Chapter Text
Rain tapped against the forest floor in harsh clumps, the soft rhythm broken by pants and the messy stomps of feet running. Joining a party last-minute for extra coin was not something William wanted to do, and now it would be the cause of his death. A crash of thunder startled him, causing him to lose his foothold for just a moment. A gaunt wolf-like creature gained distance from behind. If William hadn't exhausted all of his mana (and had a competent team), he wouldn't be in this predicament. He curses to himself.
"Ugh! You stupid wolf! Leave me alone!"
To make things worse, he was completely lost in an enchanted forest, of all places. The king sent out a request for a "group of brave adventurers" to clear out any tainted creatures, yet it seemed the group William had chosen were the tainted ones. Who even leaves their healer behind when faced with an abyssal monster?
He wasn't sure how long he had run for before he noticed the footsteps behind him had stopped, but he was grateful for whatever caused them to. He took a moment to catch his breath, panting as he observed his surroundings.
William's eyes widened as he found himself faced with a towering, desolate castle. It was made of dark stone and marble, adorned with carvings and statues along its long steps. The forest shrubbery had begun to reclaim it, covering it with flowers and moss. His eye was drawn to the front entrance, the large wooden doors open ajar.
William stands, hands gripped on his holy cloak as if it'd give him protection. Staying outside in a cursed forest during a thunderstorm definitely was worse than spending the night in an abandoned castle, so it's not like he had a better choice.
He plants one heavy boot in front of the other, careful not to slip on the slick steps. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, feeling a dark energy escaping from the open doors in front of him.
"So what if it's haunted…? I'll leave as soon as I recover my mana," William shivers, pulling his cloak closer around his body.
He slips inside gently, peeling his wet hood from his forehead and shaking off any lingering droplets. It was much warmer inside, and so William relaxed. He takes steps further into the grand hall, gazing at the large stained glass windows and the intricately embroidered carpet he stands on. The only light was from the full moon and the occasional lightning strike.
Suddenly, he hears the sound of the door slam shut and the click of the lock. He whips his head around, now seeing the light from outside no longer peaking through the entrance. Then he felt it, the sinister feeling lingering on the back of his neck once more.
A soft, tired voice rang in his ears, barely inches behind him, "Why are you here?"
William's eyes widen, his body utterly frozen. He doesn't even allow himself to breathe. How did he get behind me? He trembles, but his words were oddly calm, "I've come to seek shelter from the storm."
He can feel the eyes behind him narrow in scrutiny, trying to deduce any "true intentions" William may have. This look softens as another lightning bolt illuminates the hall, showing the cleric's soaked clothing and his shivering stature as a result of it.
"You may stay until it passes," he replies in a pitying tone.
William turns around to thank him, looking up to meet the man's gaze. His eyes widen as he takes in his face; he was sickeningly pale, with sharp features and deep onyx eyes, which seemed to carry a longing he couldn't place. Long black curls contour his face, and his body is covered by a long velvet cloak. His beauty seemed almost undead, like the tempters Father Henry had warned him of.
After what felt like minutes, he finally let the words slip out in a gentle murmur, "Thank you."
The man walks towards William's side, taking him under his cloak by resting his arm on his shoulders, "You'll catch a cold if you stay in these clothes much longer." He looks back at William with an enigmatic expression, "Come."
He's brought to a drawing room decorated with fine art and plush velvet chairs. The man strikes flint against a steel bar to light the fireplace, then motions for him to sit in the armchair closest to the fire, "Wait here."
The man returned soon with some fresh clothing for William to change into, "There's a dressing room next door," he says, motioning to the door behind him.
William stands to grab the clothing, looking up at the man with a soft smile, "Thank you, sir…?"
"Michael," their fingers brush against each other as he hands the clothing over, "You may call me Michael."
The two lock eyes, "Thank you, Sir Michael."
"You are most welcome," Michael nods, his gaze gentler than before. He watches as the cleric leaves to dress himself, a lingering heat resting on his cheeks. A gnawing hunger festered underneath, raw and itching for a fix.
William softly clicks the door behind him, already unhooking his cloak and unbuttoning his outer layers. He slips into the given clothing, finding it a bit too big, but paying it no mind. He returns to the drawing room after placing his dirty garments in a laundry bin nearby.
"Your clothing seems to be a bit big on me," He chuckles slightly as he sits back down near the fire. He noticed Michael had abandoned the cloak he wore, leaving it folded on the cushion next to him.
"My apologies, I don't receive many guests.” He stands, walking over to where William sat. He leans over the boy, hand resting on the chair's arm. "May I know what you were doing in these woods so late at night?"
William swallows. The gentle gaze given to him earlier was now replaced by a deep, predatory one. However, he doesn't cower. He leans up, "A commission, I joined a party last minute, and they ditched me when it proved to be too difficult a challenge."
Michael withdraws, turning his head away, "Fools." He looks back with the gentle gaze from before, yet his jaw remains clenched. "You're lucky you were not hurt. Next time, I implore you to be more careful with whom you trust your life to."
