marlowemuses | Lover, I know you're weary

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Lover, I know you're weary

It was a subtle thing. King Auguste wasn't sure how long it had been going on without him noticing. Months. Perhaps even years--Laurent was an introspective creature, and Auguste hadn't thought to look for signs of Laurent's infatuations. Laurent was nineteen now, and Auguste supposed that Laurent must have started feeling romantic attraction years before, but Auguste had never noticed. Laurent was still his baby brother, bookish and shy.

Laurent trotted after them everywhere. He was like a cat, in that it was hard to tell he liked you at all until you noticed that he took care to be in the same room as you as often as possible. Nyx was Auguste's best friend and his trusted guard captain, and it was often the three of them together. They were Auguste's closest and most trusted advisors.

So it took Auguste some time to notice that Laurent's eyes followed Nyx around a room. Even when he noticed, he thought that Laurent had developed some suspicion about Nyx. It took longer for Auguste to notice that on very rare occasions, Laurent's lips would part when he looked at Nyx and an expression of yearning would cross his face.

It was sweet, and at first Auguste dismissed it as a crush.

After four months, Auguste realized that Laurent was in love, and that he would never say anything and Nyx would never notice. So he hatched a plan.

It took some time for him to get a chance to speak to Nyx alone without Laurent present.

"I have a strange request to make of you," Auguste said. His eyes lingered on the door where Laurent had recently left.

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Laurent's not much for hugging, or touching people at all, but in that moment he wishes that he were. He watches Nyx closely, sees the little signs of pain and sorrow, maybe loneliness, that he knows how to read. He's been studying Nyx for years.

"Take whatever time you need," Laurent says, which is the best that he can offer him. He wishes he could give more. He'd give Nyx half the kingdom, if he wanted it, and he'd know that it would be in good hands.

"Nyx," he says, voice soft, leaving it open-ended to indicate an offer or a suggestion on the tip of his tongue, to see if Nyx will be drawn to it or if he'll brush off anything further, so that Laurent will know how much Nyx needs and what he can offer.

There's something about Laurent's tone, the softness of his gaze... it's too much, an implicit offer of kindness that's more than he deserves, prompting a sharp inhale before Nyx shakes his head, like a dog shedding water.

"No, it won't take long. Besides, I'll be saying my farewells but..." And here, he forces a cocky grin onto his face, trying to for some measure of humor, "can't exactly kick the bucket 'til I've whipped Orias and the rest into shape, so they're not free of me just yet."

"As you see fit, Captain Ulric," Laurent says, drawing himself up with calm, regal dignity. They may be friends, but they both have roles to serve, as well, and Nyx must see to his. If Nyx doesn't want the comfort of friendship, then Laurent can offer him the dignity of formality, instead. "I trust your judgement."

"No longer Captain, my liege," Nyx replies with a crooked smile. "Just your sworn Guardsman now."

But formality is... good. Familiar. He lightly catches Laurent's hand with callused fingers, dropping a kiss onto the air just above his signet ring. Loyalty, devotion, obedience, all willingly offered up.

"I take my leave for now, but I'll be back in time for dinner with the court. Til then, don't go tripping down the stairs where I can't catch you, Your Highness." An impish wink, and then he's gone.

"Captain," Laurent insists. "If only of the Prince's Guard."

Nyx deserves better.

Laurent's heart flutters at the kiss to his ring, and that wink. He watches the door for long after Nyx leaves, and pretends to read for an hour without any success. His brother had broken the heart of Laurent's favorite guardsman, and Laurent doesn't understand why.

He spends the hours restlessly until it's time for dinner, and Nyx's promised return. Laurent can't help but smile at the sight of him.

Nyx returns bare minutes before the call to dinner, just as promised. He'd shed the tabard and pin signifying his rank as Captain of the Guard and donned a nondescript uniform of blue instead, matching Laurent's evening wear. Try as he might, he can't help tugging awkwardly at the sleeves and collar, movements stiff and uncertain-- at least until he catches Laurent's gaze and the brightness of his smile.

