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Two years ago, Lewyn couldn't have imagined he'd be back in Silesse. He would have never been able to envision his current position, comfortably back to back with a special little fire mage, plucking away on the lyre as he stumbled through a new song.
The Silessian chill crept into the castle even though the winter had barely started, and Azelle, who said he was from the oasis city of Velthomer, was bundled up in blankets, sitting between Lewyn and the crackling fire. He said before that he liked to hear Lewyn play, even if it was just working through a new melody, like now, and Lewyn couldn't really say that was playing at all. Six months ago, that sentiment hadn't embarrassed Lewyn as much as it did now, for some reason, but he plucked through regardless, leaning comfortably into the pile of warm blankets named Azelle Velthomer.
He was trying to turn memories into music. The moment they stepped foot into Silesse, Lewyn could feel an ending somewhere on the horizon. He didn't know what would end, but it felt inevitable. Sigurd already knew he was the prince, and Erinys assured him he'd have to see his mother eventually, so the anonymous bard would be revealed and something would cease to exist.
But for now, he had his lyre, and Azelle beside him, and he wanted to make music to remind him of things he may never get to see again.
For starters, that first night in Agustria where he and Azelle sat on the parapets of a fort, and Lewyn made up lies about the stars that Azelle believed whole-heartedly and Lewyn felt like too much of a jackass for it after that he still pretended every night that Silessians truly thought the stars could whisper secrets. Azelle relayed that in Velthomer, they thought the stars were like very distant suns, burning bright enough to wink at them down in Grannvale.
“Maybe that's how they tell their secrets,” Azelle had said under his breath. Lewyn stayed quiet, because he knew how to lie.
Lewyn turned the reverence that had been in Azelle's voice to a chord.
His lies to Azelle had steadily decreased after that night.
He turned the chord into a short melody, steady, but uplifting and slow. He conjured the memory of that town just outside Agusty. One of the things that had brought him and Azelle together had been their shared wanderlust. They visited just for the sake of visiting, to see the people, visit the marketplace, stretch their legs, and feel the sun. Lewyn had been peering over a new set of strings for his lyre, and Azelle had gotten away from him.
He hadn't worried much at the time, but he also had no guess at where he'd run off to. He found Azelle helping a pregnant woman carry hand-crafted pots to her market stall, and afterwards the woman had offered him a small bundle wrapped up in cloth.
It had turned out to be fresh-baked cookies, and Azelle happily shared with Lewyn, even though a few beads of sweat rolled down his neck from the effort of moving her wares during such a warm day.
Azelle had minor Fjalar blood, which Lewyn knew, without being told, meant he held fire in his veins. But Azelle's smile was so bright. His golden skin was undeniably blessed by the sun itself. His hands were warm in those moments Lewyn held them. So Lewyn learned that day Fjalar bloods weren't just made of fire, but could shine in a way that the sun couldn't compare to.
When they next sat on the parapets, dreaming of whispers the stars might impart, Lewyn's eyes drew back to Azelle. Who needed stars when there were constellations to find in the redhead's freckles, after all.
That was the night Lewyn found out Azelle's lips were as warm as his heart, too.
“Hey, Lewyn?” Azelle asked in the present. Lewyn's fingers tripped over the melody he was crafting, but it was fine. It was still only half-shaped.
“Yeah?”
Azelle tipped his head back, gently pressing the back of his skull into Lewyn's. His voice was close to Lewyn's ear, as gentle as ever. “While we're in Silesse, will you show me where you're from?”
Lewyn swallowed. “Sure.”
Could he? He'd admitted the country of his birth, but not that he was born at the top of it. The idea of Azelle seeing his home, meeting his mother... They were enticing, in their own ways, even if Lewyn knew it might be for the best if it never came to pass.
Wait, was it a lie to say 'sure'? And who was this Lewyn suddenly afraid to lie?
“When we get the chance, I'd like to show you Velthomer, too.”
Lewyn went back to playing without a reply. He would like to see Velthomer, if he could, but only the Velthomer Azelle showed him. Wherever Azelle played as a child, wherever he liked to go when he needed to just be away from home. It mattered when Azelle was in it, so while Azelle was here, warm against Lewyn's back, Velthomer meant nothing to him.
He tried to pick back up the melody but it just didn't come.
“I need to tell you something,” he said, voice dry.
“Mm?”
He could hear the smile in that one syllable. Azelle wore his heart on his sleeve, for sure. Would he be mad? It felt disingenuous to say when he didn't have to look Azelle in the eyes, but Lewyn still wasn't sure he was a strong enough person to face that innocent look of Azelle's and bear his heart as easily as Azelle could.
