Work Text:
Sigewinne barely touches the cotton ball to his brow when he hears the distant footsteps of heavy heels. He had closed his eyes in hopes to stave off the inevitable pain, partially to have his mind wander anywhere else and partially to avoid the worried look marring the little melusine’s face. Wriothesley tries to ignore the itchy feeling of antiseptic solution running down the side of his temple but it proves difficult when everything above his neck burns hotter than a fontemer emperor’s hot spring.
Instead, he focuses on the apparent clicks approaching them. Even in the vast labyrinth that is the Fortress, years of patrol tells him the steps are coming from the upper level. If the rusted swing of the elevator doors were anything to go off of, he’d estimate about a minute before whoever it was reached the threshold of the infirmary.
He could have excused it as one of the guards rushing in to make a status report of the convict that did this to him but if he listens closely, he thinks he can hear a strange unevenness in the footfall. A consistent, lighter tap intermittently stomps with the footsteps and it doesn’t take him long to suspect it as the assistance of a cane. Hairs on the back of his head tingle as he continues to listen, murmurs from inmates confirming his suspicions. The steel bridge leading into the infirmary sighs as Wriothesley hears the person turn the corner, steps picking up speed as they make their way across the pipes.
It makes him realize the head nurse has been swiping the blooming gash above his eye for a little too long.
“Sigewinne,” Wriothesley breathes out as carefully as he can, like a parent trying to hold back on scolding their child. “Why did you tell him?”
The cotton ball pulls away from his face. The melusine taps her tweezers on the metal dish in her hand and reaches for new gauze.
“Monsieur Neuvillette would have found out either way.” She says innocently, not even trying to save herself from the interrogation.
“You couldn’t have at least given me a day?”
The footsteps slow to a crawl, nearing closer to the infirmary. Wriothesley keeps his eyes closed.
“I worry for what might happen if I told him any later, Your Grace.”
Sigewinne fusses with the stitches she made earlier across his nose, prodding him a bit more for the sake of stalling. For what, Wriothesley hasn’t quite figured out yet but it keeps him on edge. When he feels her shadow move away, he reluctantly opens his eyes.
He is greeted with the sight of Fontaine’s Chief Justice.
His eyes still ache from the effects of the vial that was thrown at him an hour ago, vision slightly foggy and unclear. There is pressure in the back of his head that he can’t really pinpoint but he tries to blink it away nonetheless. With his vision abruptly returned, the infirmary feels extremely bright despite only being lit by tarnished wall lights and a singular oil lamp on top of Sigewinne’s workstation. Even still, he puts on a brave face in front of Neuvillette.
The Iudex is breathing heavily as he approaches Wriothesley’s face. His gloved hands come up in front of him, almost touching but not quite, like the warden was made of glass and would shatter if he came any closer. It was the most distraught that he thinks he has ever seen his lover.
“Wriothesley…” The Chief Justice says, barely above a whisper. His voice is shaking, much like his hands.
The duke lets out what he thinks is an easy smile. He takes another second to try and focus on Neuvillette, not sure if the watery ripples he was seeing came from his hindered vision or the tears threatening to fall from the face in front of him.
“Hello, mon coeur . What are you doing here?”
Not falling for his feign of innocence, Neuvillette continues to hover shapes across his features, eyes darting from the patches to the stitches plastered all over him.
“May I?” His lover eventually asks, even though he knows Wriothesley could never turn down anything that came out of his mouth. The warden nods.
Two silk-fitted hands gently cup his jaw, their owner’s thumbs following their pursuit in examining his bruised face. Laden with sorrow that he doesn’t even know if the Iudex is aware of, they brush against his skin, soft but still firm enough with the intent on checking for any lingering pain. Wriothesley lets him take all the time he desires to look him up and down, to touch as much as he wants. When Neuvillette comes close to his eyes, which he presumes is still glassy from the incident, his own hand snakes up to cradle alongside his lover’s.
“I’m okay,” he tries to say as convincingly as possible. “It barely hurts anymore.”
Hung without a response, Wriothesley continues.
“I’m fine, Neuvi, really. Don’t you trust Sigewinne?”
The Iudex draws a tightly wound breath.