"...Sorry. Tailor didn't get a chance to let out the shoulders, so they're a bit tight."

In actuality, the tailor had sniffed and muttered something about how 'upjumped barbarians should be grateful for what they got,' and Nyx had left it at that. Trailing beyond Laurent, he feels an unexpected pang of anxiety. How many times had he followed behind Auguste as he entered the grand hall, barely two steps behind? It had taken Nyx years of trial and error and a great deal of Auguste's forbearance for him to learn proper behavior in court. Now, as Laurent's guard, how will he be expected to act to not disappoint his new charge?

"I'll scold him," Laurent says, calmly coming over to Nyx and fastidiously adjusting his collar. "Your appearance reflects upon me, and I expect the best." Smoothing down the fabric over Nyx's shoulders, Laurent belatedly realizes just how close he is to Nyx's broad chest.

He steps back quickly, cheeks pink and eyes averted. "Let's get this over with, then."

Keeping his mouth shut as they make their way to the great hall, Laurent pauses just outside the doors, glancing over at Nyx. "Chin up, Nyx," he murmurs. "Remember that it's an honor to be at my side."

Laurent doubts himself after he's said it, thinking that perhaps it isn't. Demoted from the King's side and set to babysitting the King's difficult younger brother. He's not sure anyone would think of that as an honor.

Heart pounding, he strides forward into the hall without waiting for a response. If Nyx is ashamed to be at his side, Laurent would prefer not to know.

An honor. Despite everything-- Nyx's own misgivings, his concern for Laurent's place in Auguste's schemes, this unwanted "promotion", there can be no doubting that, and he carries his head higher for the knowledge. Auguste has entrusted Nyx with his brother, his closest family, the one person he loves the most in this world, and Nyx would devote himself wholly to this role, guarding Laurent to his last breath. Loyalty demands nothing less.

He takes his place behind Laurent with exacting poise, hands behind his back, one wrist gripping the other. Still, Nyx hasn't forgotten the other part of Auguste's orders-- to prevent flirtatious overtures toward Laurent. A far greater challenge than being tasked with protecting Laurent's life, Nyx thinks with grim humor.

Laurent's iciness reappeared almost as soon as they'd stepped into the room of courtiers mingling before dinner. A servant passed with a tray of drinks and Laurent reached for one, a bad habit that he'd increasingly indulged, wanting the alcohol to ease the misery of the court.

He'd hardly taken a sip before he was ambushed by an entitled and pushy lord who had recently decided that Laurent was an easy mark if he could only be worn down enough. "Prince Laurent," he greeted, stepping too close and reaching to take Laurent's arm, never caring about the way Laurent tensed.

Nyx flashes Laurent a worried glance at the way he immediately takes a glass in hand, but more pressing matters immediately take up his attention. With a single fluid step, Nyx cuts in between Laurent and the pushy noble, interrupting his attempt to touch the prince.

"Good evening, Lord Emryn." Nyx meets the man's gaze with cool, exacting courtesy, if he didn't now have Emryn's hand on his wrist.

Laurent's very startled when Nyx suddenly intervenes. He can only assume that either Nyx saw a threat he didn't, or that Nyx has gone mad. He's inclined to trust Nyx, however, and certainly isn't about to prevent his guardsman from doing his job.

Emryn has no such compunctions. Snatching his hand back, he glares sourly at Nyx. "How dare you address me! What do you think you're doing?"

"My lord," is all Nyx says, each word bitten off with that same chilly precision, nothing for Emryn to latch onto as some perceived offense, nothing for him to leverage as a demand for satisfaction. Another hard lesson learned from years of serving at Auguste's side. "Have you business with His Highness?"

He can practically feel Laurent standing behind him, radiating confusion. Nyx can only hope that he hasn't cause some offense for his charge as well. Perhaps Nyx is wholly unwanted here, perhaps Laurent would even prefer speaking with Emryn himself. But even so, the King's orders are orders.

