[ wriothesley's emotions go from an unnaturally dead calm as he'd been beckoned by the katalyth growth to reach out, before sinking into something close to obvious and unabashed apathy when he and neuvillette find themselves standing at the end of a hallway drenched in moonlight. it's a manor typical of the courts, and almost eerily silent in the dead of night, if it weren't for the glow of a lamp at the end of the hall and the hushed breathing of a third presence between them both.
wriothesley doesn't have to look to know that this particular scene is a memory he'd long since buried beneath the weight of his sins once he'd found his own purpose and salvation. however, it seems the katalyth is keen on bringing perhaps the most fitting and ironic witness to see the whole truth he'd embellished on the stage of the opera epiclese all those decades ago.
soon enough, wriothesley's nerves steel themselves as his emotions seem to do the same, and his first motion is to lift a hand to graze the tips of his fingers along the threshold between the foyer and hallway as his younger self resolves to take his first cautious step forward. small and scrawny fists clench inside a wholly rudimentary version of his usual mechanized gauntlets, cobbled together with spare mechanical parts and old gears, along with a worrying compartment full of nails above each knuckle.
wriothesley himself doesn't try to be discreet about his own movements, not in the way he moves ahead of everyone while still keeping his touch to the wall before walking toward the light. fear seems to manifest a plethora of indescribable emotions and reactions, and wriothesley isn't always immune to his own brand of recklessness in the face of it, especially in the way he seeks to move about the space in a detached manner while he leaves neuvillette behind with his younger self.
the younger wriothesley remains silent as well, albeit for other reasons that are soon clear as he squares his shoulders and slowly starts down the carpeted hall with his hands concealed behind his back. ]
( neuvillette remains quiet, taking in the entirety of the tableau before him. how strange it is that a rock from this world can pull out memories just like this, submerging them in the scene. that wriothesley has once again touched the katalyth is not lost on him, but at least... well, at least this time the consequences of it is a little less painful.
he can't take his eyes off the younger wriothesley. small, scrawny, starved but determined. on the edge of death and yet moving with incredible purpose that should have belonged to those much older and sturdier. but wriothesley is born into the world that did not want him, and he ended up carving a space for himself in the upper echelons of society. through sheer strength of will, the duke clawed his way up from the depths to become one of the most powerful people in fontaine.
neuvillette has almost forgotten how close wriothesley had been to dying. the sight of young wriothesley makes him ache, and he follows after the boy, keeping an eye on his wriothesley, who seems to dislike the event that unfolds. soon enough, it dawns on him. )
[ every now and then, this particular memory sees fit to haunt him in his dreams rather than be some event he willingly recalls. wriothesley has long since accepted the decisions he'd made and the lives he'd so wrongly taken, but it had been the hand life dealt him. justice had never come to his aid, nor to any of the other children, in all the years he'd spent finding his own answer to the problem. however, it's not often he's made to revisit the scene like this—entirely separate from the boy shoring up his resolve in bated breath from the shadows, bracing himself for the moment he has to settle his jittering nerves.
wriothesley, on the other hand, is already in the dimly lit kitchen, ahead of neuvillette and the boy by only a few tense paces. but there's an odd sort of look that crosses the older man's face when he sees it all from his foster parents' perspective. followed by an unsettling silence that settles over the room as the mundanity of life takes its last breath before the storm, and wriothesley is the one to break it, speaking into the brief pause aloud to neuvillette. ]
A scene that needs no introduction, I don’t think.
[ and one that requires no ceremony either, as the younger boy rounds the corner and chaos erupts the moment recognition settles across everyone's expressions, albeit for very different reasons. ]
▌ made it depressi just for u // cw: gore
the knife clatters loudly as it's tossed aside, droplets of blood scattering from the drenched blade before staining the baseboard it strikes. though █████ is hardly cognizant of the noise around him. save for his own labored breathing, the uneven thrumming in his chest, and the numbness settling painfully behind his eyes, his focus remains fixed on the two bodies sprawled across the floor.
