers.
[ he'll have to deal with that one later.
discarding the shirt (and the rest of his clothing), Louis presses the cloth against the groves in his chest, and down his stomach. he's careful to use his long fingers to clean at his hairline, his collar, and even under his arms without a flinch. Will is still a little clammy, now cool in some parts and hot in others; Louis takes it as indication his fever may break soon, and that's a welcome thought.
when the king is fresher than he was before, Louis brings a change of clothes. sitting him up, he tugs a soft nightshirt over his head that feels feathery light, and seems more appropriate to sweat in.
when he's done, he sits at the edge of the bed, letting the exhaustion sink in. still, if someone ended up coming through the door with ill intent, he was sure he could gather enough adrenaline to kill them on the spot. ]
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But Will would not be such a king. Even now, as he languishes in illness, he is thinking of what Louis is thinking: the snakes in the council who will leap at any perceived weakness. No, he cannot afford to stay sick for long, particularly when they will jump at the opportunity to cast Louis as a kingslayer for a second time. But at the same time —
Nothing can happen if they don't properly rest.
Limp and weak, Will settles into his pillow, nearly dwarfed by his own bed, little more than a round head peeking out of his sheets. But he is not so weak that he cannot state, very clearly: ]
Louis... Sleep beside me.
[ Not without a faint trace of wry humor, he adds: ]
That's a royal decree.
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is he so adamant to stay here with Will because he'll be blamed for what may happen to him? or is it out of true affection, or some mixture of the two? does it matter? his touch is surprisingly gentle, and there is concern in his sharp, teal eyes.
it's weak, but he laughs, a low, dangerous thing in his chest. ]
You put all your energy into that, didn't you? As you wish, your Majesty.
[ Louis is too tired to give a mock bow, but there is amusement in his voice.
it takes him longer than usual to shrug off his jacket and toss it over closest chair, to remove his boots and pull his hair down. each movement threatens an ache, one that doesn't just come from physical exertion, but mental and emotional drain. it's a deep, lingering pain that will only go away with rest.
eventually he slides between the sheets, with admirable elegance even, and joins Will as he sinks into the bedding. it's not the way he thought he would be in this room, laying there after an exhausting medical procedure, allowing the small king to find new ways to tuck his limbs around him.
there is not many times where Louis Guiabern feels peace, but Will's company is soothing, and he's far too tired to feel anything else. ]
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(Hulkenberg checks on them in the middle of the night, accompanied by Heismay, who has come to relieve her of her shift on account of the fact that his eugief body needs less sleep than the average person of another tribe. When they see the king and his past nemesis — future consort — entwined with one another, they say nothing, but share a mutual glance. Hulkenberg closes her eyes and seems to find something like acceptance in her heart of hearts.)
...
Will wakes up with the smell of Louis's skin on his own.
Louis himself is already awake by then, less prone to full nights of sleep than Will is, perhaps; his hand is still cradling the back of Will's head, as if to marvel, really, at just how small he is, how seemingly fragile, when in reality his body holds the power to defeat Louis's own convictions. The young king presses a gentle kiss to his jaw before suggesting that they take a morning bath.
Since the royal retainers are not allowed in Will's quarters at present, they have to draw the bath themselves, but that's little work, and not nearly as difficult as it would be on the runner, besides. Will seems to have a good time choosing bath salts; eventually, he settles on something soothing and woodsy and floral, in part because he figures Louis prefers that sort of thing to anything more artificial or aggressive.
Once the bath is drawn and Will has settled into its depths — once again, he's small enough in the kingly tub that he nearly seems to be buoyed by his own bathwater — Will sighs contentedly and leans against Louis, relishing the way the hot water seems to seep into his aching muscles. Though he feels much better than he did the previous night, he's still not fully recovered in the least; exhaustion still digs at his limbs, and he feels vaguely nauseous, perhaps in part because he hasn't had breakfast yet. It's been hard for him to want to part from Louis's body. ]
I suspect... the council will have heard of my illness by now...
