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"Philippe Gaston, you stand before me accused and convicted of theft. What do you have to say for yourself?" Navarre asked - Captain Navarre, clearly. Not a single trace of the man who had kissed his cheek like a brother, no, sir.
Cold, that was what it was.
"It was an egg," Philippe said quickly. Navarre arched one eyebrow. "Two eggs!" And the other. "I tried for the chicken, but it was a mean chicken. It pecked me. See?" He bared his chest, which also incidentally bore a few faint scars of a wolf's claws. "I still carry the wound. Have I not been punished enough already?"
"We invited you to our home many times. You always refused."
Could a man be at once cold and petty? Clearly so. "And do I deserve to rot in a dungeon for that? Be fair, sir, what was I supposed to say?"
Navarre shrugged. "You were supposed to say yes."
"I have my pride, sir," Philippe said. "Besides, I didn't want to intrude. I'm sure you mean well, and you are very kind - " when not throwing people in dungeons, that is " - but everybody knows it's bad luck to come in between a newly-wed couple, to say nothing of poor manners."
Navarre nodded slowly. "So your defense would be, essentially, that you stole food to be polite."
"Defense, sir?" Philippe asked. "I was unaware I was still on trial. If it's a defense you want, perhaps I might consult my lawyer? I'm afraid we were never introduced, but I recall he had a very distinctive wine stain on his habit. Shaped like a chicken, it was. My eyes were drawn to it more than once."
"Philippe," Navarre said.
"It's one or the other, sir. I'm sorry, but that's just how it is. You can walk into this cell here to visit me as your good friend who's only ended up here through the blind will of justice, or you can come as the Captain of the Guard inspecting a prisoner, but you cannot do both. It's not fair to me. Sir."
Navarre sighed. Clearly, he was a busy man with many important matters on his mind. Philippe should probably be grateful Navarre had noticed his name on the list of condemned prisoners at all.
Alas, that there was such a great divide between what should be and what was.
"May I just say, sir, that you've done some wonderful things with the place since I've seen it last? Honestly, I'd hardly recognize it. The fabled dungeons of Aquila, from which only one man has ever dared to escape and lived to tell the tale."
"And yet here you are," said Navarre. "Some might take that for a sign."
"Not me, sir. God may speak to me as He sees fit, and I will listen. We have a very direct way of communicating with one another, He and I."
"Friends, are you?"
"Is He not friend to all of mankind?" Philippe asked. "But, sir, while this is all very pleasant, I'm sure you have a job to do. I wouldn't want to keep you from it."
"Do you imagine you might escape these dungeons a second time?" Navarre asked.
Philippe considered lying. "Yes, sir. That is, I'm sure that in my imagination, I will slip away from here while my physical body remains here."
"We fixed the grill in the sewers," Navarre said.
Philippe considered calling Navarre a bastard. "Very wise, sir."
Navarre sighed and shook his head as he looked around the cell. "The straw seems fairly fresh."
"Oh, it's extremely fresh, sir. Freshest I've ever seen. I'll lay myself down on it tonight and sleep like a baby, I'm sure. Although I'll probably dream of chickens. Big, angry chickens."
"It's a lucky thing you'll have company, then." Navarre reached for the clasp of his cloak.
Philippe did a bit of math and decided he didn't much care for the answer he reached. "You're going to lend me your cloak? That's very kind, sir, truly it is, but - "
"I'll spend the night here," Navarre said. "With you."
"You're married, sir," Philippe said. "To a beautiful lady. Think of my reputation. Think of yours. What would the neighbors think? You may not think so, but nobody gossips like a bunch of prisoners with nothing to do to pass the time. And honestly, I'm not that kind of boy. I swear it on my life."
"Good." Navarre turned his head and Philippe realized he'd heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Too slowly, alas, to belong to a messenger with an urgent message for the Captain, but one could always hope. And pray.
"Philippe." It was her. Isabeau. Of course it was. "Hello."
"Hello." Philippe considered how to make a beautiful lady leave you to your lonely, miserable self. It was not a problem he had ever before had reason to contemplate. "I believe there are rats here."
"Don't worry," Navarre said. "I'm armed. It will give me something to do."
"I was mistaken," Philippe said. "There are no rats here."
"Just a mouse?" Isabeau smiled. The room seemed brighter.
"Would you blame a mouse for smelling cheese and wanting to take a nibble?" Philippe asked. "I'm a thief, lady. A good for nothing pickpocket. You'd better watch out, or I might steal from you, too."
"I'd take your hand off," Navarre said. He sounded like he meant it.
"You shouldn't joke about things like that." Isabeau sat down. There'd be straw on her dress when she walked out of here. "Besides, you know you could just ask, Philippe. I'd give you anything."
Philippe politely waited for Navarre to make another threat.
Instead, Navarre simply looked at him. It was not a good look. There was a lot of thinking going on behind that look, a lot of considering, possibly even a bit of imagining.