he isn't sure how long he stands there staring down at them. unsure of what even remains from his foster mother and father might stir and rise again despite the number of deep wounds dotting their arms and chests. blood has already begun to darken and settle into the worn floorboards of the home, and some of it is his own.
he makes a small noise when he tries to step forward and check the bodies. however pain shoots up from one of his knees, and with it comes the sharp recollection of having to twist and kick his mother off him before the now-discarded knife could plunge any deeper into skin. he's seized, for a moment, by an overwhelming sense of despair at the memory of his mother's expression as she sought to bring the blade down with every intent to kill. the sting of betrayal finally settles deep in his chest, and he can no longer hold back the hollow sob that burns around the fresh wounds at his throat.
because even he isn't immune to the sudden drop in his chest when the weight of it all overwhelms him. where each miserable and pitiful cry is a reverberation of his desperate urge to be held, to want someone safe, and not having to bear this sin completely alone. but he has no motherly face to recall or memory of what that’s supposed to look like; it’s instinct without reference and his only means of expressing that profound sadness is with an anguished sound that wakes the floors and rooms above him.
dragging himself away from the bodies, he makes a pathetic attempt to press a hand to the deep gashes at his neck. it's more a weak touch than any firm effort to steady the injuries, having already sustained a number of cuts to his arms while trying to defend himself after ambushing his father. the man had gone down easily enough, nails launched from his gauntlet aimed at the face before harsh punches crushed his chest. unfortunately, his mother had reacted quicker than expected, sparing herself not even a moment to grieve before snatching the knife from the table and kicking him off her dying husband. once he'd dealt with his mother, he'd given his father a few stabs for good measure.
so if he is destined to die alongside them, then he'd like to do so with as much dignity as the archons will allow. as he stumbles down the hallway, one of his last coherent thoughts is of how the scene might look from the maison gardiennage's point of view. how many of the marechaussee phantoms would need to be summoned to make sense of the crime? despite the adage that the truth will out, would his intentions still be understood beneath the eyes of the law?
unable to walk any farther, he stumbles awkwardly into the wall before mustering the last of his strength to throw himself toward the entrance of the living room, crying out when the only thing to cushion his fall is the hand still clutched at his throat. not wanting to die as some casualty tucked away in a dark corner, waiting to be found, he'd sooner bare his only crime and sin as a final repentance, without shame, for everyone involved to witness. once the pain of his injuries begins to dull, his breathing turns shallow. he no longer cares about the splinters digging into the fresh cuts on his arm, nor does he make any further attempt to stanch the warmth slowly seeping from his neck. the rest of his thoughts soon begin to blur, half-formed and sluggish, as he stares blankly at the blood spilling through his pale hands.
[ all the while, wriothesley watches with a distant sort of curiosity, and finds himself looking to neuvillette for some indication of how he ought to react to a situation like this. but until either that answer comes from neuvillette, or the katalyth he'd touched stops projecting the memory, wriothesley is left at a rare loss for what to say, what to do, or even how to ease them both back into more normal conversation. or at least as 'normal' again as one can get after witnessing such a scene. so he falls back on what usually serves him best: a half-hearted shrug, and a gauche, self-deprecating joke. ]
And you'd also think my last brush with Katalyth would've taught me better by now. Either that, or I'm just a glutton for punishment.
( neuvillette is definitely the farthest thing from a distant observer, swept up in the moment with his breath caught in his throat. the tableau before him unfolds with a terrifying, vivid clarity; reminding him of the boy he had seen on the stand, prepared for the trial before him. so young, skinny, on the brink of death with bandages around his throat. but those eyes... grey like the bleakest winter storm, burning with a determination; he is barely a man, and yet the world had failed him in every way that counted.
here, neuvillette can only watch. he knows the outcome, understands full well that the man standing before him is proof of his ultimate survival, but it doesn't stop the awfulness of the moment.
it is betrayal relived all over again, and without thinking, neuvillette steps forward as if he could do anything about it, turn back time and halt what this terrible memory in its steps. but he cannot. what the flat evidence presents is different from watching it unfold with wriothesley, and try as he might, neuvillette cannot help his own distress, fine brows knitted and lavender eyes betraying what he cannot say.
