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It was the night of the harvest moon and the annual Masquerade of the Golden Rose was about to go underway. The great bells of the Sept rang in the distance, their hallowed melody echoing throughout the city. It gave Ser Desmond the confidence and hope he needed, that his plan of courting Anduin might just work. The servants began to put on his richly embroidered doublet, covered in golden roses in the Tyrell fashion. Having caught one of the night elven servants eye him suggestively in the back, Desmond winked in their direction causing the latter to spirit away into the night in embarrassment. His ensemble would be finished off with an intricately carved and gilded mask and an expensive pair of trousers. He was representing Highgarden, home to the powerful and wealthy Tyrells, and should look the part.
Taking one last look in the mirror, the Tyrell knight put on a simple green cape and sauntered off to the masquerade where the love of his life would surely be waiting. Desmond dreamed of this night for years, losing sleep as a young squire back in Stormwind City. He remembered wondering if he could ever get away from this place as he was homesick and chafed under the unusually high demands and orders of High King Varian, his former master. Would Prince Anduin find the time to accompany him home? There were so many great things in Highgarden he would show the young prince. The Keep, the bountiful farmlands, the fields of golden roses that stretched as far as the eye can see! He remembered the way his little heart bubbled up with excitement and Ser Desmond felt the same way this very night.
However, before he could fully leave, a familiar voice pierced the air, “Desmond!”
Desmond turned around and saw his sister Melara, dressed in a magnificent gown in the official Tyrell colors. An ornate green mask trimmed with golden vines and roses sat on her gorgeous face, framing it delicately and making her a sight to behold. Her perfect brown hair was up in an intricate bun and a long elegant braid draped over her shoulder. Young Lysa stood beside her, wearing a humbler teal dress and woolen scarf for the weather, grinning widely at him while eating a blueberry tart. Melara's best friends, Leonella Redwyne and Celia Florent, hovered behind his sisters, curtsying in the presence of the older knight with amiable smiles on their faces. They wore matching gowns with Melara, although theirs were less gaudy and sported the colors and defining features of their respective houses.
“Don’t you ladies look fetching this fine evening!” he said while returning the friendly gesture. The four of them laughed before his siblings approached him. His sisters looped their arms around his and they began to walk towards the festival, with Leonella and Celia following right behind them.
“I missed you so much, brother! We have a lot of catching up to do, don’t we? Tell me all about your adventures! Pretty please?” Little Lysa went on and on with such enthusiasm, earning her Desmond’s amusement and the knight began to chuckle.
“Of course, dear sister. Of course. How could I forget? We'll have more time to share stories once we get to the gardens.” He beamed at Lysa’s innocent expression, almost envying his own sister as he lost his own sense of wonder and excitement a long time ago. The world was an unforgiving place but now was not the time for melancholy thoughts. They had a masquerade to attend!
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By the time Desmond and his sisters arrived at the masquerade, the people were in the midst of joyous merriment. Fireworks lit up the night sky, the overpowering smell of delicious food wafted through the air, and laughter and music echoed throughout the lush gardens of Highgarden. Every person from all corners of the world had come to the city and was having the time of their lives, clinking their wine and ale-filled glasses and dancing the night away with their respective partners. Desmond could not help but saturate himself in all of this happiness. The Knight of Flowers finally felt some peace he craved after years of war and bloodshed, most of which he had faithfully undergone for the sake of duty, loyalty...
And above all else, for love.
After mingling with his family, the House of Nobles and the commoners, Desmond would leave them for the moment and began to look for his King Anduin. Searching high and low, he would eventually end up in the uppermost tower of the keep that overlooked the distant sea. It was strange that his gut had led him here, back to where he had started. The keep was empty, as all of the Tyrell servants, the bannermen, and his family were busy celebrating this year's bountiful harvest. Desmond approached the terrace, casting the curtain aside and admired the splendid view of the world that lay in front of him. A cool breeze kissed his face and with it came the pleasant smell of the sea which permeated the night air. The moon and the stars were out, shining their otherworldly light onto its calm waters.
