Chapter Text
WRIOTHESLEY
Neuvillette’s home was just as he remembered it, save for the presence of the man himself within it.
Distracted by what he just witnessed, Wriothesley’s unease had little time to settle, the feeling of being out of place in the entryway to the apartment pushed to the back of his mind to ruminate on later. His palms felt clammy with sweat, and he had to make a conscious effort not to clench his fists.
It was a momentary lapse in attention. A moment of distraction that he couldn’t fault Neuvillette for having in light of everything that happened, but…
But Neuvillette’s gaze had turned vacant as he stared at Wriothesley’s neck, an image that was far too reminiscent of the trance he witnessed in the Domain. It unnerved him in a way he hadn’t expected, and when Neuvillette failed to respond the first time he called out to him, the panic had only mounted.
Fortunately Neuvillette snapped out of it quickly after that, much to his relief, and he felt no need linger on those thoughts longer than necessary.
Wriothesley did not miss the presence of Neuvillette’s tail around his leg. He did not. But he couldn’t deny that it had helped. That it managed to stave off the spiralling panic that had grabbed hold of his heart and refused to let go, logic be damned.
He didn’t know what to think anymore.
The fact of the matter was that Neuvillette was coming down to live in Meropide with him for an unspecified amount of time, whether he wanted it or not. And until they figured out how to undo this mess between them, Wriothesley would need to keep a tight leash on his emotions. Something that he was struggling with even before today.
Peachy.
Neuvillette led them towards the kitchen in contemplative silence, where he procured two more goblets and another glass carafe of unlabelled water. Knowing him, Neuvillette knew precisely what water it was even without a label. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, his overtired brain, or a mixture of the two, but the moment Neuvillette uncorked the bottle he swore he got a whiff of lilies.
He took the offered drink with a nod of thanks, taking slow sips that felt oddly refreshing no matter how much he hesitated to believe it. The goblet was empty before he knew it.
And it definitely smelled of lilies.
Not quite sure what the purpose of their little pit stop in the kitchen was, Wriothesley waited for Neuvillette to take the lead. His eye drifted naturally to settle on the man, and for once he let himself look without overthinking his actions. The soft fluttering of Neuvillette’s gills as he drank was mesmerising, his tail tapping out a happy beat against the floor. Neuvillette’s enjoyment of the water was something else, and Wriothesley felt his lips quirking into a soft smile despite himself.
Platonic. His feelings were strictly platonic. Starting now.
Neuvillette’s violet eyes turned towards him as he finished drinking, sending a shiver down Wriothesley’s spine. That gaze was as intense as always.
“Apologies in advance for dragging you around while I pack. I’ll endeavour to be quick about it.”
He stifled the sigh he felt coming on and instead let the words sink in. It seemed that all they did today was apologise to each other, and it was ever so slowly beginning to grate on him. He was not a man that could walk on eggshells indefinitely.
“No need to apologise, just let me know if I can be of any help.”
“Very well.” Neuvillette’s hesitation was an obvious thing. His tail, no longer tethered to anything, was erratic, lashing out in agitation every second or so despite Neuvillette’s efforts to undoubtedly stop the action. Though his face remained as impassive as ever to the untrained eye, there was something in the way he held himself that screamed to Wriothesley of insecurity. In that moment he found himself hating his innate ability to sniff out other’s weaknesses. “Are you hungry?”
Not expecting to be asked such a question, it took him a moment to actually consider himself. His stomach still felt unsettled after their eventful morning, and the water was doing a surprisingly good job of keeping him satiated.
He shook his head.
“I’m fine, but I’ll let you know if that changes.”
It was Neuvillette’s turn to nod, and the silence that settled over them like a blanket returned to feeling somewhat stifling and awkward. Neither of them knew how to handle such a situation it seemed.
Wriothesley knew that it would take work, was keenly aware of the fact that actually setting their heavy history to the side would take significant effort on both their parts. But until that time came, the tension between them would only continue to set his teeth on edge.