[ He says this in a soft voice, so like a loving murmur; unfortunately, it's just that he's feeling weak, though it's true that he does feel a great deal of love for Louis in the moment. ]
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Louis falls easily into taking control and giving orders when needed: he's instructed Heismay and Hulkenberg to keep an eye out for those straying in the hallway, Strohl and Eupha to the council and the courts, and Gallica as a spy. he figures they will figure out how to delegate specific tasks among themselves. the prince's meals he gives to Hulkenberg specifically, ensuring that they are brought without suspicion. it's porridge and tea, mostly, some broth when it seems appropriate, for now he's giving Will's stomach some time to settle before lunch.
there is still treatment to be had, but Louis finds it difficult to argue with Will who wants a bath – he still must be sore and sticky from the prior night. as much as Louis wiped him down, some sweat still manages to stick around in small patches. so he draws the water, checks the temperature, and gives Will room to pick the salt that he wants. for a little bit he listens to him chatter about what they are and where they came from, small remnants of prior adventures. some were made specifically for him, as some sneaky merchant or politician had learned of the king's interest in them.
Louis ties up his hair to keep it out of the water, folding his ponytail over to keep it manageable before he follows after Will makes himself comfortable. in the center of his chest is that black heart that he keeps wrapped up in his uniform, beneath his tunic. it remains halfway submerged in the bath, its reflection marring the mirror surface. the bath is nice, and he sinks a with a quiet sigh, drifting among the steam. he doesn't open his eyes when he speaks: ]
Most likely, but we've been scarce enough that they will not yet know the details of it. Between the two of us not making any appearances, I'd imagine we have them all simply bursting at the seams with curiosity, though I'm rather surprised that such recklessness has not caused a slip yet.
[ as a hated enemy, Louis cannot imagine they'd not be doing something in retaliation. ]
You will be well soon, have you thought about how you'll return?
[ his voice is lazy, less careful in execution, with a slight, heady drawl. the water is nice. ]
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He gives Louis's question some thought for a brief period of time — it takes some doing, he is still queasy of stomach and cloudy in mind — but, after a moment, he answers: ]
Do I have to return in any particular way? I don't think I owe them an explanation even if they request one.
[ Will flips in the water. His stomach doesn't particularly agree with it, and he still feels weary down to his limbs, but the heat from the bath is beginning to make his joints feel loose and limber again, and he is rewarded for his efforts by the angelic sight of Louis with his hair tied up. Vaguely, Will recalls thinking even through his haze of sickness that Louis looked beautiful with his hair up. He's glad to see that it still holds true, and doesn't bother to hide how he gazes at his betrothed dreamily for a few moments, taking in the vision of his good looks. ]
It's only been two days or so... We'll just resume business as usual. Maybe I just wanted to laze in bed for a while.
[ Impetuous as always. Despite his travels and the fact that he once had nothing, he truly has the temperament of a king.
Slowly, Will's hand glides down the column of Louis's neck towards his sternum and the center of his chest where his black heart is. Curiously, Will pokes at its gilded frame and is surprised to find that it is both warm and hard. Emboldened, he presses his palm against it. ]
...
[ He lowers his voice to a more gentle, curious pitch. ]
...Does this hurt?
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settling in the heat is nice as Will wiggles around him, slightly more lively than he's been in days. it's comforting, at least, and it crosses Louis' mind to wonder when he suddenly became the young king's protector. he's certainly been here since he collapsed, sleeping in his bed or at his side, his hand firm, but still caring. is this something that happened these last few months, or something that's always been there, hidden beneath his ambitions?
there's a warm hand over his black heart, one that presses against it curiously. beneath it a faint beat against his palm.
Louis opens his eyes, half-lidded and quiet. ]
... No.
It doesn't hurt. Perhaps it did once, or it does still, and I've just learned to live with it as it is.
[ that is the truth of it, because there is pain in prying it out, but that sort of pain fades. this is the sort of pain he has to live with. ]
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At length, and while Will is casually thumbing over Louis's heart again, he asks: ]
...May I pull it out of you?
[ An outlandish demand, to be sure. He does follow it up with his best, biggest, most pleading doe eyes. It helps that the water is so hot, so relaxing, and they're both so tired, after the events of last night. ]
It might hurt, I know. But I'll try to be gentle.