The occasional merchant ship would pass by but headed towards where? The knight wondered. Stormwind? Gilneas? The Rock? Who knew? It was a fun guessing game he and his siblings used to play when they were younger, loitering about the port of Stormwind while snacking on some lemon cakes the servants would bring. Prince Anduin would often join their little game, and they would joke and laugh the rest of the afternoon away. Desmond missed all of it. Ever since the whole country went to war soon after, their lives had inevitably changed.
Prince Anduin, now King, spent less and less time with him due to time constraints and at the behest of Highlord Fordragon, set aside his friends for the sake of the realm. Lady Katrana Prestor, out of spite for the Tyrell family, prevented him from at least making conversation with the prince or any of the other noble children and spent most of his days alone with his brother Lewyn, who also received the same treatment from the royal advisor. Eventually, Desmond was made squire of King Varian Wrynn after his mysterious return and would struggle under his new master. Despite it all, however, he would rise above the hardships and, in the end, would become one of the most admired and decorated knights in the country.
He poured himself a cup of the best Arbor wine and sat on one of the cushioned chairs, watching the ship as it faded into the distance. A soft voice would then ring out from the room behind him, snapping the knight out of his late-night reverie.
“Desmond?”
He knew that voice and would almost immediately recognize that it was Anduin. Sweet, strong and caring Anduin.
The knight lifted his head and turned to look at the doorway and realized King of Stormwind was actually there in the flesh. Anduin was dressed in his royal vestments, bedecked with golden lions, a fancy sash that hung over his shoulder, and finished off with a dignified blue and gold cape, emblazoned with the Lion of Stormwind. A simple yet exquisite mask graced his features, which made him all the more beautiful. The familiar blonde had a warm smile on his face, his perfect blue eyes could be seen through the mask, still retaining that youth and vigor he never seemed to lose. The knight silently prayed to the gods that Anduin would never lose that part of him.
Ser Desmond, now in a sobered state, suddenly stood from his seat as if it were kissed by fire. Of course, how could he have forgotten his courtly manners? And in the presence of royalty, too? His mother would give him a stern lecture if she were up here with the both of them.
Desmond straightened out his doublet and quickly made himself look presentable before kneeling, “My apologies, Your Grace. I seemed to have forgotten my courtesy. I wasn’t aware that you were here in the Keep at all? My sister Melara and I tried to look for you earlier but you were nowhere to be found. Even Genn or Wrathion didn’t know where you got off to.”
Anduin chuckled amusedly at Desmond’s lessened attentiveness for court protocol and gestured him to rise.
“It’s no trouble at all, old friend, please. I... simply got lost in the city, admiring the architecture and all of the rich history behind your home. Your poor family must have gone through a lot, haven’t they?” The King asked, a pensive yet understanding look sat on his handsome face.
“And I’m sorry that we became distant when we were children. That will always be one of my greatest regrets.”
Desmond slowly nodded, an understanding expression on his face. “We must always make the best of our circumstances, Anduin. That’s something my mother told me, right before I left for the capital that day. I remember my family looking so helpless as the carriage took my brother and me away but, in the end, they decided what they were doing was for the best. I had no choice but to accept my fate and make do with what I had.”
“Indeed. But shouldn’t things have been different? For all of us?” The light from Anduin’s eyes faltered and the young king countered concernedly, “I see so much pain behind your eyes, Desmond. And something else entirely I cannot quite put my finger on. Ever since that day you entered my family’s service, there was something different about you, like a part of you... died. Your brother Lewyn even brought up the issue with me earlier, before you arrived at the masquerade.”
The knight froze at the mention of his brother's name. He felt some consolation at the thought of Lewyn thinking about him, caring for him, as he had always done so before. Out of all his siblings, the older Tyrell was always there for him during times when they needed each other the most and if it weren't for Lewyn, who knew if Desmond became as successful as he was now. Thus, he owed a lot of his success to his older brother and made a quick note to make some arrangements with him. Melara came close, although she was often preoccupied with her education in the magical arts at Dalaran, all the while dealing with marriage proposals from different noble families, that she had completely lost time for family. And Lysa was still a child and meant no harm at all. Meanwhile the eldest Tyrell son, Luthor, never made an effort to become close with any of his siblings, choosing instead to occupy himself with dreams of grandeur and inheriting the vast wealth and power that came with the Tyrell name from his Lord Father.