Letting go of his feelings for Neuvillette would take time, but now that he knew the man did not wish for things to lead in that direction, he could at least begin to work on it. The kiss they shared weeks ago was, as Neuvillette himself had said, a mistake. A way for Neuvillette to convey his thanks, and nothing more. And he had to accept that.
Keeping Neuvillette as a friend, especially in light of his lengthened lifespan, was far more important to him than whatever rattled around in his brain.
Dragons tend to cherish their treasures.
“I suppose we better get started then.”
The next two hours of Wriothesley’s day consisted of following Neuvillette around like a shadow, trying his best to mind his own business as Neuvillette folded clothes into bags and sorted through documents in his office, creating a pile that he would be taking with him. He kept his silence, hopefully blending into the background as Neuvillette slowly but surely created worn paths in the carpet from the constant back and forth.
Again, all he could do was observe, and again, Wriothesley couldn’t help but take note of Neuvillette’s beauty.
Platonic. Feelings.
Any and all thoughts hounding Wriothesley’s mind over the two hours screeched to a halt as soon as they entered Neuvillette’s bathroom, the realisation of what their proximity meant seemingly hitting them at the same time.
Neuvillette’s movements turned stiff as he gathered his toiletries, packing various creams and salves into a pouch before turning on his heel and stalking out. Not a single look spared for Wriothesley, who just barely managed to keep up with Neuvillette’s long strides. He had been distracted by the deep pool, and the way the water had looked… comforting.
But they had survived the Domain together. Surely bathing together in this context wouldn’t break them. Right?
The mortification of his own thoughts and imagination came anyway, the images that flashed through his mind making something stir in his gut. He was glad for Neuvillette’s single-minded focus, and lack of attention spared on him. It meant he could adjust himself and weather the sudden heat in relative peace.
It was late afternoon by the time Neuvillette finally stopped packing, walking them both to the middle of his bedroom where a small stack of bags sat innocently against his ridiculously large bed. The fruit of Neuvillette’s labour, entirely unassuming. Said ridiculously large bed also looked ridiculously comfortable, and Wriothesley imagined, for just a moment, what it would be like to let himself sink into that softness.
Not the first time he fantasised about being in Neuvillette’s bed, but it was the first time for it to be in this context. He shuddered at the thought, but found his body too tired to be embarrassed.
No amount of water could replace sleep after all, and Archons knew he’d had a shit time of it recently. Water couldn’t chase nightmares away either, which left him with little choice. He needed a distraction, needed to stave off sleep for as long as he could.
“What’s next on the agenda Monsieur?”
Neuvillette snapped out of whatever train of thought he’d been having, eyes sharp as they turned to consider him. That scrutiny was unlike anything else he experienced. Not even the mixture of fear and uncertainty that he saw in the eyes of the people he passed daily could compare. That gaze was predatory, yes, but he’d already seen that look on Neuvillette countless times. This was a little different. If he were better at reading between the lines of dragon emotions perhaps he could wager a guess.
But he was no longer privy to that aspect of Neuvillette, couldn’t allow himself to delve that deep.
“You look tired Your Grace.”
He couldn’t help the wry grin that stretched his lips, his shoulders slumping somewhat in response. Leave it to Neuvillette to figure him out in a heartbeat. But this was a game. Not one he enjoyed, but he could play it well after years in Meropide.
“Are you not tired?”
Reveal nothing if you can, answer questions with more questions, dig for any information you can get while giving very little in return.
“Not in the same way you would be.” Something softened in the violet of Neuvillette’s eyes, and Wriothesley felt his caution soften in turn. This was not Meropide. He could trust Neuvillette. “I assume our lodgings won’t be ready until tomorrow?”
