Work Text:
“Sometimes, Wriothesley, I wonder how you are still alive,” Neuvillette muses in a flat voice as he closes the door of the Warden’s office behind himself with a small clicking noise.
The fuck.
The Judge’s entrance breaks the stillness in the dimly lit office, deep in the heart of the Fortress of Meropide. An interesting and ever-so-strange choice of a greeting from Neuvillette, Wriothesley thinks. He can’t even fully understand why – his mind feels foggy, maybe from the medicine that Sigewinne gave him before. However, when he instinctively tries to sit up more straight in his chair and pull his coat to cover his halfway bare, bandaged, bruised chest, a hissing sound leaves his mouth despite his best intentions.
To say that Wriothesley looks battered is an understatement. On the left side of his torso, his suit vest is torn off, and the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt is lacerated. He can only hold his left arm very close to his chest as even this makes his shoulder feel extremely unpleasant. In his current state, he isn't even sure he can say if it's in its rightful place or not.
“You’re one to talk, Chief Justice,” he manages to reply eventually, impolite.
Neuvillette doesn’t comment, not even raising a brow, denying every piece of the reaction that the Duke wishes for. Deflecting from the reason he came would be much easier, but he isn’t giving Wriothesley that.
Walking around the table with intention, the Judge stops only when he reaches the halfway pulled-out red velvet chair and its owner slumped in it. His blue form towers over Wriothesley, unwavering. Neuvillette waits, motionless, until the Duke tilts his head up and locks eyes with him. The movement makes the base of his skull feel like he’s just taken a hit from an Annihilation Specialist Mek.
“But I am no human.”
Snorting, Wriothesley turns away and he regrets the fast motion immediately, sharply sucking air in. Seconds pass, and the Judge only stays still, his shadow casting over Wriothesley. The Duke eventually gathers himself and asks in a low voice, still facing the other way, “Would you please sit down, at least?”
“I may,” Neuvillette steps away from his imminent position, and the Duke feels now he can breathe, at least a little easier than before. The Judge lifts a chair that was left at the corner of the desk, probably for Sigewinne, and silently puts it down closer to the other, only the rustle of the fabric of his clothes breaking the silence.
Once seated, his legs crossed, his posture elegant, Neuvillette waits until Wriothesley manages to turn back and look at him again. Under the pressure of his serious gaze, the Duke grits his teeth and tries to save some of his ego as he straightens up more… only to hunch over coughing, his right hand grabbing to the left side of his chest. His fingers touch something wet but he can’t muster enough focus to check, the pain in his shoulder and head close to unbearable.
Wriothesley doesn’t have to look into a mirror to know he looks like hell – no wonder after all that happened. Sigewinne already healed him enough to not bleed out, gave him medicine, and covered up half of his chest in bandages. But her work is far from finished yet. Even with his foggy brain, and his vision having some dark spots whenever he moves, he knows of the reddish-purple bruises forming on the scarred skin of his chest and torso – they contrast starkly against the white bandages that probably cover the worst of all. He can still feel the taste of iron in his mouth, and the dried streak of blood on the left side of his temple that Sigewinne couldn’t attend to yet. She left him in a hurry after she was convinced he stayed in one piece and alive, muttering something about help. Wriothesley has no idea how long ago this happened or what the time is.
After the Duke’s badly-went attempt to match him, Neuvillette sighs a little and loosens on his formal pose.
Now Wriothesley doesn’t even try to match the height of his eyes. He just looks up at him from his somewhat stooped position – only to see his mask drop, exhaustion and an emotion that the Duke doesn’t want to name, tainting his expression.
“Why would you do something so dumb?” A tired but gentle inquiry. Wriothesley wishes Neuvillette would be angry, disappointed, anything but that.
He wants to stop himself, he really does, but he’s too hurt, exhausted, and vulnerable to do so.
“Why would you come down here to ask me this? Don’t you have enough work to do?” Despite his cold tone, his voice wavers from the badly hidden emotions that are springing up from his stomach to his heart, making the warm pressure in his chest feel intolerable.
And Neuvillette doesn’t react.
He’s just watching him, passive, only the line of his lips getting more tense as time passes. None of them says anything else.
Wriothesley closes his eyes and counts to three, wishing the ground would swallow him and he could just disappear. What he said, to whom he said... He wishes he could take it back. But of course, when he glances up again, nothing changes, and Neuvillette is still waiting for him. The silence feels heavy and suffocating.
“I am doing what I promised you. Meropide is running just as you wish,” he starts, bargaining, and swallows after hearing his own voice – it is also pleading.