He nods, "I will."
"It's getting late, you must be getting tired, no? I'll show you to your guest quarters." Michael turns, looking back at William as he stands to follow.
The two enter a long hall, and intricate wooden archways divide the doors to each room. Opposite the doors were windows which looked out onto a garden, which was surprisingly well kept compared to the outside of the castle. An occasional lantern helped keep the space lit, allowing William to gawk at the masterful architecture that was Michael's abode.
His attention was soon torn away by Michael's voice, "Your name, may I know it?"
William scurries a bit, so he is side to side with the man. He looks up at him, "It's William."
His breath hitches for just a moment before he collects himself. "It suits you," he responds tersely.
William's eyebrows raise, "It does?"
He tilts his head, "Aren't you a cleric?"
"How did you know?"
Michael reaches behind him to open the bedroom door. Their proximity was too close, much too close. William let a gasp slip through his shaking lips, his cheeks flushing up until the taller pulled away. He feels Michael's gaze on him once more, an invasive type, like he could see his soul.
"The magic garment you wore is only given out by the church."
William looks down at his clothing, only to remember he now wears this stranger's instead of his usual garb. "Right," he chuckles.
The two enter the guest room, where they are surrounded by deep floral wallpaper and intricate furniture. There was a balcony connected to two large French windows. In the middle of the back wall was a canopied bed, curtained by silks and linens. The bed itself was made with silk sheets and plush wool blankets, a sure sign of a good night's rest to come.
Michael points to a wall behind him, "In that wardrobe, there is sleepwear, and the door next to it leads to the bathing quarters. Anything else I may help you with?"
"That'll be all," William walks forward, taking Michael's hands into his own, "Thank you so much."
He responds with a kiss to the back of his palm, "It has been my pleasure." His touch lingers before hesitantly letting go, his strides leading him to the corridor.
He whispers just before shutting the door behind him, "Goodnight, little cleric, sleep well."
William is left standing flushed and confused. His thumb brushes against where Michael kissed his hand, lingering just until he gathers himself enough to go and bathe.
The bathing quarters were luxurious, simply put. The marble flooring was cool against his bare feet, each piece of metal hardware was expertly carved, and each corner was decorated with vases of flowers and foliage. Yet, the room seemed dead, as if no one had used it in a very long time. Perhaps, only occasionally, to replace any wilted flora.
William steps up to the clawfoot tub, gently turning the left nozzle to make sure it at least still works. The tub spurted a bit, the pipes groaning with unease as the spout began to flow.
It had been a while since he'd had the chance to bathe himself in anything but a river, and for this chance, he was grateful. He scoured the cupboards for soaps and exfoliants, gathering his loot on the stone shelving just below the frosted window.
He strips himself of his gifted clothing, dipping his toes into the water to check for temperature. Despite being so unused, the water came perfectly warm.
William's mind was anywhere but focused on the task at hand. He thought of the strange master of the estate, with his ethereal complexion and gentlemanly kindness, which left him simply stunned. His eyes drift across the room as he lowers himself into the tub. To the side, he finds himself faced with a portrait of a woman. She was surrounded by hydrangeas, her soft auburn curls blending into the petals. She bore a striking resemblance to Sir Michael, perhaps his mother? She was certainly beautiful like him.
William brings his knees to his chest, the warm water enveloping his body. "Beautiful?" He muttered. It was a strange thought, but not unwelcome. The man was quite beautiful, but there was something… off.
He was kind, enigmatic, and didn't particularly seem accustomed to talking about himself. William cups the warm water, bringing it to his face with a scrubbing motion to ground himself.
He clasps his hands above his cross necklace, staring at his knobby knees, "Lord, in heaven, may you protect me for as long as I am here, Amen," He prayed. He was sure Michael wouldn't hurt him, but he just needed to be sure. There was no harm in praying about it.
By the time he'd gotten out of the bath and into his bed, rain still thudded against the window. He closed his eyes, snuggling against the plush bedding to burrow for sleep.
It was the dead of night when William felt the ghost of an icy breath on his neck, the warmth of a body embracing his, and the sense of unease that had begun to associate with Michael. His body was frozen, hairs on the back of his neck stood tall. He couldn't move even if he wanted to.
The breath moved up to his ear, a whisper worshiped, "My cleric."
And he awoke in a suffocating cold sweat. He was alone. Was it just a dream? It felt so real. Who did that oddly familiar voice belong to? Questions flooded the young cleric's mind as he threw his legs over the edge of the bed, grabbing hold of a lantern on the side table.
He stands and whispers a soft spell to light the candle aflame. Perhaps a walk and a glass of water could help clear his head. If he were lucky, maybe the kitchen had milk.
One hand gently gripped his chemise, the other on the handle of his lantern. He holds it out in front of him, leading his way down the cold stone hallways.
It seemed, however, that fate had other plans for him. Too many corridors and too many wrong turns had left him very lost. He wandered down a dark hallway until he reached a grand doorway. It was tall, as large as the castle gates outside. One door was open, warm light spilling through.
