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Neuvillette has certain expectations when it comes to dropping into the Fortress of Meropide unannounced. Expectations established by a combination of past experiences and how well he knows the administrator.
Things will be in order. Wriothesley has more than gained the trust of Meropide barring the outliers that will statistically always exist, more than ever following the recent overhaul of the Baret Society. Neuvillette heard there was a wedding and it was magnificent.
Which leads into another thing: the Fortress will be in full-throttle, sweaty brows and smelting iron, bustling for mealtime and trading goods and coupons. If a fight breaks out, it will be dealt with swiftly and efficiently. The Ring will be alive with gamblers and sportsmen.
People will be surprised to see Neuvillette. They are always surprised to see Neuvillette.
And finally, Wriothesley himself will be busy, whether holed up in his office gleaning his paperwork or on the ground floor making rounds. He’s spent less time in his office and more time with his people lately too, since the incident with the Baret Society. Neuvillette’s respect for him, as an administrator and as a person and as a partner, only continues to climb by the day.
Today, however, is different.
Neuvillette steps off the elevator into the heart of the Fortress of Meropide, and something… isn’t quite right. Not wrong, per se, but off, like a painting that hangs at an ever-so-slightly crooked angle.
At first everything is as he expected it to be: heads turn in his direction as murmurs rise amongst the onlookers before they carry on like nothing happened. The atmosphere is normal. The air is damp but not unpleasantly so, and the familiar smell of ironworks permeates throughout. The Gardes greet Neuvillette and offer to escort him to Wriothesley’s office—an offer that Neuvillette politely declines, there's no reason to pull them from their duties—and he is left alone to make his way to Wriothesley’s office.
And something is off.
Subtle. But off.
Neuvillette raps the back of his knuckles against the door of Wriothesley’s office and waits. It isn’t long before he hears Wriothesley’s permission and promptly lets himself inside.
Wriothesley’s chair skids backwards as he stands from his desk. Stands from his desk and… staggers, a little, for some reason. “Ah, Neuvillette! I didn’t know you were coming.”
Neuvillette lets the door swing into frame behind him, clicking shut with a loud noise. “I figured it would be a better use of time to come myself rather than send a message and await correspondence. Please don’t trouble yourself on my account.”
Wriothesley grins. “Trouble myself? Please, it isn’t often I get the opportunity to share a cup of tea with you. I’m sure you’ve got something important to discuss with me if you’re making a house call, so please, have a seat. Unless this is urgent.”
“It isn’t.”
“Great. I’ll get a kettle brewing.”
Neuvillette watches him go, but does not take the proffered seat. Wriothesley sets the kettle to heat over a portable stove by the record player, and ordinarily Neuvillette wouldn’t think twice, but his gait is slanted and he grips the edge of the counter with greater force than he ought, stress high in his shoulders.
Wriothesley catches his eye as he grabs for two cups. “Something wrong?”
“I’m not sure,” Neuvillette answers. It’s a shame Wriothesley wears scent blockers during the work hours, because Neuvillette would definitely be able to smell illness or injury on him otherwise, no matter how adept he is at masking it. “How have things been lately in the Fortress?”
Wriothesley shrugs and carries on with the tea. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Thank you, by the way. For okaying the flowers to be sent down for the wedding.”
“Of course. It was an honor to provide for such a momentous occasion. You must be the first Duke in history to so much as allow a wedding in the Fortress, let alone facilitate it.”
“Seriously?”
“To my knowledge, in any case. I’m certain there have been many instances in the past that were kept quiet, but this was the first we’ve officially documented.”
Wriothesley huffs. “No kidding.” He pours the water when the kettle whistles and sets the tea to steep. “Well, those two deserved it. They went through hell here.”
There's a twang of guilt there, and perhaps that’s what has Wriothesley not-quite-himself, but that doesn’t fit right either. Anyway, Wriothesley hands off one of the cups to Neuvillette and leans back into his desk, swishing his own. He’s trusting too much of his weight to his desk again, almost like he’s… drained? It reminds Neuvillette of how he’s made use of his cane following a particularly strenuous trial. The unease in his chest begins to grow.
“Wriothesley,” says Neuvillette, “are you alright?”
Wriothesley keeps swishing the tea. For a moment Neuvillette thinks he’s merely considering the question, but then he catches the emptiness in Wriothesley’s gaze and realizes it isn’t so.
“Wriothesley,” Neuvillette says, firmer.
Wriothesley nearly sloshes tea over his arm when he jumps. “What? Ah, sorry—I’ve been spacing all day. Did you say something? I’m listening now.”
“I merely asked if you were alright.”
“Ah,” says Wriothesley. “It’s… nothing unusual, honestly. Nothing you need to concern yourself with—I’m sure you had reasons for coming to the Fortress, there was something you wanted to talk to me about?”