“It’s not Sigewinne that I don’t trust. It’s you.” He bites through gritted teeth, but Wriothesley knows it’s all bark. He feels the little nurse stare at him as she clears the materials on her desk.
“Did he cause you any trouble?” Neuvillette asks without looking away from his lover.
The melusine brings her pointer finger to her chin, picturesque image of contemplation. “Mm, not at all. His Grace actually came to me willingly, shortly after what happened.”
Wriothesley can’t help the smile that perks on his lips. “See? I was good.”
“So even you recognize the severity of your injuries.”
Whatever smirk that was drawn up on the warden’s face is quickly wiped off at the Chief Justice’s clipped tone but he recovers soon enough. Luckily, Neuvillette seems to have more pressing issues that he wants answered.
“How well can you see?”
Sigewinne replies for him. “He should still be able to see things close to him but it’s going to be a little cloudy from now on.” She swings the medical kit in her hands from side to side, swaying as she shifts her weight. “As for possible long term effects…”
Neuvillette takes his eyes away from Wriothesley for the first time since he stepped foot in the infirmary. “Long term effects?” He parrots quietly.
The melusine seems to assume that the room would be unable to take her diagnosis at face value, evident in the way she hesitates and fiddles with her first aid kit.
“It’s a miracle his Grace retained as much vision as he did. Even if the contents of the potion missed him, the shards of glass from the impact could have done something worse.”
Wriothesley feels Neuvillette’s hand tense before he fully turns around to look at him again.
“Glass? I was unaware there was physical contact.”
“I was able to dodge it before it could hit my face,” he explains, squeezing Neuvillette’s hand in his. “I tried to deflect it as it was happening, seeing how things were unfolding, but I guess I wasn’t fast enough.”
The Chief Justice’s lips crumple into a thin line. For a moment, Wriothesley morbidly thinks about how willing he’d be to chance another close call if he gets to see Neuvillette’s facade melt like this. Not that it should bring him any joy, rather, he strangely feels honored to be able to see this side of the Iudex, even with their newly established relationship.
Neuvillette never openly cries. As far as Fontainians know, thunderstorms and heavy rain that follow a particularly grueling trial just goes to show the sympathy that the Gods watching over them may or may not have. Others would believe the folktale of a hydro dragon weeping at the unfortunate fate of people watched by Egeria. But the truth of the matter is, Neuvillette does not cry. At least not in front of the duke. But today, Wriothesley thinks he might.
“And the offender?” His lover asks, voice watery.
“He’s been dealt with. I sent a few guards to keep watch and investigate his quarters for any remaining ingredients or extra vials he could have made. It’s under control.”
Neuvillette steels his expression. “I meant his name.”
Wriothesley brings their joined hands off his jaw and into his lap. He doesn’t take his eyes off the Iudex when he chuckles.
“What are you going to do? Put him on trial again just to end up back here?”
For a moment, he sees the professional and reverent Judge of Fontaine wear his lover’s face. “I know the Fortress of Meropide is under your authority, Wriothesley, but as the Chief Justice, you know I also have the power to compound that man’s sentence, even below ground.”
He wishes he could feel Neuvillette’s hand without his gloves, but the warden settles for the heat they emanate when he tightens his hold. “And I said it’s been handled. I already called Chlorinde to look into potential smuggling units.”
Neuvillette huffs like he’s waiting for him to continue.
“She says it’s unlikely that he had an accomplice on the inside so she’s working on narrowing it down.” He hopes he’s giving the best puppy eyes he can conjure, especially with the way they still twitch intermittently without his permission. “The guy was just trying to earn extra coupons in the ring to lessen his sentence. He wanted to win against me, no matter how dirty the play.”
His lover pulls one hand out of their entanglement and brushes his hair from his forehead, much like how the head nurse had before to tend his wounds. Wriothesley knows the issue still weighs heavy on Neuvillette in the way his eyes are set dimly. He can’t imagine what he’d do if he found his lover injured in a similar manner. For what it’s worth, Neuvillette may be faring in the best way possible. He doesn’t know if he can handle the indifference of the Chief Justice and he sure as hell wouldn’t expect the Iudex to completely coddle him. Wriothesley feels a little bad about ever having wished for repeated offenses though.