"I do," Emryn snaps, looking like he's trying to figure out how to go around the solid wall of Nyx in front of him. "And I will thank his unwashed guardsman to step aside, you--"

"Say another word about my guardsman," Laurent warned, smoothly hooking his arm through Nyx's, "and I'll have you thrown out of this court." He didn't know what was behind Nyx's bizarre behavior, but he wasn't about to tolerate insults to Nyx, especially not from Emryn.

Nyx stiffens ever so slightly at the touch on his arm, trying to mask his surprise at Laurent's swift defense of him. The prince's hand rests lightly upon his bicep, but the touch is searing all the same, fingertips unexpectedly warm through layers of satin and stiff velvet. Has Laurent ever laid a hand on him like this before? He must have, even just in the course of Nyx's normal duties; dizzily, he remembers instructing the young prince with a sword, adjusting his grip, lifting him onto a steed and swinging up behind him, but that had been years and years ago. Caught in the sudden spiral of memory and lacking a better response, Nyx keeps his mouth shut and his expression blank, striving to look no more than a stone carving blocking the man's way.

Lord Emryn, however, has no such compunctions.

"Ha, you'd do such a thing-- insult a noble over the disposition of some mongrel? I would have expected better manners from the Crown Prince-- or at least a better understanding of the situation, now that the King has finally tired of his pet barbarian and seeks to pass his castoffs to his brother." Sucking in a deep breath, Emryn's sneering expression now turns toward Nyx. "Whatever regard His Majesty might have held for your antics in the bedroom, you should have known better than to go above your station, pretending that you belong here among your betters."

Laurent's ignoring all of this, having turned to signal the guards the moment that Emryn defied him. They approach while Emryn is ranting, and Laurent addresses them, not wasting any further breath on Emryn.

"Lord Emryn has forgotten himself. Please escort him to his chambers and assist him in packing his things."

He keeps his hand where it is on Nyx's arm.

Emryn's face turns from red to white to purple, and he somehow manages to puff up even further in indignation.

"Forgotten myself? How dare-- is it true, then? That you and His Majesty have been subverted by barbarian wiles? What next, then? Will you allow the foreign hordes of paupers to overrun-- Unhand me at once, you-!" His indignant cries fade into the distance as the guards haul him away, and Nyx glances sidelong at Laurent, trying to judge the expression on his face.

"So... that went well." Nyx's voice is very dry, tinged with a rueful edge. Should've known that his interference would only make things worse.

"Subverted by barbarian wiles," Laurent murmured to Nyx, with a playful little lift of his brow, but the humor was hidden away a moment later. The entire court was looking at them now, and whispering about what had happened.

Stepping away, Laurent nodded once in approval, as though Nyx had been only following orders. "Well done, Captain Ulric," he said, for the court to hear, and continued along his way as though nothing at all had happened.

Auguste lifted his brows curiously as they approached, and Laurent gave him an arch look in return, taking his seat at the table beside the king. "I hope you thought through the consequences of whatever the fuck you're up to," Laurent hissed.

Coughing once and hiding his grin behind his hand, Auguste didn't respond. Laurent elbowed him.

Well, at least he still has a job for another day, Nyx finds himself thinking with something approaching amusement. That, and Prince Laurent hadn't seemed to take offense at his high-handedness. Even if he had only been obeying Auguste's orders, if Laurent wanted him gone, he'd be gone.

That glass of wine in Laurent's hand, though... over the last couple of months, Nyx had noticed Laurent's propensity for drink during court. He hadn't said a word, of course, it just hadn't been his place. Still, Nyx finds himself glancing down upon Laurent from time to time, a faint pinch of worry between his brows.

Laurent manages to get through dinner relatively without incident. He's seated beside Auguste, with an elderly married nobleman to the other side. The conversation between them stays innocent, and Laurent barely touches his wine.

Afterward, however, Laurent's cup comes with him as he leaves the table. He glances toward Nyx, making sure his guardsman is still with him and ready, and then he descends into the ballroom, expression cool and distant. He's approached almost immediately by a portly gentleman in his 30s who has recently been too oblivious to notice Laurent's disinterest but harmless enough that Laurent hasn't minded his persistence as much as he minds people like Emryn.