It isn’t like Wriothesley. “There was a matter I wished to discuss with you,” says Neuvillette, holding his tea steady, “but it can wait, if there is a better time.”
“Nah, I already brewed us our tea and everything. Go right ahead, I’m listening.”
Neuvillette studies him, but Wriothesley merely tips his teacup and takes a sip, meeting Neuvillette’s eyes unbothered. There's still something off about him—are his pupils wider than usual?—but he isn’t obviously unwell or injured, and Neuvillette trusts he would be honest if that were the case.
“Regarding the Fortress’ upcoming inspection,” says Neuvillette. Wriothesley nods, keeps sipping. “I understand the Baret Society was using an abandoned unit that ran beneath the—Wriothesley.”
That distant look in his eyes came back. Wriothesley blinks, shakes himself and looks back up from his tea. “Hm?”
The inspection can wait. Something either happened, is happening or about to happen and Neuvillette needs to know what. Especially here, now, where his partner is involved and he’s allowed to think of Wriothesley as such. “Forgive me if this is inappropriate to ask,” Neuvillette says. Wriothesley goes stiff, but he doesn’t object, and so Neuvillette goes on. “Are you… sick? Injured? Has something happened?”
Wriothesley seems to deflate, which makes him nearly spill his tea again. It wasn’t the reaction Neuvillette was expecting. “Oh, that’s way less invasive than you think it is,” Wriothesley says, “those are just—yeah, normal questions.”
“And the answer? Has something happened?”
“Well, no. Well, kind of.” Wriothesley sets his poor sloshed-around teacup on the desk behind him and grips the lip with both hands behind his back. He glances at the closed door of his office before he says, “Put bluntly, I’m about to start my heat.”
Ah. That would explain it, then. He doesn’t forget Wriothesley is an omega, but sometimes he forgets Wriothesley is an omega. “I see.”
“It’s not a big deal,” Wriothesley says. “Apparently the heat cycle can get off-schedule once you bond with someone, but given where I’m at with the symptoms right now I’d say… next week, sometime? That feels about right.”
Neuvillette nods and turns it over in his head. “Will you spend it alone, then?” Something about that upsets him.
Wriothesley nods, though. “Same as every year.”
Neuvillette turns this over in his head too, alongside the… feeling that wells in him. He’s been around for long enough to understand what it means to be in heat; which also means understanding how upsetting it is to endure one alone.
Wriothesley pokes the center of his forehead. “What’s going on in there?”
“I’ve heard heats are dreadful to deal with on your own,” says Neuvillette. It came out more blunt than he envisioned, but better blunt and clear than evasive and confusing. “If you’d like, I could assist you through it.”
“Sex doesn’t do anything for me, if that’s what you’re offering.” Maybe he was not nearly as blunt as he gave himself credit for. Wriothesley leans into the desk further but doesn’t reach for his tea. “And don’t get me wrong, I do appreciate it. Thank you. My heats are… atypical, though. Something’s wrong with the bodily system that handles it, so it’s just kind of miserable.”
Neuvillette takes his time to process this. Wriothesley taps his foot but doesn’t break the silence. “Does it—…” Neuvillette turns it over once more, like a record player. “Are you saying it hurts?”
Wriothesley glances sideways. “Something like that. System gets clogged somewhere in the abdomen, fever hikes up anyway—it’s a whole thing.”
“So it does hurt,” Neuvillette says.
“Pretty much.”
And, well. This changes things. Neuvillette has yet to see what most humans see in sex—what most humans get out of it—but if Wriothesley did need that kind of support through his heat then Neuvillette would oblige. But knowing that Wriothesley is to be in pain throughout his heat, in pain and sickly and alone…
Well, the image his mind conjures up for him is frighteningly unlike the Wriothesley he knows and considers a true friend—a true partner. Alpha instincts aside, the image his mind conjures up for him is wrong.
“I could still be with you for it,” says Neuvillette. Wriothesley’s head comes up to meet his eyes. “If you think my presence would at all ease the symptoms,” Neuvillette continues. “Or if you would simply prefer to not be alone.”
Wriothesley laughs without mirth. “Come on, now, let’s be reasonable. You can’t drop all your responsibilities just like that; what would the court do without you?”
“I would not be dropping anything,” says Neuvillette. “I can ask for a days’ leave—or several days, in such a case—and I have only a handful of trials to attend in the coming weeks. Even if I had to leave briefly, I would return in nothing short of a timely manner.”
“I’m not gonna be much company once it starts.”
“That’s hardly a concern of mine. If you aren’t against the idea, I would actually like to look after you in this. It would put my mind at ease.”
Wriothesley turns away. He lifts his teacup and takes a couple long, thoughtful sips. Neuvillette lets him have the silence just as Wriothesley did for him. If Wriothesley declines, that will be alright. There are things Neuvillette can do for him even so, sending tea and meals, perhaps a blanket—something with his own scent on it—
“Alright,” Wriothesley says.