“It’s fine now, mon coeur . The guy will get his due punishment for violating the ring rules. I’ll follow Sigewinne’s advice to a tee. Chlorinde can follow up with you if you wish. I’m okay.”
Neuvillette brings his hand lower, reaching for the skin above his cheek again. Brushing the still tender flesh below his eye, he looks distantly at his lover as if he could see his own reflection in them.
“Alright,” he says as he leans in to place a kiss between the duke’s brows. “Do get better soon.”
They move wordlessly into a hug, limbs pulsing with relief as fight drains from both their bodies. Only when Wriothesley is wrapped around Neuvillette’s waist, and the latter embracing his shoulders in their position, does he realize they were left alone in the infirmary—no melusine nurse in sight.
Wriothesley feels a terrible migraine coming on when one of the guards come knocking against his office door. He grunts what he hopes is casual permission to enter, but he honestly can’t hear himself with what feels like cotton stuffed in his head. The hollow sounds of boots climbing up to the main floor, needles to his ears, thankfully ends quick when Violet makes her way to his desk and presents him with her report.
She salutes in greeting. “Here are the documents you asked for, Your Grace.”
He moves pending files aside to make room for the delivery. In doing so, he glances at his empty tea mug and humors the idea of making his fourth cup for the day. A tinkly voice in his head chides him as harshly as a small melusine nurse could and he pushes the thought away. He is imagining a pudgy finger waving itself in front of his face, warning him about his excessive caffeine intake when he realizes Violet is still eyeing the documents she handed over.
“Unless you have something else to report, Violet, you are dismissed.”
Upon being addressed directly, the guard perks up and lowers her hands that had just been wrung behind her back a second ago.
“Actually, Your Grace,” she hovers over his desk in an attempt to highlight a pile of papers that Wriothesley belatedly sees is clipped together unlike the rest of the loose stack. “I wanted to ask you about a few release forms you signed off on last week.”
He pads around the table for the papers in question, irritation rising between his eyebrows at his own attempt to clean up his workspace. When he thinks he gets ahold of it, he cards through them as she speaks.
“The front desk apparently found some discrepancies in the records. They didn’t recall those particular inmates having special cases to be released early like what your forms suggest.”
His eyes skim the documents but the words look muddy. He thinks he can vaguely make out his own signature at the bottom of some of them.
His silence must spook the guard because she quickly backtracks.
“N-Not to say that we don’t trust your judgment, Your Grace. Of course, if this is a misunderstanding, we can have Monglane clear things up.”
The duke leans back against his chair, hoping his sense of urgency (or lack thereof) carries through.
“At ease, Violet. I’m only one person, I could very well have overlooked these and accidentally stamped off on them. If anything, I’m glad you guys are doing your due diligence and checking my work.” He feels the guard’s shoulders sag with abated tension, a sigh released under her breath. “Thank you for bringing it to my attention. I’ll look it over again and give you an update as soon as possible.”
When she excuses herself and he hears the heavy metal door close, Wriothesley lets out the gulp of air lodged in his chest.
This has been happening more times than he’d like to admit—invalid papers from misplaced signatures, frequent tea puddles on the ground, and overcorrected punches on his practice dummy.
Objects in front of him just couldn’t stop moving and the people he saw on a daily basis kept multiplying before his very eyes. He heard the rumor going around the Fortress lately that staff and inmates alike have been avoiding him because of the raw exasperation he has been exuding. While he doesn’t mind it much— never really minded what people thought of him at all—he still wants to set a good example for everyone living under these rusty roofs.
He doesn’t think anyone has caught on regarding his declining vision and he knows Sigewinne wouldn’t break doctor-patient confidentiality but Wriothesley can’t help feeling uneasy about the way guards have been making prolonged eye contact with him as of late.
He has always returned the same energy he is given, cases in small talk included, and although his eyesight is hindered, their hesitation tells him more than he needs to know. Yet somehow, the fear of looking up and having his conversation partner meet glassy iris-blue eyes wins over the urge to do any of that.
It’s obvious why he can’t let the rest of the Meropide staff know of his condition and even more so to not let the inmates get any funny ideas. Weeks of little to no improvement and it feels like the world is just getting fuzzier. As he reviews the void documents again, a heavy sense of dread washes over him.