there was no way he could understand the exact sequence of events back then, but now... now, there is so much, so much blood. instead of reaching to the boy, he reaches for him, a hand closing around his forearm as he turns his gaze from the boy to him, the man who had survived hell and yet stayed kind despite all the things he had to do, grown into a stunning, clever creature, overcoming all that had been thrown at him. he thrived in the shadows, and had become the second most powerful man in fontaine through his own effort.
how tragic. how incredible. finally, he finds his voice, quietly strained. heavy, an odd sort of grief that sits in his ribs — somewhere out there, a small raincloud has started to haunt someone. wriothesley will hate this, but even the iudex is not immune to emotion. )
[ something in neuvillette’s reaction pulls wriothesley sharply back into himself. this is a memory he's long since examined in quiet solitude—mostly during sleepless nights at the fortress, first as an inmate and later as its warden. though whether he has truly come to terms with it or merely learned to live beside it is difficult to say. sigewinne, at least, has never pressed the matter despite watching him grow into his purpose. yet it is neuvillette’s wholly human response that unsettles him, drawing him out of that practiced detachment. some confusion flickers across his features when neuvillette touches him, but it softens quickly and is replaced by quiet concern. that despite whatever unease stirs within him, wriothesley immediately sets it aside in favor of tending to his mate. ]
—are the result of a choice I made a long time ago. [ wriothesley chooses to finish neuvillette’s thought himself, steering the conversation toward another confession of sorts—if only to give them both something steadier to hold onto through their bond. ] It’s not something I regret or celebrate, and while I doubt I could argue my case convincingly before the Chief Justice… [ the stillness of the scene fractures as life seeps from the bodies around them. distant footsteps and hushed voices stir within the orphanage, before the eventual disbelief ripples through the children’s faces and panic soon overtakes them. their cries rush past them both like a rising tide, stark against wriothesley’s unyielding composure. ] To me, all of this was necessary.
[ with that quiet acceptance, the memory splinters like a mirror under strain and collapses inward. their forms shift once more—from the familiar shapes of themselves back home to now something grossly altered by the corruption of living in karteria. eventually, they find themselves standing within the hollowed remains of a katalyth growth. the jagged crystal looms around them, its dark surface pocked and fractured, pale deposits clinging stubbornly to every crevice—an intrusion that feels as wrong as it looks. ]
Although you’ll have to forgive me—at least for being at a loss for words. [ the implication lingers: mercy from the iudex lies not in absolution, but in understanding—an acknowledgment of what has already been confessed and endured. ] It’s sort of difficult to prepare for these things.. I just hope you aren’t too unsettled, having witnessed my case so plainly rather than through records or testimonies.
[ still too formal, perhaps—but when it comes to trauma, wriothesley has always leaned toward quiet internalization rather than open display. for once, however, a faint flicker of shame moves through his half of the bond, unsettling enough that he hesitates to reach for neuvillette in return. how childish of him, he thinks. and in the end, all he offers is a tired, restrained smile. ]
( the intricacies of human emotion might sometimes elude him, but neuvillette has been among them for centuries, watched over them, fulfilling the fontaine's laws — and by his very nature, emotions are a strange thing for sovereigns to have. but he has long made the decision to dwell amongst men, and with wriothesley being the most outstanding, alluring of them all.
he shines like a jewel in the dark; filled with a strength of will and shrewdness that draws his eye and keeps it — even now, when they're together, he cannot help but be endlessly fascinated by him. which is perhaps why, when he senses the inexplicable ripple of shame through their pair bond, he stiffens. his gaze flickers to his, taking his measure and observing just how his expression hasn't changed, save only his hesitation at reaching out for him.
wriothesley is altogether too human despite his worldliness. mortal, given over to emotion despite his nature. he softens, shaking his head quietly. he breaches the distance between them when he recognizes how wriothesley closes himself up again, and he pulls him into his arms. it is guilt that sits heavy in his chest; the oratrice's flaws are many, he sees it now, as was he. and yet...
yet, the law and justice are two very different things, and neuvillette understands this to his bones now, more than ever, when wriothesley stands before him with proof of it. in his mind's eye, he sees the young boy on the stand again, and how he wished with all his heart that he could override the decree, even if that has led to the man that wriothesley is today.
he tightens his grip and cradles the back of his head, uttering a quiet: )
Nevertheless, this was not a choice you were supposed to make, if Fontaine had not failed you. As it has failed many others. Even if this forged has you into the man that you are today and led you to me, it should not have happened. When we return, I shall see to it that we make improvements.