Neuvillette breaks away from his thoughts. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. As long as you’re sure it’s something you wanna get into, then I’ve got no reason to complain.”
He’s nervous, though, and Neuvillette doesn’t need access to his scent glands to feel it in the air. Wriothesley has not been able to trust many people in the past, and the people he should have been able to trust stabbed him in the back while he was still a child. He is the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide, as much a symbol of order and strength as Neuvillette is a symbol of justice. This is not an easy decision.
“Thank you,” says Neuvillette. He takes a sip of his tea; oversteeped, just a bit, but rich and woodsy with a touch of sweet. “Now, about the upcoming inspection…”
Neuvillette doesn’t overstay his welcome in Wriothesley’s office, nor does he overstay his welcome in Meropide. The courthouse needs him shortly for a trial, and Wriothesley has paperwork to get ahead of before his heat rends him for a week.
Nonetheless, Neuvillette takes the time to stop by the infirmary on his way upwards, and as luck would have it Sigewinne is there. Only Sigewinne is there.
“Oh, Neuvillette!” Sigewinne practically springs from her desk in her haste to reach Neuvillette’s side, immediately taking one of his hands between both of hers. “The Gardes mentioned you’d stopped by, it’s so rare to see you here. How have you been?”
Neuvillette smiles warmly and gives her hands a gentle squeeze before releasing. “I have been quite well myself, Miss Sigewinne. I hate to rush onto a different subject after it’s been so long,” Sigewinne shakes her head, spurring him on. “I came here to discuss a matter with Wriothesley, but as it would appear he’s nearing his heat.”
Sigewinne’s expression crinkles along the edge, concern wedging in. “Did he tell you that himself?”
“He did,” Neuvillette assures her. She sighs in relief and so he continues, “He went ahead and explained the basic nature of it to me and how his heats differ from the average omega’s, but I was hoping you could give me your perspective.”
“Are you going to be with him during it this time?”
“That is correct.”
Sigewinne nods. “Well. Wriothesley usually just stays in his chambers the whole time. He hasn’t been a good patient about it over the years, even though it puts him in a lot of pain. He can hardly move sometimes. You’re going to have to be gentle if you have to move him for anything.” Neuvillette commits it to memory. “I always leave meals and medicine outside his door, since never lets me in to see him. I think it’s a matter of pride, or not wanting to worry me. As soon as he realizes I’m more worried when he doesn’t let me see him, we’ll all be better off.”
Neuvillette sighs as he nods. “Yes, I will agree to that.”
“But it makes me happy to know he’s letting you stay,” Sigewinne says, brightening. “I hope that means he’s coming around to the idea of asking for help, but we’ll see what the future holds. I’ll come by with food and medicine while you’re there, too. Just try to get him to eat something, and have him take a sleeping draught if it gets really bad. His heats usually last a week. It might be shorter with you there, but I’d assume a week just to be safe. Don’t panic too much if his fever gets scary. Just give him water, and I’ll leave you with a fever reducer I engineered specially for this.”
“He called his heats ‘atypical.’”
Brightening gone. Sigewinne hangs her head and shakes it. “His body doesn’t know how to cope with the sudden flood of hormones, and so his immune system overreacts. That’s the best explanation I have for what causes it, but there's probably something wrong with his omegan organs, too. It all ties back together.”
The more Neuvillette hears about it, the more he loathes the picture in his head of Wriothesley alone and in pain for a week, a week, with no reprieve until it’s run its course. If Neuvillette has any say in it, Wriothesley will never be alone like that again.
He steels his emotions. Not in front of Sigewinne. “I see. Thank you, Sigewinne.”
“It’s okay, it’s my job,” Sigewinne says with a smile. “Take care of him for us, alright?”
“You have my word.”
Wriothesley calls a week-long leave for himself. Neuvillette gets as close to a week as he’s able given the nature of his responsibility. There are still matters he must attend to at the Palais, which means occasionally leaving Wriothesley on his own in the meantime. But it is better than doing nothing, he hopes. Most humans he’s met would echo such a sentiment.
He raps twice on the door of Wriothesley’s office and waits out a long silence before letting himself in.
Wriothesley is halfway down the staircase when he steps inside, dressed in a tank top and sweats with all his decorative ornaments nowhere to be seen, right down to his ear cuffs and scent guards. Which is fine—Neuvillette has dressed down considerably himself—but it’s the first he’s seen Wriothesley like this.
“Hello, there,” Neuvillette says.
Wriothesley sighs, leaning into the guardrail and leaning his head into his hand. “Sorry about that. I was on my way to let you in.”
“It’s alright. I let myself in just fine.”