“Things are going to be different, now,” he continued. “Something's going to happen. But...”
He sighed, then rose to his feet. Azelle craned his neck backwards to look up at him. What a cute angle...
“I'm going to try to do the right thing, this time.”
It was a vague statement. Azelle probably had no idea what he was even saying, but he still beamed up at him with that beautifully bright smile.
“I'm proud of you.”
Lewyn couldn't say anything after that, something boiled up inside of him rendering him speechless, and he slowly placed himself back on the ground, beside Azelle. He cursed silently to himself that while Azelle remained a comfortable blanket-shrouded ball, he couldn't link their arms, or hold his hand, or put that energy in his chest into something he felt was appropriate.
He tried to carry it into his fingers. This song he was trying to make... It wouldn't just carry his memories to help him remember those things. It would be a song for Azelle. Their song, if Azelle wanted it.
Thinking of it that way made it hard for his fingers to find their confidence again.
When he found his stride, it was only after some difficulty, and the castle around them muted. There was the warmth of the fire, the warmth of Azelle beside him, and the warmth in the tips of his fingers. His song started slow and unsure, long notes drawn out, chosen on the up-beats. It worked into a steady rhythm, fluttering into segments of two bars full of triplets to resemble a fluttering heart.
“Hey, Lewyn?” Azelle's voice broke his focus.
Lewyn tried to gear the song into something else, something easier to maintain through a conversation, just to give his voice a background. He knew Azelle liked the sound of his lyre, but he still didn't know what Azelle could like about the rest of him. “Yeah?”
Azelle shifted, leaning into him. He moved one arm away from closing the blanket around his shoulders and brought part of it around Lewyn. He scooted closer, until their hips touched. Lewyn was acutely aware of that.
“Do you know that story? That one where... Forseti plays the lyre to distract Salamand?”
Lewyn huffed, bemused. “Yeah?”
“I get it,” Azelle concluded.
“You have that in your blood, too?”
Lewyn hadn't mentioned his own holy blood, yet. He should do that, before Azelle has a chance to be mad at him for hiding so much...
“Yeah, I really do. I could listen to you play forever.”
“You know,” Lewyn said, shifting to face Azelle properly. “Forseti taught Salamand how to play, since he liked it so much. Do you want that, too?”
“I think it could be romantic.” He rested his head on Lewyn's shoulder.
Lewyn agreed silently. But there was something else he should say before they even consider their first lesson. “...I didn't tell you, but I have Forseti holy blood.”
“Really?”
“What, you don't believe it?”
Lewyn's heart was pounding, admittedly. Azelle believed the smallest things, but this was actually important, and if he didn't believe Lewyn it was because Lewyn had told too many lies.
“I just mean... Only the Silessian royal family has Forseti blood, right?”
Azelle spoke slowly, tense beside him. He should have figured a wealthy young nobleman wouldn't be able to just... Accept some random jerk had holy blood. Normally he'd spin some tall tale of being a bastard son with minor blood, but with Azelle, he wanted to tell the truth.
“That's right.”
Neither of them spoke for a moment. Azelle moved again, and something worried Lewyn that he might be getting up to leave. He just shifted to wrap his other arm around Lewyn, too, holding himself closer to the prince-turned-bard.
“A prince, then?” Azelle murmured.
“The prince.”
Azelle tilted his head to grant him this wide-eyed look. But Lewyn couldn't see any anger, just... Innocent surprise.
Lewyn's mouth drew into a thin line. Now was as good as any other time.
“I told you, I kind of ran away from home... Or maybe Erinys said that, I don't know. I think the whole army knows by now. Anyway.” He tried to keep his gaze focused on Azelle, but it was hard. In some ways, he was more afraid of that innocent face turning disappointed than even facing his consequences in the capital. “I'm going to have to go back to the capital and... Shit, I don't know. Do whatever I was supposed to do before I left.
“It's my... job, as the Major Forseti heir. I didn't want to do it, and... I still don't. But, like I said... I'm going to do the right thing. Maybe it's what I should have done in the first place.”
“Well...” Azelle had turned his head again, pressing his cheek into Lewyn's shoulder. At least he could hear that smile. “You have to do it because the rules say that whoever has the major blood has to.”
“Yeah.” Grannvale was the same. He didn't know much about it, but he knew that much, and he didn't know how much Azelle would know about it, having been the minor-blooded second-son.
“But... You could really change things too.”
“What?” Lewyn asked before he could think twice about it.