“There's no cure for an insufferable, greedy cunt...” he thought, chuckling and shaking his head in quiet frustration. He had no love for Luthor and the idea of clandestinely working against his older brother was tempting, yet he was still family. In the end, Desmond wasn't sure what to do with his brother, now stuck in a rut of his own making.
Whisking these unimportant thoughts away, a waterfall of even more thoughts cascaded into Desmond's mind. What was Anduin talking about? Why did Anduin even care about him? Didn’t he have a kingdom to rule? Why would he be so concerned with one person’s wellbeing when the entire kingdom and its people’s fate rested in his hands? And obviously, his plans of successfully courting Anduin this very night had turned to dust, much to his disappointment.
Desmond sighed, his façade of a headstrong, charming knight completely fell away and immediately replaced by an aged, tired man. Feelings he had hidden away in his heart for so long threatened to spill out right then and there but tact and self-discipline were things he was glad to have learned from his mentors. Despite all of those lessons, however, hot tears still threatened to spill from his eyes. But he couldn’t weep in front of his King! He had to be strong for his love.
His Anduin.
The Knight of Flowers sat back down on the chair and buried his face deep in his hands, no longer able to hold back his emotions. Almost immediately, the King sat right beside him, fear and concern written across his gentle features. Ser Desmond felt Anduin's strong arms wrap around him, savoring the rather intimate contact between the both of them. He wished this moment would last forever, just without the tears and feelings of utter unworthiness.
“Desmond?” Anduin asked, his voice laced with worry, “Are you sure you’re alright?”
The knight finally got the courage to look his King directly in the eyes, green clashing against blue, and shook his head weakly.
"I’m afraid I’m not, Anduin,” he said, resigning into his friend's warmth and accepting the help the other man was clearly offering. Desmond thought of confessing his love for him. Should he? He asked himself. Was it a good idea to let his heart bleed out all of these bottled-up feelings? But what if Anduin did not return these feelings at all? How will this affect their friendship and his family’s position at court? Invoking the mercy of the Seven, especially the Mother and the Warrior, Desmond had made his final choice. He would confess despite all the odds that were stacked against him. Whatever misfortunes the unknown future held, he would be ready to face them unafraid.
“All these years, I’ve wanted to be held by you.” He began with little to no stutter, thank the Gods above. “I am thankful for the friendship we have shared for so long. And I have a very important secret to tell you, if you’ll have me, Anduin.”
The blonde, with some apprehension, pulled his arm away all the while looking with pity at the broken man that sat in front of him. Desmond almost wanted to give up with those blue eyes boring holes in his face but he knew he had to keep going. There was no going back. Anduin had his full attention on him now.
"Go on..."
“I love you.”
Silence.
“I’ll... I’ll always love you.”
The confession hung high in the air like confetti. It was there now and there was no going back. Silence still occupied the space between them and the knight so dearly wished he had control over time so this disaster would not have happened. Desmond almost envied the chronomancers at Dalaran, but he knew that everything happens for a reason. Perhaps this was his big moment? He slowly sank in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. It did not help that he noticed his perfectly styled hair was now askew, eyes bloodshot and face stained with salty tears, his forlorn reflection gracing the shiny silver cup.
“I-I... I’m sorry. I knew this wouldn’t turn out well. I'll just go. Good night, Your Grace.” And with that, heartbroken and mortified, Desmond would take his leave, wanting out of the keep so he could get some fresh air and, by some miracle, stumble upon Lewyn or Melara in the courtyard so they could take him away. He had no desire to see Anduin or Wrathion or any of the others. He was finished.
But then, Anduin’s voice rang out from the terrace, “Wait! Desmond!”
But the knight did not stop, breaking into a brisk walk towards the door at the end of the room, in case the King had wanted to say more. And more of what, exactly? Anduin would never chastise or punish him for something like this, he thought. He’s misjudged his old friend and for that, he felt even worse.
Before Desmond knew it, the door slammed shut before he could get at it and strong, defined arms caged him in against the wall. The next thing he knew, his face was dangerously close to Anduin’s. The young King narrowed his eyes and with a low authoritative voice he said, “Desmond Tyrell, don’t you dare walk away from me.”
Looking nervously at his King, the Tyrell knight’s face began to heat up as Anduin stared him down with those fiery eyes.