[ they've spoken about these sorts of moments at length, especially after his last rough encounter with katalyth—the idea, and slow acceptance, of concern from another. namely from neuvillette, and the gradual mending of wriothesley’s belief that the other cannot outwardly care for people, at least where duty and responsibility are concerned. and yet, for all the love, trust, and affection wriothesley can now return with ease, being on the receiving end of neuvillette’s concern forces him to confront a few truths.
namely, that someone has truly witnessed his change for the better, despite how doggedly he’s kept to the shadows and out of sight of the overworld. the concern has always been there: in the letters exchanged with sigewinne, the first to comment on his vision, and the progression of gift-giving or playful bantering. and yet wriothesley has always simply relied on duty and restriction as the excuse to deflect from the notion that he—of all people, after how far he once fell—could be seen as irreplaceable to someone so magnanimous as neuvillette.
but now isn’t the time to deflect or seek to correct. not when neuvillette makes the first move and draws him in close. it’s a comfort wriothesley himself offers others when it’s warranted, which makes being held like this all the more telling; it suggests fear has entered the picture, or at least the risk of harm, and the feeling knots in him at first. however, their bond steadies the reaction as soon as it surfaces, giving him just enough clarity to loosen his usual tension and allow himself to relish the moment instead. ]
I think you're doing just fine to that end, Neuvillette. [ he answers lightly, folding in some of his usual humor while he gathers both his wits and the quiet reassurance that it’s alright, and even welcome, to lean into neuvillette’s hold. once certain of that, he lifts a hand to return the embrace. his head tilting slightly so that a twitching ear and the soft nub of his budding rhinophore press against neuvillette's temple in a faint, almost absent nuzzle. ] Seeing as I haven’t come across any other lost soul sent to the Fortress bearing the same sort of sin—at least not within my tenure.
[ there’s no need to soften his own crime, either. as warden, his greater purpose lies in rehabilitation, so it’s only natural he reviews the offenses of incoming inmates to better understand how to guide them, even from a distance. such opportunities he can offer others through his position, despite how seldom he was afforded the same. the thought and irony of that belief lingers, however, as one hand slips beneath neuvillette’s usual coiffure, hiding the brief tightening of his fingers in the fabric of neuvillette's shirt—a rare, quiet show of need—tempered by the airy laugh he lets out when neuvillette cradles the back of his head in return. ]
Still, I’m flattered you’d work just a touch harder to put me out of a job, or send me into early retirement. [ before neuvillette can interject with exasperation at the tease, wriothesley hums and lingers near the former's ear. surrounded by katalyth, they have enough excuse to allow themselves a touch more openness in affection than usual. ] Hopefully somewhere sunny and quiet. Not so far that you couldn’t visit, of course—if we’re still talking about “making improvements” once we get back home.
[ while neuvillette speaks of change for the sake of their nation, wriothesley only leans closer. a soft huff warms the shell of neuvillette's ear, the smile evident in the slow exhale alongside the playful lilt of his words. where neuvillette looks outward, wriothesley’s thoughts settle on a different kind of change that involves just the two of them. ]
( neuvillette is not oblivious to the effect that the months of being in here has done to him. removed from the fortress and his responsibilities, wriothesley has found his footing remarkably quickly, adapting to the situation and making the best of it. but this memory, the unfolding event before them is a jarring, unwelcome anecdote, even if has illuminated the shadows of wriothesley's past that neuvillette had once contemplated.
he keeps holding him, reluctant to release his lover. it is relief that settles in his chest when he feels him lean in close, and he listens quietly when he speaks of sin bearing, ruminating on the weight that sits on those sturdy, strong shoulders. he doesn't argue, because even if he had an understandable reason, crime had nonetheless been committed. he presses in close with a soft sigh, indulging that quiet show of need with approval and warmth, and he noses along that scarred neck, teasing the leather strips that he still wears around them. a thought bubbles to the fore, his gaze lingering on the tiny rhinophores on wriothesley's head, the wiggle of his ears, and the warmth in his eyes. he has been thinking about this from time to time, and now feels like one of the best times to put it forward. )
Perhaps you could come and live with me.