William tiptoes up to the crack and peeks into the room. There he saw a vast library, two or three stories at least, books filled every shelf. There were so many, He was sure he could never count them all. In the middle was a lounge surrounding a fireplace and coffee table. Couches were plush velvet, and above the fireplace was a portrait of Sir Michael, adorning the viewer with a soft, loving gaze.
Below was the real deal, curled against an armchair with a purple-bound book sitting in his lap. He leans to get a better look, accidentally pushing the door open in the process. It creaks with a groan, gathering Michael's attention.
"William?" He questions, closing his book.
William straightens his back, "Ah! Uhm— hello."
Michael stands and begins walking closer to where the other stood, "What are you doing up?"
"I had a rather unique dream, and it woke me, so I opted to fetch a glass of milk from your kitchen," he looks around, "But as you can see, I'm quite lost."
He chuckles at the tone of innocence, "Would you like me to show you the way?"
William rubs the back of his palm with his thumb, "If you wouldn't mind, yes, please."
Michael takes his lantern and walks past him, looking back to make sure that the young cleric is following. The two walked in cold silence, William didn't dare look in front of him. Instead, he stared at his feet, matching his pace so that he always stayed one pace behind the taller.
"Your dream," Michael starts, looking back, "May I know what it was about?"
William looks up, "It wasn't a night terror or anything… just odd." He catches up, now side by side with Michael. "An unfamiliar voice was behind me, whispering my name. I remember feeling cold and uneasy, but nothing else after."
Michael cocks his head, "Was it scary?"
He shakes his head, "No, just unnerving."
"Well then, I hope it does not disturb your sleep further after this."
To William, the walking seemed to stretch along forever. Each turn and follow made him feel he was getting lost deeper and deeper in a cold, stone labyrinth adorned with gargoyles and vines.
William gawks, "Your estate is huge, sir. It's as impressive as the chapel in the city."
"It was built many years ago, and it has been in my family for generations," Michael says as his eyes drift along the carved ceilings.
The two finally reach a pair of doors, which Michael pushes open with ease. William goes first, thanking him as he passes. He was unsure if he'd ever see a kitchen bigger than the one in the church, but this one definitely was. Each step in this castle made him feel so small, it was such an odd feeling compared to the grand reverence he felt beneath the tall ceilings of the chapel.
The overhead lights flickered on, and Michael took the lead in finding a ceramic pitcher and a glass. William's eyes didn't leave him. They followed each movement he made, looking over his nice lounge clothing and his seemingly tired face.
"Why were you awake? Also having trouble?" William questions, taking the glass so nicely prepared for him.
"Sleep often escapes me," He looks away, "It's been an issue since I was a boy. I've learned to manage it now, though."
William's brows furrow as his eyes narrow in on Michael's mouth. His eyes widen slightly, seeing the extended canines. Were they fangs? If Michael were a creature of the undead, surely he would've killed him by now, right? After all, we'd be natural enemies.
He brought the cup to his lips, savoring the sweet liquid. He decided it was none of his business if he were to leave by morning anyway. William lowers his glass, leaving the dribble of a white mustache on his upper lip. Michael takes a handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing the liquid away for him. William swallows down any chance of red on his cheeks.
"Would you like me to walk you back to your quarters?" Michael offers.
William finishes his glass and places it on a nearby counter, where it'll be forgotten until morning. He nods, "Yes, please." Blush creeps up his neck as Michael flashes him a tired smile. The lights flick off, and the two begin their descent back to the guest hall.
"Thank you for everything, Sir Michael." He walks closer this time.
"It is no problem, truly, you've been a wonderful guest," he responds bashfully, as if each kind word softened his heart.
William purses his lips, "Do you live here all alone? I've yet to see anyone— not even a servant."
Michael chuckles a bit, "No, I have a couple of servants, they just tend to work during the day. You came quite late. You barely missed them."
He nods, "I see. In the bathing quarters, there's a painting of a woman. May I know who she is?"
Michael's eyes widen just slightly, "Ah, she is my Mother."
William's elven ears twitch. "She's quite beautiful," he pauses, "You two look very similar."
"Do we? Thank you, that is very kind."
The pattering of rain droplets hardens with each echoing step. "The storm is getting harsher," William worries, "I don't think it'll clear tomorrow."
Michael places a hand on his shoulder, "Then I must reiterate, you have been a lovely guest. You may stay for as long as you need to."
The two share a brief smile before stopping just in front of William's room. He turns to face the taller one, who takes the lantern from him. Their fingers brush together just ever so slightly.
"Well, this is it, Sir Michael. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Sir William, may you be blessed with the sweetest of dreams."
They smile once more at each other, a giggly, sweet smile that blooms away any lasting tension. William pushes his door in, and Michael sets off back to the library.
Once inside, William rushes to his bed and curls into his plush blankets. He grips his cross pendant tightly, hoping to dissipate any lingering blush upon his face. Hopefully, he'd at least be able to survive the next few days.