Neuvillette has read and been told numerously that omegas in heat smell 'irresistible,’ or if nothing else good. A sweeter, richer rendition of their usual scent—enticing, satisfying… Neuvillette has never been, how you say, “affected” by the smell of it, even if he can objectively call it pleasant; but then, this is his first instance of tasting Wriothesley’s scent amplified in heat. He thought perhaps it would be different for his partner.
It is different. But not in the way he expected.
It’s… wrong. Stronger, more potent, and likely would be something lovely if it weren’t for the lofty notes of distress. Wriothesley looks like himself and holds himself well, but that sour stench of upset and pain rattles Neuvillette to his core.
Is this what Wriothesley meant about an atypical heat?
“Were you asleep?” Neuvillette asks.
Wriothesley runs a hand through his messy hair. “Getting there, but it’s alright. It hasn’t really set in yet, it’s pretty hard to sleep once everything gets going.” He pauses, looks away and shifts his weight uncomfortably. “… Listen, are you sure you wanna see this? It’s not fun.”
Still unsure, then, not that Neuvillette can blame him. “I came here to support you,” says Neuvillette, stepping further into the office, “not to have fun. Have you been able to make yourself tea? Nevermind. I’ll start a kettle.”
“Wh—”
“Go back to bed,” Neuvillette terries on. “If it truly is harder to sleep once it begins, then you should try and get as much sleep as possible before that happens. I’ll join you once the water is warm enough.”
Wriothesley laughs, which rounds off the sharpest piece of tension in Neuvillette’s chest. “I’ll be upstairs. Thank you.”
Neuvillette waves him off, already filling the kettle with sweet water, and listens closely to the sound of Wriothesley’s retreating footsteps. Slow, careful, heavy… contrary to his usual gait.
Neuvillette steeps the tea as Wriothesley taught him. Truthfully he’s always known how to do it, and has been “taught” by many over his years of existence—humans, Melusines—but he does like to adopt another’s preferred method where he can. He arranges two cups with the warmed kettle and looseleaf and carries the tray with him upstairs, mindful not to spill.
Wriothesley closed the door that leads to his chambers. Neuvillette knocks with his boot. “Wriothesley, tea.”
No response. Wriothesley must have actually fallen asleep. That’s a relief. Neuvillette settles the tray on the floor nearby and tries the handle.
Locked.
It’s… locked? Alright. Is Wriothesley nesting, then? Changing clothes? He did know Neuvillette would be coming up with tea. The distress in the air hasn’t heightened, not has it quieted, so it’s most likely that Wriothesley simply locked the door out of habit—
The locks slide back. The door pops open. “Sorry,” Wriothesley says at once, “habit. You have tea?”
Exactly. Neuvillette takes up the tray once more and follows Wriothesley in. “I do hope it’s to your taste.”
“Honestly, your tastes are persnickety enough that I’ll assume it’s just fine.” Wriothesley sits in the middle of his bed and gestures to the space across from him on the mattress. “Make yourself at home.”
Wriothesley has most definitely been nesting—the mattress is a mess of pillows, blankets and quilts. Neuvillette feels a burst of pride that his partner feels secure enough to let Neuvillette into it unbidden. He sits, tucking his legs beneath him, and eases the tray off to the side. “And you’re certain I shouldn’t be insulted that you’ve called my tastes 'persnickety’?”
Wriothesley shrugs, pouring himself a cup. “Don’t think so. It smells great.”
That pride explodes within him again. “I’m pleased you think so.”
Wriothesley goes abruptly tense, though, a cry clamped behind his gritted teeth as his body folds and an arm clutches his stomach. That persistent ringing smell of distress shoots up into something much worse; a stench of pain, of stop, stop and help me.
Neuvillette plucks the cup from his hand lest he burn himself and surges forward. He grips his partner’s shoulders, tries to get a look in his eyes, but Wriothesley’s still squeezing them shut and hunching like his life depends on it, tense as harpstrings wound too tightly. “Wriothesley. Wriothesley.”
Wriothesley sucks in a hard, whistle breath. “Sorry,” Wriothesley grits, “it’s—comin’ around faster than I was expecting.” He laughs then, hoarse, and instead of easing Neuvillette’s tension only serves to fuel it. “My hormones are probably stoked to have you here. Doesn’t know we aren’t doing anything.”
The guilt tangles with the pride which tangles with the concern until Neuvillette can’t tell which is which. “Would it be better if I left?”
“No.” Wriothesley clutches onto his sleeves and his scent curdles, so strongly that it would have made Neuvillette nauseous if he weren’t already sick with worry. “No—don’t. It’s better like this anyway, keeps me from guessing. I’d prefer to, just, get it over with.”
Neuvillette settles an arm around the back of Wriothesley’s shoulders and draws him close, tucking Wriothesley’s face against his neck where his scent is the strongest. Wriothesley takes a shaky breath and wraps his arms around Neuvillette’s waist in response. “Then I will stay,” Neuvillette says, though certainly Wriothesley already understood. “You can rest.”