“Good morning, Your Grace. I have your breakfast health shake ready.”
Wriothesley hears Sigewinne’s bubbly steps before he sees her. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t even notice her come in.
The little nurse reaches up on her tippy toes to wave an unappetizing concoction that instantly makes his stomach queasy. Once placed haphazardly on the edge of his desk, the melusine climbs onto one of his plush seats, hands underneath her lap. She watches the warden with an expression he can’t put a name on.
“Thank you, Sigewinne.” He says, trying not to sound too disappointed. “Just in time too. I was feeling a bit parched.”
He reaches for the glass and hovers over the straw, pretending to drink. Even through the bulle fruit whipped cream on top—no doubt only added at his last request to have a chaser to wash things down—he can still taste the oddities of the nurse’s chosen ingredients.
For good measure, Wriothesley makes an audible gulp and licks his lips. “How…healthy tasting. I’ll be sure to finish this, you don’t have to watch me, Head Nurse.”
Sigewinne continues to look at him with that expression, legs dangling and kicking slightly below her seat. She ignores his comment. “I heard what Miss Violet came in for.”
Her round and clear eyes give him pause, catching him so off guard that he accidentally slurps up the straw and takes a sip of her slime condensate drink for real. He forces it down.
“She came in for business. What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s been the third time this week, Your Grace.” She says, as if it answers everything. “My shakes can only do so much, you have to go above ground and find a proper optometrist so that–”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“But why? If we don’t do something soon–”
“Because Neuvillette will–”
“Monsieur Neuvillette would want you to go, Your Grace!”
At this point, Sigewinne is practically leaning off her seat, feet digging into the suede red cushions and gloved hands planted on his desk.
“All the more reason why I can’t go. I’ll just worry him if he finds out I went to the city for treatment.”
For all of her melusine features, the angry pout on the head nurse’s face is not all that angry looking. At least he doesn’t think so from this distance at his desk. Still, Wriothesley finds himself bracing for something.
“In all honesty, Your Grace, your logic is unsound. We may know different sides of Monsieur Neuvillette but I think we can both agree prolonging a professional diagnosis will only make him worry more than leaving it untreated.”
The warden plays with the straw, bulle cream melting and sliding down the sides of the cup.
“If privacy is what you’re worried about, rest assured that I will contact a doctor whom we both trust and will keep your condition a secret from our Chief Justice. We may even be able to initiate a house call.” The nurse presses.
Wriothesley thinks about the recognition tests that Sigewinne performed on him the past couple of weeks. He had failed to recall the names of simple colors and mistook some shades for others. He was losing his depth perception during training, slowly becoming unable to see distinct lines—the dart board across his desk with numerous new holes everywhere but the bullseye was evidence enough. Numbers and letters were blurring together the farther Sigewinne pulled her test cards away, even when relying on his dominant eye.
Wriothesley thinks about the way Neuvillette had looked at him, steel blue eyes crinkling with unshed tears.
The screech of fine wood against metal grates brings focus back into his cloudy eyes.
“I won’t force you, Your Grace.” Sigewinne mumbles, clearly saddened by his indecisiveness. “But please do think about it.”
He watches the melusine’s silhouette waddle towards the door, her little rhinophores drooping in reflection of her disappointment. It takes a while longer for him to hear the hefty lead door snap shut.
Eventually, when the warden finishes reviewing his paperwork, he won't realize that there is a ring of water crusted on his documents and an inch of soft bulle foam still caking the inside of his glass.
Scratch what he said about Sigewinne’s doctor-patient confidentiality code. It has been raining nonstop for days above the fortress and according to the escort guards that bring in new inmates from the Opera House, it doesn’t seem like an end is in sight. Even barricaded inside a literal rusted fortress a few hundred meters under the ocean, the way the usual gleam of sunlight through the portholes was to be yearned for.
Apparently, Fontainians in the city agree, as the recent forecast section of the newspaper predicts wet skies and dark clouds for more days to come.
Now, Wriothesley could technically care less about the weather that reigns above ground. After all, considering his position, any mundane weather reports rarely deter him from his work—much less disrupt the waters his job operates in. Unless raging undercurrents or a viscous tsunami suddenly decides to invade the Fortress’s airtight security, it should be none of his concern.