And finally, Neuvillette is opening his mouth to speak –
“The Fortress may be running, but so do you. Running yourself to death for nothing.”
– but the Duke later wishes he would rather stay silent.
He may have made some mistakes last evening that brought him to be in his sorry state now, but his reason for fighting was not nothing. He pays the price of his actions despite a Vision–haver having healed him already, but Wriothesley thinks he doesn’t need a lecture. Not now, not ever on this topic. Not from someone who separates himself into a million pieces, giving them to everyone in need, and forgetting about leaving one just for himself.
Frustration and anger rarely bite him as much as they do now – especially not when it comes to a conversation with the Judge. Wriothesley thinks if this escalates, he won’t be able to stay polite – not that he hasn’t failed in this already. He fears how it can go if he fails more… but also the idea of being cast out by the Sovereign of his land is one that at least feels rightful.
Embracing the pain in his body to help him rethink his original words, Wriothesley has a more acceptable answer at the end – that won’t make him hate himself for the rest of his life. He has a new life now, but he can’t forget where he came from, and how he landed at the life he has now.
“I’m not good at many things, but at least leave me trying in the only thing I’ve ever succeeded in.” He hates how pitiful this sounds, how… little he is. But Neuvillette immaculately sitting next to his beaten form, it feels fitting.
“You are so much more than a fighter who’s good at punching things.” The reply comes in an instant. Then the Judge hesitates, uncharacteristically, as if he would be having trouble choosing his words.
“You mean more than that to Meropide, you mean more to Fontaine.” He halts mid-answer before continuing, the edges of his eyes softening slightly as he says quietly, “You mean more to me.”
Understanding crashes Wriothesley like thunder and he feels like a child.
A quiet “Oh” escapes his mouth, and he manages to gather his focus mostly without the black spots, and he truly looks at Neuvillette.
“In that case… I’m sorry?” It’s a question but it’s sincere. He’s not the most coherent – he can feel the medicine washing over him in a multitude of waves as time passes, dulling his pain but also his senses – but this doesn’t give him an excuse. “I apologise,” he adds right away, his voice solemn.
Neuvillette gives him a kind glance before a more serious expression takes place on his pretty features.
“You should tell that to Sigewinne. She spends her days with you, and none of your habits go unnoticed.” Neuvillette says. “I accept your apology, but I would rather like you to make a promise for the future instead.”
The idea that the Judge is proposing feels fair yet like a death sentence. Maybe it shows too much on Wriothesley’s face, or maybe Neuvillette just knows him too well, but he adds:
“But I’m not that lucky today, am I? After all, you’re right, the Fortress has never worked better than it does now under your dutiful watch.”
It’s unsaid between them that aside from their collegial encounters and the rules of that, even if they could – or should, sometimes – none of them tries to change what the other does under the label of “extra work”. They are both guilty as charged. However, the Duke realises, Neuvillette could be asking him to make a promise about his methods. It is kindness that he doesn't.
Silence settles over them, only the sound of Wriothesley’s quiet but raspy breathing intersects the stillness between them. There is something that the Duke would like to say, but his hazy mind fails multiple times to choose the best words out of the storm-like mess that lives in his mind and heart now. He must have really hit his head as well, or maybe the medicine is just this efficient – Wriothesley is not one to let feelings mess with his heart.
But yet again, Neuvillette just waits for him patiently, not minding that he zoned out, that he is not in the state to hold a meaningful conversation. He came, and he’s here to stay.
As soon as the Duke opens his mouth to speak, the door of his office opens so fast it almost hits the opposite wall from the momentum. In the wake of the motion, a tiny figure shows up at the doorstep – Sigewinne.
If she has any thoughts on how Wriothesley’s slumped form sits so close to the immaculate Chief Justice, she doesn’t show. Maybe she is too pissed for that – going around the massive oak desk, she marches towards her boss who also happens to be her current patient.
If his head wouldn’t feel like a mess, the Duke would swear he sees the corners of Neuvillette’s mouth turn upwards…
But before he can draw a conclusion, an adorably furious face leans into his vision. She stares at him, her lips pouty, her expression disapproving. She can make him feel guilty as no one – and the reason for her dissatisfaction is clear this time.
“Duke Wriothesley, I told you to stay still and not move around even if you’re just sitting," she glances over his bent form which the Duke would call pathetic. I don’t want you to almost bleed out again, please,” she asks, her voice stern but still kind, despite her entrance before.
“I’m sorry,” Wriothesley mutters, not having it within himself to fight back – as he knows perfectly well that Sigewinne has all the reasons to scold him.