"Your highness!" Marquis Pellio bowed ostentatiously as he approached. "I must insist upon a dance."

Nyx soon comes to realize that this is... maddening. Sure, Laurent is safe from his would-be suitors for the time being while he's seated next to Earl Clarus with the twinkling eyes and the kindly smile, but he had never before been so keenly aware of how many people had their eyes on the young prince at any given moment, desire writ in the way they incline their heads as if to listen to in on the sound of his voice, in lingering glances and charming smiles angled to catch his attention. Not for the first or last time, Nyx wonders if Auguste has gone utterly stark raving mad. How is he supposed to stand between Laurent and this... onslaught?

Not that he won't try his damndest all the same.

So he's prepared when Marquis Pellio attempts to approach, shooting Laurent an apologetic glance as he lays a light hand on his arm and cutting in once more.

"My lord, I must apologize. I have claimed His Highness's first dance of the night." And perhaps all the ones after, if it comes to that.

Laurent turned, surprised but hiding it well, and stepped into Nyx's arms in confirmation and acceptance of his words. He allowed a passing servant to take the cup of wine from him. "Which of us is leading?" he asked, settling his hands on Nyx's chest. Whatever madness had overtaken Nyx, it didn't seem to be subsiding, and it seemed most likely that he hadn't confessed the full breadth of the orders Auguste had given him, but Laurent wasn't about to draw attention to it. Besides, the thought of dancing with Nyx made his heart flutter. He could afford one dance to indulge his infatuation.

"You'd better lead," Nyx mutters out of the corner of his mouth, grateful for Laurent's willingness to play along with what must seem like a matter of gross overreach on the part of his guard. Some other noble may very well have had him exiled on the spot, and Nyx wonders with grim amusement if Auguste would intervene once Laurent found his interference tiresome enough to punish him for it. "Lest the Marquis have a heart attack and drop dead on the spot."

Pellio is currently still gaping, even as Nyx gingerly takes Laurent's hand, setting it to the small of his back. After all these years, Nyx is a passable dancer, but Laurent is a prince and trained courtier. He'd probably be more comfortable taking the lead.

"Your opposition to dancing evaporated rather suddenly," Laurent murmurs, starting to lead Nyx in the dance. He keeps his movements simple and easy to follow. His expression is impassive and unreadable, which is normal, but he's lacking the playful sparkle in his eyes that Nyx might expect from him in a situation like this. "Are you going to tell me what's really going on?"

"What, can't I just be overwhelmed with the desire to show off my new charge?" Nyx replies sotto voice. His voice comes out as a low purr as he instinctively resorts to his fallback of flirty humor in uncomfortable situations before good sense has a chance to interject. Oh, blast. Oh, damn. This is how he might have responded to Auguste in the privacy of His Majesty's chambers: outrageously ham-handed flirting and bad innuendo that neither of them took seriously, stupid jokes to alleviate the undeniable tension and pressures of ruling.

But Laurent isn't Auguste and this isn't the king's quarters. Embarrassed by his own idiocy, and yet aware that he must remain unshakeable in his role as Laurent's guard, Nyx swallows back the faint flush that threatens to spill over his cheeks, staring steadfastly ahead. "Looks like some of your nobles are already trying to decide if they should challenge me to a duel. Weren't you hoping for some entertainment tonight, Your Highness?"

Laurent's guardedness sharpens at the first jest and reaches icy by the second one. Though he continues the dance, he's stiff now and the movements are automatic. "No. I would be very displeased to have my guardsman start a duel for reasons I do not know or understand."

It's a second chance--a last chance--for Nyx to explain his strange behavior. Even if Auguste has put restrictions upon him as to what he can and cannot reveal, Laurent cannot accept a situation like this, having his hands tied socially and Nyx acting unpredictably.

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Lover, I know you're weary

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