( he says at last, seeking out wriothesley's hand so that he can thread his fingers through his. ) ... when we return. Should you wish to one day retire, perhaps you can find comfort in my home, with me. Unless you wish to purchase a lodging for yourself, of course.
[ the recognition of a certain emotion through their bond isn't immediate at first. in fact, it almost comes at wriothesley sideways as he accepts that the closeness they both lean into immediately is simply their way of comforting one another. however, when relief trickles through from neuvillette's side, it's carried by a touch of warmth. enough for wriothesley to wonder why neuvillette can still look and hold him with such assurance after everything the katalyth had forcibly shown and laid bare between them both.
neuvillette isn't correcting him either, not softening the truth into something more palatable, not trying to solve for sins committed in the past—save for a promise for the future. he simply remains by wriothesley's side, unshaken, holding him close as though what has been exposed leaves him nothing lesser.
and then it dawns on wriothesley: he's being tended to. even when neuvillette reaches for him in a language of comfort that's foreign to them both for different reasons, the iudex still tries with his whole presence until that care takes shape in a way they can both make sense of. so it stings, for a moment, because it's almost as though neuvillette is inventing gentleness that isn't born of pity. wriothesley can feel it in the fleeting touches he's peppered with, and by the time he smiles at the offer, he's already drawing their joined hands and himself close enough that neuvillette can no doubt feel the way wriothesley's pulse beats beneath his skin. and when he meets neuvillette's gaze, the look he gives him is soft as he answers in a way that truly feels like himself, uncertainty and all. ]
You know, I'd like to find my own place up on the surface. [ although he can't entirely hold back a laugh when he does have to consider neuvillette's formal place of residence back in fontaine. ] Whether at the Palais, or under a roof that belongs to just us—playing house together has been fine and well in Karteria, but after all of this... I think I'm ready to build a home that lasts with you.
[ it's a rough confession, but neuvillette is at least privy to some of the truer vulnerabilities wriothesley still carries with him. trust is already an obstacle they've surmounted with relative ease. but even in the house at water's edge, which wriothesley works to keep comfortable and safe from much of karteria's nonsense, it is still just a space they just share together. and after witnessing, in full, the loss of his innocence and the shattering of worldly love, wriothesley finds himself open, at last, to sincerely building a home that isn't an illusion, or tending to a refuge he has to safeguard and maintain for others.
though he still feels a little lost in navigating a moment like this with neuvillette, it isn't the same sort of confusion that leaves him uncertain of how to react or how best to care for them both. rather, it is one of those exceedingly rare and fleeting moments in which wriothesley is almost bashful about voicing a sincere want so plainly. even so, he lets it rest between them as it is, despite how neuvillette can likely feel the way he almost desperately wants to smooth it over with their usual brand of propriety, if only to keep it from feeling so heavy and exposed. ]
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memshare event cw: weird murder vibes
wriothesley doesn't have to look to know that this particular scene is a memory he'd long since buried beneath the weight of his sins once he'd found his own purpose and salvation. however, it seems the katalyth is keen on bringing perhaps the most fitting and ironic witness to see the whole truth he'd embellished on the stage of the opera epiclese all those decades ago.
soon enough, wriothesley's nerves steel themselves as his emotions seem to do the same, and his first motion is to lift a hand to graze the tips of his fingers along the threshold between the foyer and hallway as his younger self resolves to take his first cautious step forward. small and scrawny fists clench inside a wholly rudimentary version of his usual mechanized gauntlets, cobbled together with spare mechanical parts and old gears, along with a worrying compartment full of nails above each knuckle.