“You would be correct. We’ll have to leave early in the morning to avoid unnecessary attention down in Meropide, but the preparations should be running smoothly as we speak. Sigewinne is very reliable, I’m sure she has already informed the relevant Gardes. I’ll schedule an additional staff meeting once we get sorted.”
Neuvillette’s silence stretched on for a few beats, and just when Wriothesley felt his palms begin to sweat, the man averted his eyes.
“I see. Then, while we wait and if you do not mind, I would like to complete some more work. This morning hasn’t been very productive, and my schedule is…”
There was no need for Neuvillette to continue. Wriothesley could only imagine what a mess it had become. Just the thought of work and the amount of it that would be waiting for him down in the Fortress once they arrived made him wish for a vacation. One that wasn’t in a deadly Domain, preferably.
“Yeah, that’s fine. Just give me a book to read and I’ll sit quietly while you work.”
Neuvillette opted out of going back downstairs, leading them instead to his office in the apartment. The room had no windows, and the dim lighting created a comfortable and calming atmosphere. He could almost fool himself into thinking he was below ground once more.
“My library is at your disposal, feel free to choose something. After that, we can drag one of the armchairs towards the desk and proceed from there.”
As solid a plan as any, but as soon as Wriothesley laid his eyes on the sheer amount of books scattered throughout Neuvillette’s office, the task of choosing one became impossible. If he had hours to spend browsing the titles and didn’t have Neuvillette’s proximity to worry about, then perhaps this would have been easier. But he didn’t want to make Neuvillette wait for hours.
Struck by decision paralysis, he grabbed the first tome that stuck out among the pristine spines on the closest shelf and cradled it against himself.
“… Interesting choice.”
Neuvillette was already turning towards the aforementioned armchair, which meant that Wriothesley had no choice but to follow, peering down at the book in his hand as he walked.
Biology and Physiology of Vishaps, Vol.5. 6th Edition.
Oh.
He trailed after Neuvillette, mouth opening and closing multiple times in what Sigewinne would call a perfect caricature of a fish, but in the end he could not figure out how to explain away this unfortunate misunderstanding.
With no choice but to roll with it, Wriothesley resigned himself to learning about Vishaps. Who knew, maybe he’d learn something that would save his life one day.
Neuvillette picked up the bulky armchair with ease, the blue suede of the upholstery matching the shade of his robes well. His eye, trained to take note of an opponents physique, couldn’t help but lock onto the way Neuvillette’s bicep stretched the fabric over his arm. Then he turned, and the sight of his broad back wasn’t helping Wriothesley focus in the slightest.
The armchair landed next to Neuvillette’s chair, the distance between them negligible. Wriothesley would have no trouble reading over Neuvillette’s work like this, and for a brief moment the worry of seeing something he was not supposed to see wormed it’s way into his mind. Then again, it wasn’t like he would sell any information he just so happened to see.
Neuvillette trusted him with his life. Confidential paperwork was nothing in comparison.
They settled in silence, and Neuvillette was reaching for fresh parchment and ink before Wriothesley could even get comfortable. Quill in hand, he began writing immediately.
He had to give it to Neuvillette, at least his furniture was comfortable and well made. Sturdy. The high back of the armchair let him recline somewhat, and though the usual aches and pains were gone from his back, he still appreciated being able to rest. He hooked one ankle over his knee and rested the thick tome on top, thumbing the cover open gently.
The scratching of quill on paper and the shuffling of pages made for a pleasant backdrop to his reading, the familiarity of the office allowing his shoulders to relax fully. It smelled of ink, and parchment, and Neuvillette. Comfort. Companionable silence, one he did not expect to experience any time soon.
The book he chose was… moderately interesting. Most of what he read flew over his head though. More often than not it was the innards and inner workings of machines that interested him and not those of living creatures that were in some way related to the man sitting next to him.
He wondered, belatedly as he flicked to the next page, what happened to the Melusine and Vishap that he had seen with Neuvillette all those weeks ago. He had never seen her before, and he hasn’t seen nor heard of her since. Not that he had looked particularly hard, but he was pretty sure a new Melusine would be the talk of the court.