“You can rebuild the whole thing... You can make it so Silesse's next king doesn't need major blood. You can make it so your son won't have to feel the same pressure.”
Azelle was speaking like a revolutionary. Sweet little meek Azelle, who ran away from home to save a damsel in distress, was speaking like this? Clearly, he still had some sides of Azelle to discover, and all of a sudden, he wanted to know more.
Lewyn set down his lute. Ever since Azelle had curled up close to him, he wanted to snake an arm behind him and pull him just a tad closer. He did that now. Azelle's one hand came to rest on Lewyn's opposite shoulder, draping the blanket across his back.
“Where's this coming from?” he asked fondly. Pinning a smile to his face was easier than returning to the dismal situation of taking the Silessian crown.
Azelle let out some kind of adorable chuckle. “Sorry. Velthomer's pretty progressive, and the Duke –“ His brother. “– wants to do much more... So I guess it rubbed off. Is it too much?”
“It just... surprised me, is all.”
Azelle really laughed then. “Surprised you? You just told me you're the prince!”
“Hey, hey, keep your voice down. We don't need to make it a big thing.”
“Sorry.” Azelle was smiling at least.
“But... To go back to what you said...” Lewyn pulled Azelle a little closer. He thought he knew what was ending now, and it wasn't necessarily a bad thing at all. “I never really thought of it that way, before. It sounds like a lot of work, but... Maybe I could do it with some help.”
Azelle hummed in agreement.
“But you got something else wrong. At this rate, it's looking pretty likely that...”
His mouth was suddenly very dry. Should he say it? He didn't want it to turn into some kind of lie.
But Azelle looked up at him curiously, and Lewyn couldn't leave that hanging.
“...That I might not get a son,” he continued. Saying it straight to Azelle's face was hard. To look into those eyes... They were honest and clear, and beautiful like fire trapped behind glass. “Or even a daughter really. If things keep up.”
Azelle's face turned as red as his hair.
“W-wait, you mean...”
“D-don't get ahead of yourself.” He was trying to be suave... Damn that stutter. “I have to take care of things first... You'll probably want to go home before we make any real plans, right? I still have to meet that brother of yours. But then... Yeah, I'd like to take care of you.”
Azelle pulled his arm from wrapped around Lewyn's front and pulled the blanket up to his face to hide. Lewyn sighed and rolled his eyes. There should have been some legal limit to being cute, but he supposed it was better that Azelle stayed out of prison.
He put his hand to where he thought he'd find Azelle's and tried to uncover the redhead's face. Thankfully, Azelle allowed it.
“I didn't even say my schtick,” he joked. He was only half-smiling. All the confidence in the world couldn't make up for how heavy his heart thudded against his ribcage.
“I'm already saying yes,” Azelle countered. He was smiling playfully.
That single sentence knocked the wind out of Lewyn.
“Let me say it!”
“Okay, okay.” Azelle giggled, still red as ever.
Mostly, Lewyn was so adamant because he knew Azelle was a romantic.
“Azelle,” Lewyn started. But that was a bad start, because Azelle ended up making an amused sound and crashing into his shoulder. It was cute enough that Lewyn could feel his face heating up as well.
“Sorry, sorry,” Azelle said. “I just... I don't think I'm ready.”
Wasn't that the point?
“It's not even that big of a deal,” Lewyn replied, dismissively. Well, that was a bit of a lie. It felt like a big deal to him, but at the same time, whether it got said or not, it was happening. That's the ending.
“I just... Want to be a better person for you. You make me want to do the right thing... I want to be the kind of person... You'd be proud to show to your brother.”
“You're so red,” Azelle breathed. He wasn't even smiling... Did Lewyn screw up somewhere?
“You're one to talk,” Lewyn retorted.
He was entirely prepared to turn away from Azelle and brood. He didn't get the chance. Azelle leaned forward and gave him a kiss, gentle, sensual, and warm. It lasted just long enough, but not nearly as long as Lewyn would have liked.
“I never thought you were a bad person,” Azelle said. There was something twinkling behind his eyes.
“Don't lie.”
“I didn't! I always thought... I always knew you were a good person.”
Lewyn scoffed. He wasn't, before. That was an immutable fact. So why was he so embarrassed? “Yeah, okay.”
“But...” Azelle curled himself around Lewyn again, dragging the blanket with him. “I'm... Really proud of you. It's hard to make decisions like that. And I can tell you mean it.”
The prince couldn't help but groan, even as he held Azelle just a little closer. “You're rubbing off on me, I swear...”