wriothesley himself doesn't try to be discreet about his own movements, not in the way he moves ahead of everyone while still keeping his touch to the wall before walking toward the light. fear seems to manifest a plethora of indescribable emotions and reactions, and wriothesley isn't always immune to his own brand of recklessness in the face of it, especially in the way he seeks to move about the space in a detached manner while he leaves neuvillette behind with his younger self.
the younger wriothesley remains silent as well, albeit for other reasons that are soon clear as he squares his shoulders and slowly starts down the carpeted hall with his hands concealed behind his back. ]
no subject
he can't take his eyes off the younger wriothesley. small, scrawny, starved but determined. on the edge of death and yet moving with incredible purpose that should have belonged to those much older and sturdier. but wriothesley is born into the world that did not want him, and he ended up carving a space for himself in the upper echelons of society. through sheer strength of will, the duke clawed his way up from the depths to become one of the most powerful people in fontaine.
neuvillette has almost forgotten how close wriothesley had been to dying. the sight of young wriothesley makes him ache, and he follows after the boy, keeping an eye on his wriothesley, who seems to dislike the event that unfolds. soon enough, it dawns on him. )
This is...
no subject
wriothesley, on the other hand, is already in the dimly lit kitchen, ahead of neuvillette and the boy by only a few tense paces. but there's an odd sort of look that crosses the older man's face when he sees it all from his foster parents' perspective. followed by an unsettling silence that settles over the room as the mundanity of life takes its last breath before the storm, and wriothesley is the one to break it, speaking into the brief pause aloud to neuvillette. ]
A scene that needs no introduction, I don’t think.
[ and one that requires no ceremony either, as the younger boy rounds the corner and chaos erupts the moment recognition settles across everyone's expressions, albeit for very different reasons. ]
[ all the while, wriothesley watches with a distant sort of curiosity, and finds himself looking to neuvillette for some indication of how he ought to react to a situation like this. but until either that answer comes from neuvillette, or the katalyth he'd touched stops projecting the memory, wriothesley is left at a rare loss for what to say, what to do, or even how to ease them both back into more normal conversation. or at least as 'normal' again as one can get after witnessing such a scene. so he falls back on what usually serves him best: a half-hearted shrug, and a gauche, self-deprecating joke. ]
And you'd also think my last brush with Katalyth would've taught me better by now. Either that, or I'm just a glutton for punishment.
no subject
here, neuvillette can only watch. he knows the outcome, understands full well that the man standing before him is proof of his ultimate survival, but it doesn't stop the awfulness of the moment.
it is betrayal relived all over again, and without thinking, neuvillette steps forward as if he could do anything about it, turn back time and halt what this terrible memory in its steps. but he cannot. what the flat evidence presents is different from watching it unfold with wriothesley, and try as he might, neuvillette cannot help his own distress, fine brows knitted and lavender eyes betraying what he cannot say.
there was no way he could understand the exact sequence of events back then, but now... now, there is so much, so much blood. instead of reaching to the boy, he reaches for him, a hand closing around his forearm as he turns his gaze from the boy to him, the man who had survived hell and yet stayed kind despite all the things he had to do, grown into a stunning, clever creature, overcoming all that had been thrown at him. he thrived in the shadows, and had become the second most powerful man in fontaine through his own effort.
how tragic. how incredible. finally, he finds his voice, quietly strained. heavy, an odd sort of grief that sits in his ribs — somewhere out there, a small raincloud has started to haunt someone. wriothesley will hate this, but even the iudex is not immune to emotion. )
I did not know. Those scars...
no subject
—are the result of a choice I made a long time ago. [ wriothesley chooses to finish neuvillette’s thought himself, steering the conversation toward another confession of sorts—if only to give them both something steadier to hold onto through their bond. ] It’s not something I regret or celebrate, and while I doubt I could argue my case convincingly before the Chief Justice… [ the stillness of the scene fractures as life seeps from the bodies around them. distant footsteps and hushed voices stir within the orphanage, before the eventual disbelief ripples through the children’s faces and panic soon overtakes them. their cries rush past them both like a rising tide, stark against wriothesley’s unyielding composure. ] To me, all of this was necessary.