And it isn’t.
Not until his mind drifts onto the idea of a weeping hydro dragon, alone in a spacious office with their heart seized by sadness. Wriothesley also thought the timing between the sudden storm above Meropide and Sigewinne’s last personal visit to his office was no mere coincidence. It certainly doesn’t help the melusine’s case that she has been acting weird lately during their check-ups, which was missing all the pleasantries that would usually accompany a visit to her.
This is what ultimately elicits his trip upwards.
As the clockwork gears in the elevator spin open, the porthole to the Opera House welcomes him to a view of the cloudy sky, still drenched in rainwater. Wriothesley holds out a hand, catching a few droplets and testing their weight. Perhaps he could forgo the umbrella for now.
He makes his way across the marble tiles, letting the light sprinkle dampen his hair. His boots carry him up the steps and he only runs up the last few when a member of the Marechaussee frantically ushers him inside. A couple more members of the detective force shuffle out to catch a glimpse of their new company, the one who opened the door for him directly addressing Wriothesley as a way to inform his colleagues—which seems to be enough to return them back to their work.
“Is the Chief Justice still here?” Wriothesley asks, as he shakes his hair dry.
The Marechaussee hands him a small hand towel. “No, sir. You just missed him. Monsieur Neuvillette should be well on his way back to the Palais Mermonia.”
Hearing the commotion, a melusine skips over to them from the main room.
“Did you need something from Monsieur Neuvillette?” They ask politely.
“Yes, I have something to discuss with him.”
The little melusine brings their paw up to their chin. “I’ll accompany you to the city if that’s where you’re headed. I have some reports to submit.”
With one quiet aquabus ride and a stroll through the city later, Wriothesley arrives in front of the Palais with way more nerves built up than he initially anticipated. Most of the melusine staff recognize him and he can’t decide whether it’s a good or bad thing when they all but push him into Neuvillette’s office before he can get checked in with Sedene.
The stack of reports that his melusine guide shoved at him are threatening to slip past his hands so he quickly makes his way towards the Chief Justice to deposit them. He barely has time to come up with something clever before Neuvillette finally addresses him.
“Wriothesley? What are you doing here so late?”
“I should be asking you the same question. Why are you still working?”
His lover puts down the fountain pen he was just holding and gives him his full attention. “I wanted to finish this report while it’s still fresh.”
The warden waves his own pile of papers. “Well, Tristane wanted to hand in hers for the last case you guys wrapped up.”
“You… came all this way to help Tristane?”
“Not really,” he replies, a little awkward. “She gave me her reports and closed the door on me before I could say anything else. I guess I ended up doing her a favor for taking me into the city to see you.”
That gets Neuvillette to set aside his documents and round the desk to finally approach him. Once in his space, his lover reaches for Tristane’s papers to put atop the growing stack behind him. He turns back around to face Wriothesley.
“Nothing happened to you on the way here, right? Did you encounter any trouble?” Neuvillette does that thing again where his hands hover over Wriothesley’s face like he’s too afraid to touch it.
“I can find my way to you in my sleep, mon coeur . You don’t have to worry.”
Neuvillette’s hands finally stop shaking by his sides and he brings them up to cup his lover’s jaw. “I’m serious, Wriothesley. You remember what Sigewinne said, you shouldn’t be walking around on your own. Much less making long treks away from the Fortress.”
The warden breathes a heavy sigh and wraps his arms loosely around the Iudex’s waist, bringing their bodies closer together.
“And what about you, huh? It’s been raining for weeks. The citizens must be catching onto something.”
From this close, Wriothesley can see the way Neuvillette’s expression turns soft.
“You’ve noticed?”
“How could I not?” He brushes a strand of silver hair behind his lover’s ear. “My guards have been complaining the entire week about transports and Sigewinne keeps looking out the windows like she dropped something in the sea.”
The Iudex has the decency to look embarrassed.
“I apologize for causing you any trouble in your work. It seems I have been… distracted lately.”
“Oh? I might have an inkling as to what it is, but would you care to share?”