Wriothesley takes another shuddering breath. “Sorry about that. My instincts are a little…”
“I understand,” Neuvillette says, bringing a hand to the back of his partner’s neck and gently kneading at the tension there, careful not to disturb his overly-sensitive scent glands. “I would have left had you asked me to. But I did not want to leave.”
Wriothesley melts under his hand, against his shoulder. Another exhausted chuckle shakes out of him. “I’m going to fall asleep if you keep that up.”
“Then sleep,” says Neuvillette. He’s never been adept at controlling his scent beyond locking it away, the way he knows some alphas control their scent, but he hopes Wriothesley can sense that he’s safe, protected, that he needn’t fret a thing. “I am here.”
Wriothesley’s answering hum sounds suspiciously like a purr. A moment later he’s pushing back in an attempt to sit straight. “Ah, wait, but I wanted to try your tea.”
Neuvillette chuckles.
Wriothesley does eventually fall asleep, only after he’s used the looseleaf to its fullest and the kettle is drained. He falls asleep so suddenly Neuvillette can only guess it happened by accident, the strain and the exhaustion finally catching up to him in full. His head dips against Neuvillette’s shoulder and Neuvillette scarcely has the chance to react before Wriothesley is sound asleep, his breaths shallow but even and the pain smoothed from his face.
It is a relief.
Neuvillette doesn’t dare move lest he wake his partner, and so he settles back into the headboard with Wriothesley against his shoulder and lets himself bask. He loathes that Wriothesley is unwell and in pain. He is grateful that he was allowed to stay.
The worst-yet-to-come begins deep into the night, when the scorching heat of a fever too high and the smell of pain yanks Neuvillette from the doze he hadn’t meant to fall into. Wriothesley has, by this point, curled into the bedsheets with his back flush to Neuvillette’s leg and his head by his knee, and he shakes with violent chills while the flush rides high on his cheeks.
“Wriothesley?” Neuvillette stokes his fingers through Wriothesley’s short hair, wholly on instinct, and Wriothesley shivers when his fingertips graze the edge of his scent glands. “Are you awake?”
“Mm,” Wriothesley murmurs, strained.
Must not be completely awake, then. Neuvillette’s instincts are howling at him— do something, do something, do something— but the normal course of action for heats isn’t applicable here, and there's a good chance he’d feel helpless even if it was. “I’m going to get you some water,” Neuvillette says, falling back on Sigewinne’s words as he slips from the bed and tucks the blankets around his partner. “You need to stay hydrated.”
Wriothesley hums again and Neuvillette steps aside. By the time he’s returned with a fresh cup of cool water, Wriothesley is sitting up against the headboard with his eyes half-mast and the blanket bunched at the hips.
“Sorry about this,” Wriothesley says as Neuvillette reaches his side and sits at the edge of the bed. “Most people are through the roof to spend their—spend their first heat with their partner.”
“It’s alright,” says Neuvillette. “In any case, I’m certainly not interested in doing anything sexual with you while you’re unwell. Or otherwise not up for it. Or in general at all, for that matter. It is, how do you say… unnecessary, to me, in order to maintain a meaningful relationship.”
“Oh.” Wriothesley looks relieved, so relieved in fact that it sweetens the sourest note in his scent, and makes Neuvillette wonder just how much this concept has eaten at him. “That’s—that’s great.”
Neuvillette presses the glass between his hands. “Drink slowly.”
Wriothesley drinks, and when the cup is empty settles back into the bundle of pillows, and Neuvillette joins him promptly. Wriothesley presses into Neuvillette’s side, messy hair tickling the side of Neuvillette’s chin, and Neuvillette idly takes up kneading the tension from the base of his neck with his fingertips, relishing each knot he feels unwind and each deep inhale-exhale Wriothesley breathes.
The sickness in Wriothesley’s scent keeps his instincts on the edge, but he’s able to quiet the loudest of them, with Wriothesley’s reassuring weight against his chest. Wriothesley may be unwell, but he is here, and he is safe, and this will pass.
When Neuvillette wakes come morning, Wriothesley is feverish but asleep against him, and Neuvillette is needed at the Palais Memonia to attend his first of two trials today.
Neuvillette slips out of bed without rousing his partner and dresses quickly, ties back his hair, douses his neck in scent blockers. Wriothesley is still sleeping when he’s ready to go, though restlessly, with his breaths coming sharply through his teeth.
Neuvillette pushes some of his hair out of his face. “Wriothesley, wake up for a moment.”
Wriothesley blinks his eyes open. Blinks at Neuvillette.
“I’m off to Palais Memonia for the day,” Neuvillette tells him. “I thought I ought to tell you before I go. Sigewinne knows you’re without me today, she’ll be by to check in and see how you’re doing.”
Wriothesley’s expression falls into something… strange. Vacant, staring through Neuvillette like he’s trying to get a glimpse of the wall behind him. Something in the back of Neuvillette’s head screams wrong. “Wriothesley?”