“Gods, he’s beautiful....” he thought while secretly admiring those intense blues. He could feel Anduin’s warm breath lightly hitting his face, hit with even more desire to lock lips with his love.
He shook all those daring thoughts away, still filled with the want to be left alone in the gardens for the night, left to ponder his thoughts by the fountain.
“Please... please let me go, Anduin,” he pleaded in a tired, broken voice. “I know you don’t fancy me and you don’t have to pretend you do. I know of you and Wrathion and I have no desire to come between you both so please, just... leave me alone for the night.”
"Never."
Suddenly, before he could turn away and successfully pry Anduin’s hands from the wall, Desmond felt a pair of lips smash against his own and his eyes flared up in surprise. The King’s arms wrapped themselves around the knight’s muscular frame encasing him in a cage of pure warmth and love. Desmond secretly adored the way their bodies melded together perfectly and would slowly give into the kiss, returning the romantic gesture in kind. The knight silently thanked the Mother for this. Clearly, She answered his anguished prayers.
After what seemed like an eternity, Anduin pulled away from the kiss. Instead of settling into the grave he had so kindly made for himself, the Knight of Flowers was brought from the brink and back to a state of utter bliss. He couldn’t believe this was happening. The love of his life reciprocated his feelings and it made him feel elated like he could take on the world. Anduin smiled that tender, familiar smile he often wore and Desmond would grin back as their foreheads touched.
“So,” Desmond began, in a hopeful voice, “does this mean you return my affections, Anduin?”
“Wrathion and I were never lovers if that is what you’ve always wondered, Desmond.” The King poured himself some of the Arbor gold set on the lovely wooden table, giving it a small taste. A brief look of satisfaction flashed across his face.
"This is good wine,” The King declared, while Desmond watched him down most of it, if not all.
“I'll make sure to send your regards to Lord Redwyne. He would love for you to attend one of their annual wine-tasting events,” The knight chuckled, finding Anduin’s excited reaction to the wine rather adorable.
“How do you Westerosi manage to make such a divine luxury? The people of Stormwind would love to have a few caskets of this!”
“I’ll send word to Lord Gilbert for the immediate delivery of Arbor wine to Stormwind first thing tomorrow, Your Grace,” The knight made the mental note final and hoped that Anduin wouldn’t end up becoming an alcoholic because of him. Arbor wine was delicious and was something he enjoyed occasionally with friends, but now the secret was out and he was sure the people of the Eastern Kingdoms would all flock to Westfall for a casket of their own.
Shoving those worries away, Desmond considered what the King had said. His brother Lewyn had been right all along. In fact, everybody he had talked to about this situation was right. Wrathion and Anduin were never lovers, and instead, they were bonded, like a dragon to their trusted companion. They were good friends and nothing more.
“And Anduin... about what you said earlier. Thank you for telling me,” Desmond said, giving the King a sincere smile.
“Of course, Desmond,” Anduin said, finishing the rest of the Arbor wine. “And I do apologize for not being forthright with this any sooner. Please forgive me.”
“I forgive you, Anduin.”
“Do you swear?” The King inched closer, his smile turning into a clear smirk while gently pushing his knight against the wall. The faint smell of alcohol lingered in his breath as their faces were in near proximity. For someone of his size and stature, Desmond was surprised that he did not have as much tolerance for alcohol. Then again, Anduin was not much of a drinker, to begin with.
“Y-Yes, Your Grace. I swear,” And before Anduin could do anything else, Desmond pushed him away with reddened cheeks. The knight knew what the young lion was trying to get at, and as much as he wanted to be taken by him this night, he wanted Anduin to be of sound mind when they made love.
“Perhaps some other night when you aren’t drunk?” The older man calmly suggested as he buttoned up his doublet and restyled his luscious brown locks, amused by Anduin’s feeble attempt at seducing him.
“Right. Of course.”
“Well... I think that with everything cleared up, we should head back to the gardens. I’m sure the others are wondering where we are and we can’t have them worrying sick about us,” said Desmond, as he sheepishly offered his hand to the King.
Anduin gladly took it and laid his other hand onto Desmond’s, relishing in the warmth emanating from the older man.
“And I love you, Desmond.” The King said, his voice slightly shaking from sudden emotion.
“I’ll always be with you, when the Light takes us both.”