Even without his platform boots, Wriothesley stands at about the same height as the Chief Justice. It is one of the many things that he loves about their dynamic. But at this distance, he feels like he’s being shrunk down and examined.
Neuvillette crowds his space even more, the hands on his face remaining gentle.
Then, their eyes meet.
One of Wriothesley’s favorite pastimes was being able to admire his lover’s features up close. To stand before the Iudex of Fontaine was an honor in itself but to be allowed to stand face to face like this and to be held this dearly by the man whom even the law trembles beneath, made Wriothesley’s heart want to jump out of his chest. Having to stare down iridescent, borderline reptilian eyes should scare most people but having them pick the warden apart so critically yet so warmly, makes his knees weak. It reminds him of the first time they ever slow danced in his office, the dingy metal pipes making for horrible acoustics from the gramophone.
He had initially offered to dance as a joke, not knowing Neuvillette would actually take him up on it. Though it shouldn’t come as a surprise, the Chief Justice was an expert at the waltz, leading the both of them in their steps. In moments like those, it gave Wriothesley the chance to truly take in his lover’s breathtaking details. His soft silver hair, like ripples in a sun shone pond. His pretty pearl eyes, captivating and kind. His steady and mellow heartbeat, tangible proof of his humanity.
He might never outwardly admit this love to anyone, but in this cold office with aquamarine fixtures and golden accents, Wriothesley thinks he could—if Neuvillette was the only one listening.
“Wriothesley,” Neuvillette says with a heavy breath, breaking the warden from his thoughts. “I know you might not want to hear this, but our time together is already so short. I cannot help but be deeply unsettled by the fact that your vision may never be the same again.”
He squeezes the dragon’s waist. “Neuvi.”
The Iudex ignores him and presses. “Even if we don’t spend long together, I would at least hope that you can enjoy your life to the fullest.”
“As long as I can still see you and your beauty, I am content, Monsieur.”
“You cannot be satisfied with just that, can you?”
With the teasing remark going over Neuvillette’s head, Wriothesley cradles his lover’s hands.
“I mean it, mon coeur . I’m content as long as I can still spend time with you, even if it means living out the rest of my days blind. The idea doesn’t bother me that much.”
Neuvillette’s breath hitches. “But are your eyes not important to see the rest of the world beyond me?”
“I will learn to live without them if I must. Not being able to see won’t stop me from living my life.” Wriothesley pushes further into his lover’s hands, almost kneading his face against them like a purring cat. He makes sure to have Neuvillette’s attention on him, both their eyes unmoving in their gaze. “Honestly, if this was my last night with passable vision, I think that would be enough for me.”
The Iudex closes the gap between them. Wriothesley finds himself leaving his mouth slightly agape, the suddenness of the kiss catching him off guard. Contrary to his shock, Neuvillette moves against him easily, his lips earnest in their attempt to convey what he cannot in words. He thinks he sees Neuvillette shed a shimmering tear as the Iudex lowers his hand to rest beside his neck. Before Wriothesley has the chance to fully reciprocate, Neuvillette is already pulling away.
He doesn’t move far though, his lover’s lips grazing his cheekbones to place atop both his eyes. The warden closes them on instinct.
“Pardon my selfish act. I couldn’t help but be moved by your resolve.”
Wriothesley shakes his head and laughs airily. “You’re welcome to do it anytime.” He says, feeling an immense pressure being lifted off his shoulders.
Neuvillette looks like he still has something to say, to somehow convince him to be more concerned about everything, but the duke knows his own steadfastness is written clear across his face. In the end, the Chief Justice of Fontaine relents and leaves gentle kisses on his lover’s eyelids once more.
Wriothesley hums as he pulls away again. “I’ll be fine, Neuvi. Truly.”
And although he sees the way Neuvillette hesitates when they finally let go, he knows his lover will respect his choice. And when he leaves the Palais Mermonia for the night, Wriothesley thinks about how much he’ll miss seeing the cloudless skies after it rains.
The eradication of the Oratice causes quite the stir in the world above.