Wriothesley shakes himself, jolts out of it. “Yeah—Yeah, sorry. I’m alright. Go on ahead.”
Neuvillette hesitates. “Are you certain?”
“The Palais needs you,” Wriothesley says, “I’ll be alright. Besides, you said Sigewinne’s coming by, didn’t you? Nothing to fear.”
Neuvillette trusts him. Something is certainly not right, but Wriothesley would not have told him to go had he not known he would be alright. And Sigewinne is here; if Neuvillette is needed, she’ll retrieve him, surely. “Alright.” Neuvillette leans down to press his forehead to Wriothesley’s scorched brow, stroking the base of his neck. “Rest. I will be back by nightfall at the latest.”
Wriothesley melts into his hand. “Alright.”
Neuvillette underestimated the sheer volume of instincts that would overwhelm him the moment he left Wriothesley’s side, and that volume only soared higher and higher with each minute that passed.
He must not be putting on nearly as convincing of a show as he suspected, because Furina calls him to her office the moment the trial concludes. “You’re even more to yourself than usual,” says Furina, “my dear Iudex, something must be wrong.”
“I don’t intend to make this a dramatic spectacle,” says Neuvillette. “I apologize if my work has truly been infringed, but you will have to understand. The nature of my judgment has not been shaken.”
“Why not go ahead back to the Fortress?” says Furina out of nowhere. “I know that’s what has you in a tizzy. You can finish your paperwork next week; go on, now. It’s only a matter of time before the Melusines tell you to do the same.”
“… Thank you, Lady Furina.”
Furina jumps from her chair to shove him hard in the center of his back. “Go on!”
Neuvillette goes.
The door is locked again when Neuvillette returns to Wriothesley’s quarters. This time, he uses the key that Sigewinne leant him to let himself in; only after knocking and calling out. He pushes the door to and steps inside and is immediately swathed in the heated scent of sick and distress and hurt, hurt, hurt.
It’s so thick that Neuvillette chokes on it, and he barely registers locking the door back behind him before he flies across the room to Wriothesley’s side. “Wriothesley—”
Wriothesley whimpers.
It’s… normal, supposedly. Neuvillette has heard many omegas and even the occasional alpha whimper in court after hearing their sentence. It is an involuntary noise born of wretched upset and helplessness, and more often than not horrific pain and loneliness and fear.
Neuvillette’s heart throbs. “Oh, Wriothesley…” He slips into bed and draws Wriothesley to himself, trusting his instincts, hoping this isn’t a step backwards. Wriothesley keeps whimpering, low in his throat with his eyes squeezed shut and his knees to his chest, and Neuvillette strokes his hair gently from the edge of his scent glands up into his hair, over his temples. The whimpering continues, as does the terrible scent of sickness overpowering Wriothesley’s usual scent of metal and ice. Neuvillette hates that he can’t do more, that he can’t fix. “Shhh. Shh, Wriothesley.”
Wriothesley wheezes. “Sorry. This is—damn. Unbecoming. Usually I can—can, can control it a little better.”
Neuvillette shushes him some more. “Don’t be foolish. You needn’t put on performances for me, I see more than enough of that in court.”
Wriothesley laughs until it becomes another hoarse whimper, and he turns his face into Neuvillette’s stomach, arms trapping around his waist. Neuvillette massages the base of his shoulder blades with his thumb and soothes him until the wave recedes.
“What hurts most?” Neuvillette asks him.
“Cramping. Omega organs. Stupid—” Wriothesley’s muscles seize, and Neuvillette holds the back of his head as he chokes on it. “Sh’Shit.”
The helplessness tears at Neuvillette’s heart like his ribs have turned to claws. He’s grateful Meropide is as deep as it is; surely it would upset Wriothesley to hear the storm that’s billowing in the sky above their heads. “What do you need me to do?”
“What you’re doing,” Wriothesley pants, “is—fine. Just, keep doing it.”
Neuvillette keeps doing it, easing the tangles from Wriothesley’s sweat-damp hair and catching beads of sweat from his temples with his thumb. “Your fever’s gotten higher.”
“My body freaked out. Stress.”
When he left. “When I left.”
Wriothesley’s already shaking his head. “You’ve got responsibilities. I—” Another full-body draw of tension, ropes and twine, claws and chains. Wriothesley gulps for air. “I underst—”
“Shh,” Neuvillette stresses, squeezing the back of his neck. It may be construed as scuffing, but he hopes it doesn’t come across that way. He isn’t trying to dominate. “I know it can’t be helped. But I am sorry.”
He wonders if it has something to do with their bond; was his unrest because he could feel the magnitude of Wriothesley’s stress, so much so that even Furina caught on?
The whimpering starts again. Neuvillette tenses, and Wriothesley must have felt it because the next thing out of his mouth is, “Sorry. Can’t—Can’t really help it.”