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Louis opens his eyes, gazes down at Will who's pressing that warm palm up against his heart. there had been many times that Louis had tried to rip it from his chest, gripping desperately at the golden setting as if he could rip it from the depths of his body. in all of his rage and desperation, it had never moved, as if a part of his own body was somehow mocking his own desperation.
he despised the feeling.
there is discomfort that stirs inside of him, as his body reminds him what a vulnerable position that he may be in. ]
You wish to do that here? Now?
[ when Will brought him back, he hadn't thought to try to remove it again. it somehow just became another part of him, one half-lodged in his chest between his ribs, unnatural and not unlike one of the monstrosities that he created. ]
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[ They are both weary, after all; they should both rest. The last thing that Will wants is to cause Louis any more pain. But now this has seized upon the young king's interests, and his mind refuses to let go of the possibilities that are laid before him. Suppose he could just pry Louis's heart out of his chest and tuck it back into him, suppose he could...
He himself hesitates for a moment, but then pushes forward, in his usual way, with earnest conviction. ]
...I won't do it if you don't want me to, of course. But it looks painful. I've always thought that it looks painful.
[ Softly, Will caresses the black heart's golden frame, as if testing to see whether or not his fingers can sink in, rip it open. Louis's skin, all porcelain and alabaster around it — he's just so beautiful and delicate, like something that was made to be torn apart by the world.
Not that Will would let that happen again, or anymore. Louis seems slightly uncomfortable, though. The young man tries to reassure him, leaning against his body again, nestling into his neck, as if to remind him that his king is harmless, and adores him. ]
I just want to see if I can help.
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isn't that phrase what won Will the nation?
Louis never thought such a phrase would be so blatantly directed at him. while Will had brought him back, took him into the palace and proposed marriage, none of those acts were preceded by such a question. it's as if Will is finding new ways of begging him to allow him to let him in – just a little bit more, just a little more – until he can see all of Louis that he had hidden away from everyone else.
he tilts his head back to look at the fine engravings on the ceiling, his voice low, quiet. ]
A pacified heart or a painful heart – the one in my chest has served me a long time.
[ both good and bad – it protected him, but damned him, too. ]
It may not just be the pain that may linger, but the thought of what it would be without such a feeling is foreign to me. Perhaps it's what causes such unrest, but it is also mine, and mine alone.
If such a thing is pulled from my body, will my hatred part with it? Where others fear what theirs will make of them, I already know. It has come to pass. That hatred is a testament of the person that I have become. The reminder in suffering, even slight, is part of who I am.
[ there's no move to stop Will from tracing it's shape, pressing his hand against it or anything of the sort. the king's small body presses up against him, and Louis puts a hand on his shoulder to keep him close, causing faint ripples in the water. he does not think it beyond Will, no – he's certain that Will can do it. if there's anyone that can, it's him.
perhaps that's what unnerves him: his life with it, or his life without it? his loneliness has shaped him, but there is no reason for loneliness anymore. ]
That's not a denial of your aid.
[ he pets Will's hair back. ]
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Will's voice is soft and steady. ]
...I told you once that I want to make a world where no one has to suffer. That includes you, Louis.
[ Calmly, he pets and caresses Louis's heart, pressing a soft, pleading kiss to the man's jawline, and then the exposed column of his throat, where his Adam's apple juts out slightly from the way he is staring at the ceiling. ]
I understand... that you wouldn't know a world without pain. Perhaps you would not recognize yourself without pain. But I don't think that means you should live with that pain forever. Nor do I think that ridding you of pain would necessarily heal the other things which have shaped you.
[ Voice at a whisper, like he's confessing a great sin — ]
I love you for your hatred and your loneliness, too. I've never thought that you needed to change yourself like that.
[ Will sits up properly in the water again, trying, despite the ache in his limbs, to gaze into Louis's eyes properly. See him truly as he is, and not as a distant ideal, or the representation of some form of perfection that he never achieved and was doomed to embody to the world around him. ]
But... can't you try, Louis? What it would be like to live without pain — for me, if not yourself?
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but perhaps Louis would only listen to a king – the king.