Centuries of trials and undeniable verdicts—overseen by a unanimously trusted conscience—suddenly uprooted overnight will no doubt raise questions. It will also spark curiosity that was never acted upon, now that the guise of dissolution and death was no longer a concern. The latest issue in the newspaper wrote of Fontainians setting vacations off to the coastlines, enjoying their newfound ability to descend beyond the shores; while others experimented with their constitution by taking a splash in the city’s fountains, much to the guards’ dismay.
As for the status in Meropide, Wriothesley finds himself chugging away at work as usual, if only just relieved that he wouldn’t have to worry about the gear valve on the lowest deck anymore. He lost his only physical, albeit morbid, proof to test his ancestry, but he thinks it was never that important of a conclusion anyway. He smiles to himself, recalling his sarcastic remarks towards the traveler.
Despite the changes flowing through the nation, one thing has yet to yield: his vision. Wriothesley would like to think it has improved somewhat but Sigewinne’s tests say otherwise. He managed to get the hang of identifying the right shade ranges and discovered a pattern to the nurse’s number identification process—something the melusine quickly learned to change up before he got too familiar to sway his results. If anything, these static findings just prove his new inevitability.
This led Wriothesley to believe that he could start skipping out on the nurse’s weekly supplements. To no avail, two gloved paws always seem to find a way to sneak a suspicious-looking drink on his desk. And the duke would be damned if he didn’t finish every last drop by the time the melusine came bouncing back into his office to check on him.
Speaking of which…
“Come on in, Sigewinne.”
Bubbly steps make their way up the stairs and Wriothesley can hear sing-songy hums as they ascend. He barely looks up from his documents, purposefully waiting until the little nurse pops her head up the railing to start writing a new sentence. He hopes he’s coming off busy as he makes a show of his penmanship, something Sigewinne had previously been worried about.
The melusine doesn’t do anything more than give him a satisfied look, which he doesn’t meet directly but the nurse knows from the glance at the corner of his eye. She picks up his empty glass like she’s admiring it and then walks back down the way she came.
With this incidental routine, Sigewinne had long given up on trying to beg him to drink her smoothies, resorting to just leaving them on his desk to let him do as he pleases. She’ll never admit it but Wriostheley knows the melusine pulled out her best fake sniffles every time he refused to drink it.
He falls for it every time.
Just before she takes the first step down the stairs, Sigewinne suddenly turns around to face him.
“You have a guest, Your Grace.” She smiles, tilting her head like it was a thought she forgot to mention. If Wriothesley had looked up, he might have caught something else tangled in that smile.
His hand doesn’t pause. “You can send them in.”
Almost immediately, strong clicks start to accompany the melusine’s descent—a presence that wasn’t there before. What sounded to be two sets of falling footsteps against the spiraling staircase, one light in weight and the other sturdier. The new one is satisfying in its rhythm, steady and confident but unhurried.
Wriothesley’s ears had become fine-tuned over the years and especially so over the past month to accommodate the loss of a hindered sense. But blind or not, it came like second nature to associate a gentle face with the sound of bell charms and firm brass heels.
Through his lashes, Wriothesley watches the exchange between a pastel silhouette and their new visitor.
“Thank you, Sigewinne.” His lover’s deep, full voice addresses the fleeting melusine, a hand reaching out to pat her head.
Neuvillette waves at him when the warden finally lifts his head from his paperwork, covering the ground of his office in a few quick but graceful paces. “Am I intruding on your work?” the Iudex asks, already pulling out the chair in front of him despite not having received an answer.
Wriothesley watches him with a smirk. He puts his pen down. “For you, my love? I always have time.”
A hardy purr rings in Neuvillette’s throat.
The duke makes a big gesture to push his documents aside. “Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of a personal visit from the Chief Justice of Fontaine?” Wriothesley asks teasingly, barely concealing his smile now. “I thought I was supposed to meet you later.”
“Our prior arrangement for tea is still on the table. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”
“And that warrants a visit in person? From the man who wouldn’t even take half a day off for himself to stroll around the city?” Wriothesley leans his elbows against the desk, grinning as he meets Neuvillette’s eyes.
His lover breaks eye contact first.
“I suppose you got me there. I came to give you something. Or rather, return.”
Wriothesley blinks a couple of times, wracking his brain for anything he could have forgotten or left at the Palais. Aside from the fact that he didn’t own very many personal belongings, he normally doesn’t carry very much with him on his person. When the warden comes up short, he asks, “Did I leave something with you?”