"Does that include the key to this cell?" Philippe asked at last, when the silence was beginning to get a little uncomfortable.
"No," Navarre said, at the same time Isabeau said, "I don't have it," sounding genuinely sorry.
"No offense, but your offer's not a lot of good to me then, is it?" Philippe said.
"It wasn't an offer," Navarre snapped. "It was a 'thank you'."
"Oh." Philippe sketched a bow. "You're welcome. Happy to have been of service."
Navarre scowled as he spread his cloak over the straw and sat down as well. There'd be straw on his cloak, too, later, but he'd probably brush it off. Besides, as Captain of the Guard, he probably visited lots of places with straw in them. The stables, for one. The dungeons, for another.
It wasn't as if anyone would look at Navarre's cloak, spot some straw there and think - well.
"You know, getting sentenced to the dungeons really takes it out of you." Philippe faked a yawn. "If you don't mind, I think I'll turn in early. Busy day ahead tomorrow."
"Doing what?" Navarre's tone was a little too sharp, really; it was as if he suspected Philippe would be working on an escape plan or something, which clearly would be ridiculous, given that they had fixed the grill in the sewers - unless, of course, they hadn't, and Navarre had only said that they had.
"Contemplating my sins?" Philippe suggested. "That's the idea of this place, isn't it? A place to find God."
Isabeau sighed. "You could simply go home."
"I have no home, lady," Philippe said. "Unless you count the world. The open road. Also, I'm a prisoner. It'll be many nights before I can call myself a free man again. A heavy price to pay for a moment of weakness and a pair of eggs, but then, the world is a harsh place."
Navarre crossed the stretch of floor between them and put his hand on Philippe's shoulder. It didn't actually hurt, but there was a subtle hint that, if Navarre chose to, that could be remedied.
"You were sentenced to three days. A leniency earned by your past actions. Now, are you ready to stop being stupid, or should I get the judge to make it three weeks, next time?"
Philippe noted the distance between Navarre's face and his own. "That wouldn't exactly be just, would it, sir? A mockery of justice, is what I'd call it. I'm sure you wouldn't want that."
"You have no idea what I want," Navarre said, and then the distance between their faces grew even less, until there was none at all.
Kissing Navarre was nicer than Philippe had imagined. Different. He'd fantasized that Navarre would be a little rough, a little forceful - a little wolfish, maybe. Instead, it was soft and slow and sweet.
"I think I may have been given a clue just now, sir." Philippe swallowed, hard.
Navarre frowned slightly as he studied Philippe's face. "And?"
"And I'd have to say that I'm flattered, sir, really I am. You're very - " Strictly speaking, Philippe hadn't forgotten about Isabeau. It was more like her presence had temporarily slipped his mind.
Having her hands slide around him from behind was a wonderful reminder. Having her body press itself against his back was ... not conductive to his capability for rational thought.
"Am I dead?" Philippe asked, as a horrible suspicion grabbed a hold of him. "I'm dead, aren't I? This is heaven. Well, I suppose at least it was quick, although I do wish I'd gotten to see the pearly gates. They're supposed to be quite something, you know? I promised Imperius I'd meet him there."
"You're not dead," Navarre said. "Although if you keep refusing to give me a simple answer to a simple question, you may be soon."
"It's really not such a simple matter, sir." Philippe knew what he wanted. He also knew that simply because you wanted something, that didn't mean you should take it.
Possibly, he should have remembered that a little earlier, before his eyes had nearly been pecked out, but then, the flesh was weak, and nothing tasted quite like an omelette, made with fresh eggs.
"If you don't want to, say so." Navarre looked like he knew very well Philippe wanted to. Well, fair enough; the man had kissed him.
"Can't I just think about it? Sleep on it? I mean, there's straw here," Philippe said. "Do you really want to do this in a place full of straw?"
"Yes," Navarre said, Isabeau echoing him. "Do you?"
"I - " Philippe yelped, as Navarre tightened his grip.
"Two options," Navarre said. " 'I' is not one of them. If you say 'no', I will see to it that you are released, Immediately. Just this once, for old time's sake."
"It's been less than a year, sir," Philippe dared. "That's not - " Navarre glared at him.
"Say 'yes'," Isabeau whispered. Her lips had to be very close to his ear; he could feel her breath.
"Or say 'no'. Your call," Navarre said. "But say something. Something that's actually an answer."
"Yes," Philippe said quickly, before his good sense could shut him up. "Yes, yes, yes. A hundred, a thousand times yes."
Navarre loosened his grip. "Good choice."
Isabeau kissed his neck. It was a strange sensation, but far from unpleasant. Philippe didn't think anyone had ever kissed the back of his neck before.
"God, if this is how You choose to reward the theft of two eggs, I will certainly do my very best to grab the chicken as well next time."
"Oh, shut up," Navarre said, which was just a little bit rude, Philippe felt, only before he could say so out loud, Navarre kissed him again and so Philippe supposed he'd simply have to hope God would understand and let it go, this one time.