Louis lifts his head to watch him quietly, his gaze steady on Will who gently picks through the strands of his own stubborn words. he looks rather beautiful while he does it, even strung-thin and exhausted, there is a regal air to Will that Louis cannot deny, even disrobed and flecked with droplets of water. ]
... The world never made a place for me, I always made my own place in the world. If it's your world, perhaps it will be different. If it is as you say, then the time will come for it.
[ there's a small gap between them, and Louis urges Will forward until their lips touch. it's a brief kiss, one meant more to seal a pact than to indulge a desire.
for himself? no. but for Will, now that sounds like something he may be able to do. ]
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He draws his hand back, lowering it back into the water and then wrapping it around Louis's waist once more. He always feels delightfully small when he's buoyed by the water, held in the arms of the man he loves. Will has not felt well these past few days, no, but at the very least, he has the luxury of feeling safe. Despite everything, despite the enemies lurking behind closed doors and the schemes that would end with the taking of his life — Will feels safe in Louis's arms.
He's smiling sweetly as he settles his cheek upon the man's heart. From what the man has said, he doesn't quite seem ready to let Will's fingers pry his heart out of his chest — but perhaps he will be ready sometime in the future. Tomorrow is always a brighter day in Will's heart, and he will not suffer his beloved to suffer for long. ]
I believe in the future, the same way I believe in you.
[ Firm and resolute, as always. Unyielding, unbending, as always. ]
When we get out of the bath... you can dispel the last of this sickness. And then, I think, we should start planning our wedding.
[ A brief pause. Will lifts his head slightly. ]
No, wait... lunch first. And then we should start planning our wedding.
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he's looking tired, but far more lively. it's a curious thing to know that the treatment has worked, and that the knowledge he had used to turn normal people to monsters has saved the king. while he had used it for healing this time, it meant that it may go deeper than that, and that there are still secrets of the elda that he has not uncovered.
once Louis is dressed he calls for Will's lunch, something simple that's brought in by Hulkenberg. she makes a comment that Will is looking well enough that he may soon get antsy if he remains idle, and Louis can't say that he doesn't agree – Louis is beginning to get antsy, as well.
the last stretch of treatment is not nearly as hard as the night prior, nor are they in need of Eupha's help to finish it. there are a few magla pathways that need rerouting, and others that Louis needs to check remain intact. ]
Come now, stay still for just a moment longer.
[ he says when Will twitches under his touch.
well, it's far more obvious how much touch the treatment requires when the circumstances are not-so-dire, and it's obvious the way that Will shifts a bit beneath it that all thoughts aren't just on healing. such things cross Louis' mind too when he traces the pathway down his sternum to his navel, a warm palm dipping down smooth skin that seems so natural that Louis almost forgets that this isn't foreplay, it's the last in a handful of examinations.
drawing back quickly, he arranges his expression and wonders if he needs another, colder bath later in the day.
now that Will is no longer ill, Louis takes his leave of his chambers, as it no longer seems appropriate to keep Louis Guaibern within the same quarters as the king. not necessarily because the two of them care about their nuptials, but rather, there was a former king that Louis had seen an end to. the current political state needed no more rumors to mill around it until they were married. ]
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In the evening, when "Louis Guiabern" has left the king's chambers, Will regrets not keeping the man in the room with him. Somehow, he finds that his bed has become too big for his body alone.
The rumors that circulate around the palace go something like this:
The king was sick for the last few days. Most of the royal doctors can confirm this, and have been loudly griping their misfortunes, as the king's chief of staff was given direct instructions from one of the Six Partisans (or was it the king's fairy companion?) to have them all fired. Some of these former doctors claim that Louis Guiabern himself removed them; one young chef was even claiming in the palace kitchens that Louis threw them out of the king's room by his own hand, though this seems likely to be an exaggeration. Still others are still uncertain of precisely what role Louis is occupying in court. He is not the state army general or the court archmage, so under what title is the King keeping him? A royal advisor, perhaps? But is that not a dangerous position, for a man who killed the preceding king?