[ with that quiet acceptance, the memory splinters like a mirror under strain and collapses inward. their forms shift once more—from the familiar shapes of themselves back home to now something grossly altered by the corruption of living in karteria. eventually, they find themselves standing within the hollowed remains of a katalyth growth. the jagged crystal looms around them, its dark surface pocked and fractured, pale deposits clinging stubbornly to every crevice—an intrusion that feels as wrong as it looks. ]
Although you’ll have to forgive me—at least for being at a loss for words. [ the implication lingers: mercy from the iudex lies not in absolution, but in understanding—an acknowledgment of what has already been confessed and endured. ] It’s sort of difficult to prepare for these things.. I just hope you aren’t too unsettled, having witnessed my case so plainly rather than through records or testimonies.
[ still too formal, perhaps—but when it comes to trauma, wriothesley has always leaned toward quiet internalization rather than open display. for once, however, a faint flicker of shame moves through his half of the bond, unsettling enough that he hesitates to reach for neuvillette in return. how childish of him, he thinks. and in the end, all he offers is a tired, restrained smile. ]
no subject
he shines like a jewel in the dark; filled with a strength of will and shrewdness that draws his eye and keeps it — even now, when they're together, he cannot help but be endlessly fascinated by him. which is perhaps why, when he senses the inexplicable ripple of shame through their pair bond, he stiffens. his gaze flickers to his, taking his measure and observing just how his expression hasn't changed, save only his hesitation at reaching out for him.
wriothesley is altogether too human despite his worldliness. mortal, given over to emotion despite his nature. he softens, shaking his head quietly. he breaches the distance between them when he recognizes how wriothesley closes himself up again, and he pulls him into his arms. it is guilt that sits heavy in his chest; the oratrice's flaws are many, he sees it now, as was he. and yet...
yet, the law and justice are two very different things, and neuvillette understands this to his bones now, more than ever, when wriothesley stands before him with proof of it. in his mind's eye, he sees the young boy on the stand again, and how he wished with all his heart that he could override the decree, even if that has led to the man that wriothesley is today.
he tightens his grip and cradles the back of his head, uttering a quiet: )
Nevertheless, this was not a choice you were supposed to make, if Fontaine had not failed you. As it has failed many others. Even if this forged has you into the man that you are today and led you to me, it should not have happened. When we return, I shall see to it that we make improvements.
no subject
namely, that someone has truly witnessed his change for the better, despite how doggedly he’s kept to the shadows and out of sight of the overworld. the concern has always been there: in the letters exchanged with sigewinne, the first to comment on his vision, and the progression of gift-giving or playful bantering. and yet wriothesley has always simply relied on duty and restriction as the excuse to deflect from the notion that he—of all people, after how far he once fell—could be seen as irreplaceable to someone so magnanimous as neuvillette.
but now isn’t the time to deflect or seek to correct. not when neuvillette makes the first move and draws him in close. it’s a comfort wriothesley himself offers others when it’s warranted, which makes being held like this all the more telling; it suggests fear has entered the picture, or at least the risk of harm, and the feeling knots in him at first. however, their bond steadies the reaction as soon as it surfaces, giving him just enough clarity to loosen his usual tension and allow himself to relish the moment instead. ]
I think you're doing just fine to that end, Neuvillette. [ he answers lightly, folding in some of his usual humor while he gathers both his wits and the quiet reassurance that it’s alright, and even welcome, to lean into neuvillette’s hold. once certain of that, he lifts a hand to return the embrace. his head tilting slightly so that a twitching ear and the soft nub of his budding rhinophore press against neuvillette's temple in a faint, almost absent nuzzle. ] Seeing as I haven’t come across any other lost soul sent to the Fortress bearing the same sort of sin—at least not within my tenure.