Though his eye was reading the text before him his mind was far away, thoughts drifting from topic to topic to topic on the gentle tide of calm heartbeats. It was a peacefulness that he hadn’t felt in a long time. It lulled him into something like a trance, his eye feeling heavier and heavier with every page he flicked through. Head lolling to the side, his last thoughts were of Neuvillette, and the delirious hope that he wouldn’t quiz Wriothesley on the contents of the book, because there was no possible way that-
-
A shiver travelled up his arms, his spine. Like a spider, it scuttled up and left him feeling paranoid and cold. His heart hammered in his chest, faster and harder with each passing second until it felt as though it was trying to escape his very body. The terror of it all rose slowly within him, the nausea joining in at the crescendo until he could do nothing but run. Run away from the pain, from the agony of it.
Only by escaping could he survive the-
Sharp, the sudden pain in his right eye made him cry out and stumble. His shoulder hit the wall hard, but he kept going. One hand rose to stem the bleeding, warm as his life spilled between small fingers. Through the whining in his ears he could make out every single shuddering breath, every painful inhalation, his poor lungs struggling to work in the face of the fear flowing through his body.
Wriothesley’s shaking legs carried him onwards. A sharp left, and a passage. Tight. Leading into a cave, damp and dark and dangerous.
It was behind him. Close now. He could almost feel it’s breath on his neck, could almost feel strong jaws closing over his throat. Death was a hunter. A stalker. And it knew Wriothesley well.
The cave he entered naturally flowed downwards, sharp cliffs and sudden edges making him stumble and fall. Getting up was harder each time. He had no chance to look around, forward was the only direction to take.
In his periphery a flash of red registered, and he turned away quickly, stumbling towards another narrow passage between cliffs. He threw himself in, uncaring about the way the sharp rocks scraped against his face, uncaring of the warm blood dripping between his fingers and down his neck.
It couldn’t follow him. Not here. It was too narrow. He could breathe, if only for a moment.
His pace halved, though he didn’t stop shuffling forward. Always forward. It was survival, a visceral need to live, whatever the cost. He needed to reach… something. Someone.
“Please.”
The sob left his lips involuntary, torn out of him by the sheer force of terror.
The passage grew even tighter, forcing the meagre breath from his lungs until he felt like he was suffocating. Drowning. He pushed through it, gritting his teeth as the sharp rocks caught on his clothes and begged him to stay.
The end of the passage arrived suddenly, opening up and spitting him out into daylight that burned his eye. With lungs screaming at him for breath, he fell to his knees, coughing through the pain. Eyes blurry with blood and unshed tears, it took him far too long to realise where he ended up.
Cold dread settled within him, threatening to drag him down into despair.
It was a room. A room in a house. A room with couches, and a fireplace. A room with windows and sunlight pouring inside, beams of it warming the worn hardwood floor.
His eye darted around, every detail he noticed sending needles into his heart.
A missing bead at the centre of one of the pillows. A notch on the wooden frame by the door. A toy bunny, leaning against the windowsill.
“No.”
Though his voice was rough there was no mistaking the fact that it sounded far too young. Like a child.
Wriothesley looked down at himself for the first time since he started running, and gasped. Knees scraped and clothes dirtied, his body so small. So fragile. His hands not yet covered in blood that wasn’t his own.
With jerking motions his body moved, and he began crawling out of the room on his hands and knees.
“Please.”
There was no one to hear his pleas. No true reason to beg. But he still found himself asking to be saved from this nightmare.
He arrived in the hallway after what felt like hours, the sunlight streaming inside no longer enough to light his path. The darkness felt impenetrable, a solid wall that denied him access to the outside. He turned, ready to find another escape route when-
“Neuvillette?”