He decides to not hear the muttered “You better be.”
She has the kindest of heart and she would never raise her voice… unless he is being dumb. Or self-destructive, but the Duke prefers the former version even in his mind.
The door of his office shuts very loudly and Wriothesley sees that the healer brought company – a carrier Clockwork Meka who’s dutifully carrying her medical bag, and even closing the door that she left open. The Duke can see where this is going and he absolutely dislikes it, even if he knows his battered body would need more care.
Wriothesley appreciates Sigewinne’s thoughtfulness but… there is still the Chief Justice, sitting in his office as well.
Wriothesley musters a mostly collected tone as he starts, “Could we finish another time, please?” He turns his gaze up to Neuvillette.
The Judge tilts his head as if he would be considering his answer. “I’m afraid we can’t. But I will let Sigewinne tend you first.” He nods a little towards the healer, and Wriothesley knows he’s done for good.
“Your Grace, we shouldn’t do that here. You should lay down, too,” Sigewinne’s voice is brisk and authoritative - that of a physician who holds the final say over people’s health.
Whatever self-preservation and pride Wriothesley has left, her soft-spoken command and the next request are putting him to trial to either resist and argue or throw all his opposition out of the window.
“Let me help you,” Neuvillette stands and with a graceful movement, he’s offering a gloved hand. “After all, it’s doctor’s orders,” he adds, glancing over to Sigewinne, a soft smile on his lips that he's only giving to her.
And now... Wriothesley doesn’t even have the right to start to argue.
Finding the Judge’s gaze with his own, Wriothesley sees no pity in his lilac eyes but only genuine kindness… and he resigns, accepting with a nod.
With firm but gentle hands, Neuvillette embraces him as he tries to stand up alone – but too fast, too prideful, too hurt, his vision bleeding into blinding whiteness. Strong arms catch and steady him, yet they are careful as Neuvillette only holds him by bruise-free spaces. Or least where he can, as finding a spot of only pale, scarred skin on his left side is impossible.
The Duke understands Sigewinne brought the Meka to help him get to his room, but in his current position, he doubts he could have the strength to use it for his own support, as standing up already brought nothing good. Maybe Neuvillette is right and he is just dumb. Or stupidly entitled as he thought he couldn’t end up like this – only because since long before he got his title at Meropide, he hasn’t lost a single fight.
“...you alright?”
Neuvillette is talking to him. And he already missed some of it.
Wriothesley blinks slowly and as his sight gets free of the black spots, he can see the Judge’s face – close, way too close to his own, his lilac gaze burning a hole into his soul.
“Wriothesley?” Neuvillette repeats, slight worry now tainting his words. He is still holding him, and without the Judge's help, they both can feel how he would fall over. “Can you walk?”
A wave of nausea washes over him, his head feeling almost too heavy to be held up… Can he? Alone, definitely not. “With you, maybe,” he manages, a low groan escaping his mouth as he tries to uphold himself more, sending sharp waves of pain over the left side of his chest and shoulder. He doesn’t even remember getting hit – after the first one, that brought darkness and knocked him out.
“Alright.” Neuvillette doesn’t hesitate. He manoeuvres himself to Wriothesley’s right side and takes the Duke’s right arm over his shoulder, holding almost all his weight steadily. Wriothesley understands there is hardly any better way but pain blinds him once again.
The Judge leads – pulls – Wriothesley with himself to the hidden door that Sigewinne opens at the back side of his office. It only takes them a little bit more than a half minute of walking (rather stumbling, with jelly-like legs, on Wriothesley’s side) to get back to his sleeping quarters.
Neuvillette lets him down carefully to sit on his bed, but the nauseating feeling of pain overtakes Wriothesley.
...he must have lost consciousness for a little, as his last memory doesn’t involve his body being fully laid down, pillows supporting his back, a blanket softly covering his lower half. Feeling the soothing hydro energy buzzing in his chest as Sigewinne is healing him again, he realises why he's feeling better now.
Sigewinne is kneeling on the only chair that Wriothesley’s small abode has, reaching comfortably over the Duke’s chest. The room is simple and practical – not that he spends a lot of time here outside of sleeping. Neuvillette’s magnificent form stands at the little doorway that leads to his small bathroom, and Wriothesley cannot think anyone else would be more out of place than the Judge is now.
Frustrated, and sounding tired, Sigewinne sighs. “I have to stop for now,” she begins. “You lost a lot of blood and with my healing, the tissues are also heating up too much. I can only continue later.”