Beyond the fact that King Wilhelm has been ill, no one can agree on how he was treated. Only the Partisans and Louis Guiabern have been seen entering and exiting the king's chamber in recent days, ever since the doctors were dismissed. The palace maidservant (King Wilhelm commented once that they were to be considered "cleaning staff" and not "maidservants," but truthfully, even most of the maidservants still prefer to call themselves maidservants) normally assigned to clean the King's chamber has confirmed that she was reassigned to another section of the palace — to protect her own health, she thought, but as for who gave her that impression, she couldn't say.
There are still other, more outlandish rumors. A gardener working on some of the king's requested adjustments to the garden swore casually, over a few beers with friends, that he saw Louis Guiabern leaning over the king's bed through the window — to kill him, perhaps? Or something else? Kiss him? It wasn't in the gardener's power to stop him, in any case, so he did nothing. Another palace maidservant who eventually came to collect the king's used linens noted stray blond hairs atop the pillowcase and dutifully said nothing — at least until the right hands came with coin and implicit threats. Then, being a very practical woman, she talked.
All of this is to say —
— that as the Prince of Oceana reclines in his seat and sighs, knowing full well that he is in no position to negotiate with the man who once served as church crier and now serves as chairman of parliament, his thoughts are on the only way that these rumors can possibly all tie together. For all that he has been a blundering oaf in the political realm, the Prince is an old man, and not a particularly unintelligent one. There are things about being a young man that he remembers very well, and cheap infatuations are one of them.
"I'll be blunt," the one-eyed Prince begins, folding his hands atop his lap.
"I like that in a guy, sure," Batlin drawls casually with his hands in his pockets, mostly to make the Prince uneasy, and something in the irreverent sarcastic compliment does seem to make the old man somewhat unmoored.
After a light cough, the roussainte tries again. "This... talk of the young King and Louis. What have you heard of it?"
"Only what others have told me," the redheaded clemar quips. "I've also been told that you've been snooping around trying to find out what the situation is."
"I have the king's best interests at heart," the Prince of Oceana claims.
"Do you?" Batlin asks. "Because I've known you for a long time, Your Highness, as my father knew you before me. Seems to me that you only swore fealty to His Majesty because you thought Louis's supporters would come for your head at the time. Tell me, what's it matter to you? Sending eavesdroppers around the castle, bribing maids — never thought you'd stoop so low, really. What are you going to do if the king is shagging Louis?"
"He must see reason," the Prince protests, in a faux-sympathetic tone that implicitly implores Batlin to join him. "He is a boy of only eighteen. I can see why a — glamorous man such as Louis would appeal to him, if indeed he has a predilection for other men. But he knows not what danger he plays with. Louis is not a man content to be a king's toy."
"And what are you going to do about it?" Batlin asks again, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "Listen, Your Highness. It's not that I don't understand. I don't trust you, and I don't trust Louis, myself. But I do trust His Majesty's judgment. I'm warning you now, you'd best not try him. He doesn't need me heading parliament to get what he wants."
"Then you will not join me in this?" the Prince demands. "You would allow a boy of eighteen to marry his father's killer, a power-hungry, raving murderer, and put him closer to the throne than us —"
Batlin tuts his tongue against his teeth. "Ah, but that's what this is about, isn't it? Us." Shrugging broad-shouldered as he grins and turns on his heel, the middle-aged clemar manages a jaunty wave as he turns and exits the otherwise-empty parliament chamber, clutching loose sheafs of paper in his hand. "So sorry, Your Highness, if I gave you the wrong impression. There never was an us." ]
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"They're not all that happy with you," Gallica says.
them meaning the senate, and not all that happy meaning nervous, Louis assumes. though Louis has always made them nervous, shows of self-made power really makes them tremble. they have not forgotten the young lord from their own rebellions, when Louis' grip on the military had brought both Oceana and Montario to their knees.
"Of course they aren't," Louis replies, leaning back in his seat. "There are two minds of this: those that think they can control a boy king, and those that would rather see this nation burn to the ground than an elda sit on the throne. One may serve the other, as they are both means to the same ends for them. Voices that have they have feared in the past are cause for threat, if the engagement is announced, the senate will do all in its powered to delay the ceremony."