“Not particularly.” Neuvillette uncrosses his legs and begins to stand. He walks to the center of Wriothesley’s office and holds his hand out in usher. “It might be easier to show you than to explain.”
Thoroughly confused, Wriothesley pushes his own chair back and joins Neuvillette in practiced strides. He takes his lover’s awaiting hand.
“Alright, what is this about?”
With them face to face, the duke takes a second to hold Neuvillette’s gaze. He attempts to search for a hint, anything as to why the Iudex suddenly seemed to be so rigid in contrast to his earlier open character. But his lover seems to return the movement graciously, peering at him like he would an exquisite painting.
“I want you to close your eyes, Wriothesley.”
“Surprises?” He asks, but follows the request nonetheless. He immediately feels one of Neuvillette's hands squeeze his upper arm, the motion steadying him. “Since when do we do surprises?”
Not responding to the question, Wriothesley feels his lover’s other hand lay above his eyes, the dragon's thumb pressed slightly above his nose. “Neuvillette?”
With the Iudex’s voice slightly above a whisper, his words are soft, “Keep them closed.”
This strange intimacy makes Wriothesley uneasy. He trusts Neuvillette entirely, having given his mind and heart to him long ago, but this was unlike anything his lover had done before. The hand not resting on his face are rubbing tender circles into his wrist now, kneading gently to reassure him. He was completely at the Chief Justice's mercy but Wriothesley found that he couldn't care less.
Then, all of a sudden, the warden's eyes felt wet like he was crying. He wants to wipe them away, a flood of vulnerability washing through him, but Neuvillette’s grasp is guiding. As if reading his mind, Wriothesley feels his lover’s hand pull away briefly to brush the running tears for him.
“No peeking.” The Iudex continues to insist.
And Wriothesley wouldn’t dare to open them, even if he wanted to.
Everything happens at once. A kiss is placed on his forehead. The tear tracks dry up, like they were never there in the first place. His cheeks feel hot. He lets out an involuntary gasp. Neuvillette’s warmth leaves his immediate space, his hands still close and massaging his wrists.
“You may open them.”
Wriothesley counts one, two deep breaths before slowly opening his eyes. What he initially saw was not unlike how he had experienced life the past month—moving shapes and disorienting colors—but when everything settles and starts to align, he is taken aback.
The walls of his office are algae green, tinged from the illusion of the reflection of the ocean. He can see the fine details of each pebble that made up the bricks lining the room. The gramophone no longer stands dull with its new muted shine. He can see the rubies in the crest behind his desk, glistening under the moonlit sea. It makes pointing out the individual colors of each book on his shelves that much easier.
He blinks. More than necessary, really. But he needs to know if this is a dream or not.
Wriothesley whips his head back towards his lover, who might be rivaling his awe as he smiles unabashedly. “What do you see, Wriothesley?”
“You,” he manages to say weakly. “I see you, Neuvi. I can see everything like I had before.”
Neuvillette squeezes his hand against his jaw, running his thumb under the skin below his eyes. “Then, it worked.” He sounds breathless.
“But how?”
Neuvillette stares into his eyes, pupils dilating so much that Wriothesley can barely see his lavender irises anymore. It feels like he’s looking past him but also dissecting him under a microscope, the juxtaposition causing ants to run up his spine. The Iudex has a soft, almost dumbfounded look on his face. He’s searching for something in Wriothesley’s eyes. He can't tell what it is exactly. But he’ll let Neuvillette look all he wants until he finds it.
“A good friend returned something that was once taken from me. Something that grants me the power to give you back the precious thing you lost.”
Wriothesley begins to piece the puzzle together in his head. He makes a face like, Are you saying what I think you’re saying , and as a silent confirmation, Neuvillette smiles.
“Thank you, mon coeur. And thank you to your friend too.”
“I’m sure she would be happy to hear that from you.”
Neuvillette takes another moment to commit Wriothesley’s eyes to memory. Though his experiences and knowledge of the world extends past his lover’s lifespan, he doesn’t think he has ever seen anything as breathtaking as his lover’s iris blue eyes. He’ll have to keep them closer to his heart from now on.