Neuvillette forces himself to calm. As long as he is calm, he can help. He cannot help if he is not calm. “I know, you needn’t apologize. It’s alright.”
Wriothesley trembles, and his blunt fingernails scrape at the back of Neuvillette’s shirt. “Thanks. For being here.”
Neuvillette cannot imagine being anywhere else. “Of course.”
It is the longest night that Neuvillette has weathered in a very, very long time, and it isn’t even he who suffers its brunt.
Wriothesley whimpers until his voice is gone and the noises become little more than thready, hoarse bits of hurt and his scent is nigh rancid— like an infection is brewing just beneath it, alongside the scorching fever. Neuvillette holds him through it—what else is there to do?—whether Wriothesley is curled in the bedsheets with Neuvillette’s chest to his back and both his hands on his stomach, or whether Wriothesley is so miserable that even to be touched is to be hurt, or when Wriothesley’s stress hikes to such a degree he claws at Neuvillette’s arms and stuffs his face as far into Neuvillette’s chest as it will go, as though trying to disappear, trying to hide.
There is not a thing Neuvillette can do for him but to stay.
A week of this. How on earth is he to stomach a week of this? At least a standard heat can be shortened with stimulation, but what is Neuvillette supposed to do about this?
Wriothesley smells like heat. He also smells like sickness and pain and fear.
And Neuvillette has a trial tomorrow, confound it all. He has a duty to Fontaine and to Fontaine’s people, to its archon, to its justice. But he has a duty to Wriothesley, too. Both duties weigh. Both duties are important.
Wriothesley needs him. Fontaine needs him.
Fontaine would forgive him for calling out, for missing a trial. They likely would not remember it come due time—or Furina could spin a tale of how they needed further evidence, or how patience is the true driver of all stakes. Neuvillette would rather she didn’t, but drama is drama. Placating Fontaine’s people is placating Fontaine’s people.
But Wriothesley would not approve of that. Wriothesley would tell Neuvillette to put Fontaine first. Neuvillette should put Fontaine first.
It is a long night. Wriothesley sleeps in fits, shortened and made restless by fever and nightmare and distress. Neuvillette stays, forcing water on him whenever Wriothesley is lucid enough not to choke on it. The one time he coaxes Wriothesley to eat, he almost immediately throws it up. Neuvillette stops pushing food after that, but he does make use of one of Sigewinne’s sleeping droughts. He changes the sheets when Wriothesley sweats through them. Asks for fresh blankets and water and towels.
By the time the sun rises, Wriothesley is technically asleep. Medicatedly asleep, thin whimpers caught on every other breath. Neuvillette is helplessly drained and frustratedly exhausted. There is nothing he can do; and now on top of all of that he has to leave.
Sigewinne comes to the front of Wriothesley’s chambers as Neuvillette prepares to leave. It’s almost like she knew.
“Please stay with him,” Neuvillette urges her. Wriothesley has apologized enough for the whimpering, but he can hear it even through the closed doors of Wriothesley’s chambers and can scarcely remember when last he’s been so upset. “He hasn’t been able to stomach food of any kind since yesterday and his fever is very high.”
“I’ll take care of him, Monsieur Neuvillette,” Sigewinne promises. She’s stressed, too, but in a different way to a different magnitude. “I’m not sure he’d say it, but he was relieved when you offered to stay with him. It made him really happy. And he understands you have other obligations—you’re doing plenty.”
That does not feel true, but Sigewinne is no liar, and rationally Neuvillette understands. “I… appreciate that, Miss Sigewinne. I will be back as soon as I am able.”
Sigewinne nods, and when Neuvillette turns away he does not turn back.
When he reaches the overworld, it’s raining fit to flood.
In court, Neuvillette handles himself and his jurisdictions with all the objective poise and grace he’s known for in Fontaine, personal feelings swept aside until he’s able to deal with them productively. Furina certainly knows something is up, just as she knew the last time, but she does not confront him on it a second time and he is loath to discuss it. The sooner he finishes in court, the sooner he can return to his partner.
The first trial is simple enough and the sentence is doled with irrefutable evidence. The second trial is a bit more finicky than that, with convoluted details and attention-seeking participants who seem to take it as their ticket to stardom, which is its own conversation. By the time that trial is over and the third and final begins, the sun is half-set and Neuvillette is ready for the day to be over—and as luck would have it, he gets that wish. The third trial adjourns, too complicated to be dealt with before nightfall as the attorneys request more time to examine the facts, and Neuvillette makes Sedene aware of his departure before hastening back to the Fortress.
Even at this hour, the Fortress bustles with activity, and the Gardes know to expect him. He is left alone as he makes his way to Wriothesley’s office; then upstairs to the closed door of his chambers.