"The Prince of Oceana is planning on it, I overheard him talking to Batlin. He thinks that the king is someone who needs to be reasoned with because he's so young," Galica says with obvious distaste in her voice. there was a time when she, too, didn't understand what had gotten into Will, but the more time she spent with Louis, the more she gets it. it's why she's there now, her fairy bottom perched on a pile of books, while Will is meeting with the law makers.
"We must not allow them the chance." Louis taps a quill against a parchment in thought, the tip dry enough to leave a small indent of a dot on the page.
"He's been looking forward to this ever since I heard about it. He deserves to be happy, and not have to wait because of some stupid politics. They'll just pull him into meeting after meeting and make him sign a ton of paperwork. How do we head that off?"
Louis had taken most of Will's excited looks in stride, but now that Gallica lays it so openly, it's hard to ignore. there is complicated feelings regarding himself as the cause of that joy, but he agrees with Gallica: Will should not have to wait for what he wants because of stupid politics.
"We skip the engagement announcement and set a date for the ceremony," Louis says, leaning his temple against his knuckles. "We'll ruffle a few feathers, but save ourselves the headache of their squalling. The public will hardly notice, their intent will be upon the marriage itself and could care little of the details."
"He'd go for that, too."
"It is rather enjoyable when he sets himself aflame," Louis starts. he realizes his slip, and then lifts his gaze to Gallica. "Tell Batlin to have a little fun with them in the interim, and I'll press upon the king my own eagerness for our nuptials."
"Are you?"
"Am I what?"
"Eager?" Gallica asks, taking to the air and flitting up next to Louis' face.
"My sentiment favors action," he replies flawlessly. "While I am patient, there are certain things that are best if they come to past sooner rather than later, and it will be in the king's favor that they do."
"Sure sure."
"Send Fidelio in to see me."
Gallica makes an affirmative noise and heads toward the door before she can see the face that he makes.
there's also Louis' own followers to attend to in this matter. while neither Fidelio nor Basilio work for him particularly anymore, they do see reason when it comes to caring for the king. perhaps Fidelio has been a witness to Louis' fondness for Will for so long, that this hardly surprises him – neither of the two believe that Louis, in his current iteration, would harm the king. it's one of the only reasons they currently still listen to him.
when Louis next sees Will, it's for supper after a long day of court and paperwork. ever since he'd been ill, their meetings had been sparser, further in between. it's the nature of the beast, Louis supposes, as Will is the king, and his attention is something demanded by his patrons. ]
If we take to the gauntlet runner again, I'm certain that I'll be blamed for such recklessness. We should take advantage of that and take a trip north.
[ he says absently, knowingly, perhaps as a joke, but perhaps also not. ]
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But being good at something, and that thing being necessary for society, also does not equate to happiness. Will also knows that there are corners of his own country in which he has never ventured, and still more hidden legacies from kings of yore to find and explore. He knows that he was never happier than he was at the bow of his runner with all of his friends — his beloved family in tow.
Sometimes, he knows, he needs vacations from being king.
He is never lonely in a way that hurts him, but secretly, Will's been a little lonely these past few days. His Partisans are rarely ever in one room together, these days. They came the closest to being reunited, that one time he was sick, but even then, Junah had still been busy with the Mage Academy, and Fidelio and Basilio had only been around for a little while. Will misses having dinner with everyone as a group in some small, podunk tavern with greasy food and cheap beer. He managed to eat lunch with Strohl and Hulkenberg recently — that pleased him — but both are occupied with things related to the state army and the royal knights today, and won't be back to the capitol until next week. Will half-suspects that Gallica arranged dinner with Louis just to cheer him up.
Well — it's working, in any case. Will always seems pleased to see Louis and be in his presence — however unofficial, the man is his betrothed after all. He positively lights up when Louis suggests running away again. ]
Really? You'd do that with me?
[ Neuras would do it too, and they both know it; the royal engineer's job is to spirit the king away to wherever it is he wants to go, after all. Will looks so happy and radiant that there might well be flowers blossoming out of his ears. ]
You don't have to be the villain all the time, you know. I'm just as happy to get into trouble. Is there a reason that you want to go up north?
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