Wriothesley thinks he must be really doing better because he’s able to reply immediately:
“I have a Cryo Vision, shouldn’t I be able to help?” His question feels obvious yet silly, as if he's forgetting a key point.
“That’d be unwise.”
The calm retort comes from Neuvillette, he steps closer to them now. He looks like he would like to start another sentence but halts first, hesitating – and it makes Wriothesley concerned. “I think you shouldn’t strain yourself now, it wouldn’t do any good.”
He sounds so diplomatic that it almost feels like a lie – except Neuvillette doesn’t lie.
Wriothesley's mind is more clear. The pain is not blinding him anymore or dulling his senses like it did a while ago. Yet, as expected, he still feels weak. After the Judge's careful reply, he would bet with Sigewinne and her Melusine friends even without a mirror that he looks paler now than any white walls.
The Duke glances over Sigewinne and she just nods in agreement with the Judge. They spent years together and Wriothesley trusts her deeply – he also trusts Neuvillette. Only regarding them can he truly use this expression without putting out a false statement. He’s not one to put too much faith into others, nor to rely on them, ever – yet there he is now.
“Alright.” He won’t ask more, he won’t act like a child, needing explanations. Neither of them ever wanted harm for him – and if they are saying this is how much Sigewinne is allowed to use her healing ability on him for now, then Wriothesley believes them. He didn't require healing to this extent like he does now since she set afoot in Meropide.
But it's one thing if he can accept he will be hurting for longer – this is different for someone's who's job is healing.
He searches for Sigewinne’s gaze, she’s still kneeling on the chair next to his bed, but she’s looking down into her lap, a conflicted expression distorting her soft features. “Sigewinne, look at me, please.”
The healer glances up, her lips pouting a little. She looks like she may cry, and Wriothesley feels responsible.
“Thank you for helping me, I’m better now.” Sincere words with a ghost of a rare, true smile. He can do that for her. He also manages to read the clock on his wall, it's close to hitting six. “Why don’t you go and rest before morning fully comes? I won’t run away,” he teases lightly and Sigewinne rolls her eyes, the light returning to them.
She pokes an un-bruised spot on Wriothesley’s chest. “I will be back, and if you do anything else but what you promised, then I will make you rest!”
“Would you spike my tea again?”
“Maybe,” she tilts her head. “Monsieur Neuvillette told me that I can do what I need to do to make you follow medical orders!”
“Oh, he did…” Glancing up at the Judge, the Duke slightly raises an eyebrow but he isn’t getting a response from the man. “Then you can judge me, Matron Sigewinne, once you return, alright?”
Humming in response, she gives Wriothesley a kind smile before she climbs down from the chair. Turning to Neuvillette, Sigewinne thanks him with relieved, shining eyes. Then she bids farewell to them and leaves to her quarters that are almost neighbours with the Duke’s. The Meka who is carrying her closed-up bag goes with her, Wriothesley only notices the presence of it now – maybe he is not as well yet as he thinks.
The soft click of the closing door leaves them in silence. Neuvillette still stands closer to the opposite wall than his bed, and Wriothesley wonders what to make out of that. His mind is still somewhat hazy from the medicine in his system, but even though he feels better physically, he doesn't dare to sit up more. Glancing down, he sees fresh bandages on his chest and shoulder, and a few bandaids over some other bruised spots... with stickers. He can't hide his smile as he notices them. But aside from the unhidden purple bruises, he looks fine, if you define fine as the beaten-up body of a reckless, stupid man.
Wriothesley doesn’t want to think how Sigewinne wiped down the dried blood from his chest and face – as the nasty, crusty feeling from his temple is now away. He doesn’t dare to muse over how Neuvillette may have helped her…
He looks at the Judge who has been studying him, and he breaks the silence, just to get away from his thoughts:
“Would you like to continue where we left off?”
His question… Sounds dumb, and that may be an understatement. A sane person would ask many things but not for the continuation of the conversation that he may not even remember fully as he managed to pass out sooner after.
If the Judge shares his thoughts, he doesn’t show. As if he would have waited for an invitation, he steps closer to the now empty chair and lowers down himself next to the Duke’s bed.
Wriothesley feels so small laying there, not daring to sit up more, while next to him sits Neuvillette in his ever-so-graceful, perfect form. But this is how it should feel, he thinks. Even if Neuvillette treats him like an equal and gives him the uttermost respect that someone like him would never deserve, not when he came from where he did… he should not forget the past.
He may have passed out and his mind could have been a place of disaster, but Wriothesley remembers the praise Neuvillette gave him about running Meropide. He remembers every encounter he had with the Judge – and maybe it’s selfish because his life on the scale of the Judge’s is something short and fleeting – but he hopes Neuvillette remembers too.