The man stood, still and silent, at the end of the hallway. He did not react. Did not even look at him. Those striking violet eyes looked past him, as if he was invisible, and focused instead on the doorway that had not been there only seconds prior. On the creature, red as flesh, that was slowly making its way inside, it’s hulking body stretching the doorway past its limits and shattering it in the process.
“Neuvillette!”
Wriothesley thrashed. He screamed and cried and begged for his body to obey him. To get up. But no matter how much he wanted it, he couldn’t do anything. Not as a child. Powerless and weak. Despite everything he had been through, despite everything Neuvillette had done and sacrificed for him, he could not repay the favour.
He could not save Neuvillette.
“Please! Run!”
He watched, helpless, as the beast pounced, claws tearing through Neuvillette’s body as if he were made of paper, blood spraying out in a grim arc. It landed on his face, drenched his hair and clothes until it entered his lungs and began drowning him.
And it burned and burned and burned and-
-
He woke with his body already moving, falling straight off the armchair and into a crouch before his brain could catch up to the fact that he was even awake. Both his gauntlets were already out, covering his raised arms as he he scanned the room in sweeping glances, looking for the source of danger that was causing his heart to pound.
But all he saw were Neuvillette’s concerned eyes looking down at him, both of his hands raised and empty. Seemingly harmless, though that word was laughable when applied to Neuvillette. Nothing about the man was harmless.
The situation became clear rather quickly after he noticed Neuvillette, and with a wince he forced himself up, gauntlets fading once his brain confirmed that the danger he perceived was all in his head.
“Your Grace?”
The armchair had fallen backwards when he startled awake, so he leaned down and settled it upright again, all but collapsing on it right after. He couldn’t look at Neuvillette, not after the show he just gave him. His scar pulsed beneath his eyepatch, and he focused on that sensation instead of the burning shame slowly overtaking the fear.
“Sorry.”
Any plans of keeping his nightmares to himself went up in flames just like that. Not surprising considering just how bad his day had been thus far, but hope had blinded him far more than his eyepatch ever could. Mortification climbed up his spine and into his shoulders until he could do nothing but bury his head in his hands, running as far away from Neuvillette’s gaze as he could given the situation.
So not far at all.
Only then did he realise that his cheeks were as wet as in his nightmare. Not with blood, but with tears.
“There is no need to apologise. Are you alright? Would you like something to drink?”
He hummed his confirmation, tongue far too heavy in his mouth to form words, jaw clenched so hard it hurt. The room was silent save for their breaths. No more shuffling of pages, and no more scratching of the quill on paper. Then, the sound of water, and he wondered where the hell Neuvillette even stored it in his office.
“Does this… happen often?”
The dreaded question. He couldn’t help but laugh, his head rising on instinct. It was impossible to avoid Neuvillette’s piercing gaze then, concern radiating off him in waves. Between them, one of Neuvillette’s goblets rested in the man’s hand, waiting to be taken.
“The sky is blue,” He took a sip, letting the cold water slide down his throat slowly. “Meropide stinks,” Another sip, this time deeper, and the fact that it felt so refreshingly good made anger burn beneath his fingertips. “And I have nightmares. Don’t worry Monsieur, it’s just another fact of life. No need for concern.”
Neuvillette’s concern grew regardless of his words, that much was clear in the furrow that formed between thin brows. Wriothesley could do very little to assuage those worries, so he chose to do something more productive. He continued drinking the water, waiting for his heartbeat to return to normal.
“Please. Continue your work Monsieur. Apologies for the interruption.”
“I… Very well. As you wish.”
Though Neuvillette continued to hesitate for another few seconds he did eventually return to his task.
Wriothesley sighed, massaging his temples as he cursed the nightmare for giving him such gruesome images. His stomach turned uncomfortably, and he thanked the stars for not making him throw up in Neuvillette’s office.
He settled himself comfortably on the armchair once more, chose a random spot on the wall to stare at, and began his vigil.