The high-pitched cry of Wriothesley’s whimper is the most chilling sound Neuvillette has heard in a very, very long time.
Sigewinne is sitting with Wriothesley on the edge of his nest, pressing a cold towel to his forehead and rubbing the side of his neck, and Wriothesley looks and smells absolutely wrecked. The prior stench of sickness and dread is a mere speck in comparison. Wriothesley’s whimpers come hoarsely in between ragged breaths.
Neuvillette hurries forward. Sigewinne acknowledges him right away. Words tumble out of his mouth. “Is he alright?”
“He’s as okay as he’s going to be until it passes,” Sigewinne says mournfully, scooting to make room for Neuvillette on the bed. “This should be the worst of it, his symptoms usually aren’t as intense after the third day…”
She doesn’t sound sure, like she’s asking a question. Wriothesley digs his fingernails into the bedsheet and Neuvillette scoots closer. “May I…?”
Sigewinne nods, shifting away. She’s barely moved an inch before Wriothesley’s hand snaps out to grip her arm and stops her in her tracks. “Wriothesley?” She cups her hand around his, takes it in stride. “Wriothesley, Monsieur Neuvillette’s here, it’s alright now.”
Wriothesley’s eyes are wide, bright with fever and wrought with terror. Neuvillette has never, ever seen this kind of fear in his eyes before; not when the safeguards against the Primordial Sea failed, not even during his trial…
… Oh.
“Miss Sigewinne,” Neuvillette says, gently cupping a hand over Wriothesley’s shoulder, stroking his overwarm skin, “you are… aware of Wriothesley’s upbringing. Correct?”
“He doesn’t keep it a secret,” says Sigewinne, “it’s—” The realization settles over her like a frost. The hand she’s placed over Wriothesley’s moves to squeeze his fingers. “Oh. Wriothesley.”
It wouldn’t surprise Neuvillette to hear that Wriothesley has imprinted on everyone in the Fortress of Meropide, at least to a certain extent. He pulled this mantle on himself and takes his role as protector very, very seriously. If his heat really has brought his mind back to the worst time of his life, it’s no wonder he doesn’t want Sigewinne to leave.
Neuvillette eases his fingers back through Wriothesley’s hair. “There is no one here for you to protect, Wriothesley. You’ve kept the Fortress and everyone within it safe all these years.”
“That’s right,” Sigewinne says, catching on. “No one has anything to fear as long as you’re around. All that’s left for you now is to let us protect you for a change.”
The fight plays out on Wriothesley’s face—logic combating instinct, instinct combating learned behavior, all he’s had to do to survive—but finally it lands on something that looks like himself, and Wriothesley’s grip on Sigewinne relaxes as his eyes flutter shut and he presses his forehead into his fist.
“Are you a bit more with us?” Neuvillette asks softly.
Wriothesley swallows. A whimper withers in his throat. He takes a breath. “I—yeah.” He’s shaking, from his hand on Sigewinne’s arm to the one fisted in the sheets, his chest heaving for air. His skin is so, so warm. “I—apologize. This isn’t…”
“Wriothesley,” Sigewinne says, wrapping her second hand around Wriothesley’s too, squeezing firmly, “you’re unwell. Please. If you’d like for me to stay, I will ask my assistant to watch the infirmary in my stead.” Wriothesley starts to shake his head but Sigewinne puts a stop to that, settling a hand on the side of his face and holding still. “It wouldn’t put anyone out. I promise.”
“You should accept this as a testament to your leadership,” says Neuvillette. “The Fortress is more than capable of running smoothly without you for a time. It is not selfish to tend to yourself.”
Wriothesley sucks in one long, rasp of a breath. He lets it out incrementally slow. It ends with another fragile whimper that snaps Neuvillette’s heart across its knee.
But then Wriothesley nods, and clenches his teeth as the next wave of cramping seizes him, and Neuvillette wastes not a second longer.
It takes time to get settled—takes time to coax Wriothesley out of his defensive curl—but they manage it eventually, with Neuvillette leaned against the headboard with Wriothesley wound in his lap with his nose against Neuvillette’s stomach. Sigewinne leaves briefly to speak with her associate, and upon return has an armful of fresh blankets that smell like nothing. After dispersing the blankets across the nest Sigewinne tucks herself against Wriothesley’s back where she can press cool towels to his brow and keep an eye on his fever, and where he can feel her presence always.
It is a long night, but different than how last night was long. Sigewinne’s company definitely settled something in Wriothesley’s nerves—whether a parental instinct or something more even-footed, like an older sibling’s—and while his scent is still tainted, it is no longer wholly foreign. Neuvillette gingerly massages his inflamed scent glands, from the side of his face and then up into his hair. Ice, metal. Hoarse purring.
Neuvillette catches Sigewinne’s gaze and mouths, Thank you, and the smile she answers him with says it all.
Wriothesley isn’t alone anymore; and he will never be alone again.