“How could you…” He starts under the other’s still patient, observing gaze.” How could you put that much faith in me?” Wriothesley hopes only he can hear how unsure his voice sounds.
But Neuvillette answers quickly and simply, “I still do.”
“And I’m not worthy of that. Just look at me now…” He has to avert his gaze. He disappointed the only person who wouldn’t deserve it from him. The Duke knows it’s not about how he fights. It’s not about what he does in Meropide, in the pankration ring, for the drama, attention, and reputation.
“Allow me to make that decision.” There is a tiny but sharp, commanding edge in Neuvillette’s voice that goes for questioning his statement from before.
Wriothesley doesn’t mean badly, but he has to ask, “You like to protect the weak, don’t you?”
“I am Chief Justice, it’s my job. I protect the innocents.”
Was he ever innocent? Clearly not… But not strong enough for himself – multiple times. A sigh escapes his lips, his thoughts mixed up with each other as he tries to figure out how to clarify his question without saying something he wishes to not be true.
But Neuvillette's mind is faster, a small sound of understanding falls from his lips as he realises. He shakes his head a little as if he would be confused over the stupidity of the truth that Wriothesley believes.
“You are not weak,” he says authoritatively. It is a declaration, a verdict he gives as he would when he reads up the Oractrice's answer.
Even if deep down he disagrees, Wriothesley doesn’t dare to question Neuvillette.
“Nor innocent, huh?” He ends up teasing lightly to avert, gesturing over himself with his un-injured arm as to show the consequence of his wrongdoing from the last evening. The air between them now feels lighter, as if the Judge was waiting for his objection instead.
“Probably no, not now,” Neuvillette scolds him lightly, his tone gentle before his expression turns more stern. “I was in the area to attend some business outside when, to my biggest surprise, Sigewinne came across me. Very distressed and upset,” he adds, and the gaze he gives to Wriothesley leaves the blood cold in the Duke’s veins for a second.
“I will make it up to her. I made a mistake, and it won’t happen again.” No other choice he has but honesty – no other choice when it’s just the two of them.
Neuvillette nods a small, seemingly accepting his answer and attitude, the imperativeness gone from his features.
Silence sets over them but it feels calming, appreciating the shared moment and agreement. Eventually, it's the Judge who breaks it:
“Wriothesley, don’t you think we share the trait you mentioned?”
It takes him a few seconds to understand and he blames his beaten body and mind for not seeing immediately where this is going. Neuvillette tilts his head a little, waiting, and the Duke jumps onto the light mood of that.
“So polite, Chief Justice, calling me out like that.” He failed the innocents he wanted to protect due to his attitude – but they are over that part of the conversation. He doesn't have to answer the question directly, as Neuvillette knows what he has been trying to do whenever he leaves Meropide in his free time.
But to reflect on where he failed today – and where he could have failed multiple times before but he had been lucky – he resorts to a well-deserved self-critique and to a compliment.
“Your fighting skills are… more reliable than mine.” Admitting this to anyone else would feel hard for someone who fought as much in the ring as Wriothesley – but it's not when he is telling this to the Hydro Sovereign.
“You know what I am. But also, my methods don’t involve theatrics, and turning the fight only at the last second,” Neuvillette tilts his head slightly.
Ouch. Even if it's partially true, the statement stings a bit. Then maybe it’s the strong pain medicine, maybe he is just too brave, but Wriothesley gives in to his risky thought:
“You only do your trials that way, huh?”
“Do not mistake me for Lady Furina.”
Neuvillette almost snorts at his blatant tease and he barely stops himself, Wriothesley would swear on his life. He gives the Judge a light smile, and his eyes soften. “Thank you for coming.”
“Please, don’t make me again,” the reply comes in a serious tone, but the corners of Neuvillette’s lips turn upward slightly. “This isn’t the reason I would like to see you.”
“Point taken and... are you maybe offering something, Neuvillette?” It’s not that common when Wriothesley allows himself to say the Judge’s name. He often addresses him on his honorific title out of respect, rarely to light up the mood between them. But whenever he calls him by his name – even if it’s not his first one – he chooses the situation well. “Maybe an invitation for tea, sometimes? When I'm not beaten?”
Neuvillette smiles lightly. “Perhaps.”
Silence settles over them again, and Wriothesley tries but fails to resist the tides of sleep that are washing over him. He isn't sure if it's real or he's just dreaming as Neuvillette leans over him, featherlight finger brushing his cheek gently as he says, "Rest well."