[ there’s no need to soften his own crime, either. as warden, his greater purpose lies in rehabilitation, so it’s only natural he reviews the offenses of incoming inmates to better understand how to guide them, even from a distance. such opportunities he can offer others through his position, despite how seldom he was afforded the same. the thought and irony of that belief lingers, however, as one hand slips beneath neuvillette’s usual coiffure, hiding the brief tightening of his fingers in the fabric of neuvillette's shirt—a rare, quiet show of need—tempered by the airy laugh he lets out when neuvillette cradles the back of his head in return. ]
Still, I’m flattered you’d work just a touch harder to put me out of a job, or send me into early retirement. [ before neuvillette can interject with exasperation at the tease, wriothesley hums and lingers near the former's ear. surrounded by katalyth, they have enough excuse to allow themselves a touch more openness in affection than usual. ] Hopefully somewhere sunny and quiet. Not so far that you couldn’t visit, of course—if we’re still talking about “making improvements” once we get back home.
[ while neuvillette speaks of change for the sake of their nation, wriothesley only leans closer. a soft huff warms the shell of neuvillette's ear, the smile evident in the slow exhale alongside the playful lilt of his words. where neuvillette looks outward, wriothesley’s thoughts settle on a different kind of change that involves just the two of them. ]
no subject
he keeps holding him, reluctant to release his lover. it is relief that settles in his chest when he feels him lean in close, and he listens quietly when he speaks of sin bearing, ruminating on the weight that sits on those sturdy, strong shoulders. he doesn't argue, because even if he had an understandable reason, crime had nonetheless been committed. he presses in close with a soft sigh, indulging that quiet show of need with approval and warmth, and he noses along that scarred neck, teasing the leather strips that he still wears around them. a thought bubbles to the fore, his gaze lingering on the tiny rhinophores on wriothesley's head, the wiggle of his ears, and the warmth in his eyes. he has been thinking about this from time to time, and now feels like one of the best times to put it forward. )
Perhaps you could come and live with me.
( he says at last, seeking out wriothesley's hand so that he can thread his fingers through his. ) ... when we return. Should you wish to one day retire, perhaps you can find comfort in my home, with me. Unless you wish to purchase a lodging for yourself, of course.
no subject
neuvillette isn't correcting him either, not softening the truth into something more palatable, not trying to solve for sins committed in the past—save for a promise for the future. he simply remains by wriothesley's side, unshaken, holding him close as though what has been exposed leaves him nothing lesser.
and then it dawns on wriothesley: he's being tended to. even when neuvillette reaches for him in a language of comfort that's foreign to them both for different reasons, the iudex still tries with his whole presence until that care takes shape in a way they can both make sense of. so it stings, for a moment, because it's almost as though neuvillette is inventing gentleness that isn't born of pity. wriothesley can feel it in the fleeting touches he's peppered with, and by the time he smiles at the offer, he's already drawing their joined hands and himself close enough that neuvillette can no doubt feel the way wriothesley's pulse beats beneath his skin. and when he meets neuvillette's gaze, the look he gives him is soft as he answers in a way that truly feels like himself, uncertainty and all. ]
You know, I'd like to find my own place up on the surface. [ although he can't entirely hold back a laugh when he does have to consider neuvillette's formal place of residence back in fontaine. ] Whether at the Palais, or under a roof that belongs to just us—playing house together has been fine and well in Karteria, but after all of this... I think I'm ready to build a home that lasts with you.
[ it's a rough confession, but neuvillette is at least privy to some of the truer vulnerabilities wriothesley still carries with him. trust is already an obstacle they've surmounted with relative ease. but even in the house at water's edge, which wriothesley works to keep comfortable and safe from much of karteria's nonsense, it is still just a space they just share together. and after witnessing, in full, the loss of his innocence and the shattering of worldly love, wriothesley finds himself open, at last, to sincerely building a home that isn't an illusion, or tending to a refuge he has to safeguard and maintain for others.
though he still feels a little lost in navigating a moment like this with neuvillette, it isn't the same sort of confusion that leaves him uncertain of how to react or how best to care for them both. rather, it is one of those exceedingly rare and fleeting moments in which wriothesley is almost bashful about voicing a sincere want so plainly. even so, he lets it rest between them as it is, despite how neuvillette can likely feel the way he almost desperately wants to smooth it over with their usual brand of propriety, if only to keep it from feeling so heavy and exposed. ]