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It had officially been four months since the prophecy was fulfilled.
While the flooding left the people of Fontaine mostly intact, if you excused the stray cuts and bruises caused by floating debris, the damage dealt to the city streets and homes was as obvious as the markings on a Rishboland Tiger: profound and hard-to-miss. It had taken a considerable amount of effort from almost every resident within Fontaine to return the city to a more presentable state, and with the aid being provided by the Fatui, that relief effort was made all the easier thanks to their nearly inhuman amount of resources, both with physical goods and human labor.
Standing at the front lines of that effort was none other than the Knave, the Fourth Fatui Harbinger, and her many, many children, namely a peculiar pair of twins and their soft-spoken brother. The three were in the thick of the mystery behind the prophecy from the very beginning, going as far as to infiltrate the confines of the Fortress of Meropide to return with the answers their “Father” so desired. Their efforts, while ultimately sloppy, did eventually bear fruits from their seeds, even if it was at the cost of their sanity.
Not many were fit to endure such intense mental and physical trauma and emerge ‘fine’ on the other side. But for the children of the Hearth, trauma was simply an old friend they learned to embrace with a smile a long, long time ago.
It was always best to find comfort in the pain rather than sit and cry while it reared its ugly, grotesque head for hours on end.
Arlecchino was much too important a person to stay in Fontaine for any longer than absolutely necessary, so it was up to her children and the soldiers she left behind to clean up the remnants of a nightmare come and gone. For one member of the House in particular, it was an entirely unspoken rule that he would take his Father’s place as the head diplomat for the Fatui, carrying every ounce of responsibility that came with it alone .
“As the future King of this kingdom, this should be but a cakewalk for you,” that sickeningly soothing voice of the Knave tickled at the back of his head. “I have the utmost faith that you will do as you must. Remember your mission, my dearest Lyney.”
“Of course, Father. I won’t let you down.” Exposing his scalp in a deep, unshakingly loyal bow, the magician felt as though he was offering his head before the mouth of a beast, mere seconds away from being eaten alive. Were all children supposed to be this tense around their fathers? Certainly not, but Lyney had already made peace with this unusual relationship of theirs.
Each and every week following the flooding of Fontaine, almost like clockwork, Lyney would make his diplomatic appearances at both the Palais Mermonia and the Fortress of Meropide, “to establish steady, more stable relationships with both factions of the nation of Hydro,” Father had told him. It was no secret that the Fatui were far from well-liked in the many nations across Teyvat, but thanks to their heavy involvement in the reconstruction of Fontaine, the reputation of the Fatui was slowly and steadily climbing alongside the city’s state of recovery. This gave the House of the Hearth ample chance to resink its claws into the city’s turf, disguising itself as a helping hand rather than a means to an end.
Lyney really hated taking advantage of those who were innocent, but he was duty-bound to his Father above all else. If Father wanted the moon, he would seize it along with every star in the sky. He owed the Harbinger his life; what kind of a child would he be if he didn’t dance when told to?
Four months marked the sixteenth week of Lyney being left behind as the proverbial spokesperson for the Fatui. It was a hefty job, and entirely too taxing on both his mind and body, but he insisted he could handle it, much to Lynette and Freminet’s dismay. He could keep up the charade for a little while longer, truly, for as long as he ultimately had to. The soles of his shoes had yet to be worn through, so his job was far from over. Luckily for the magician, meetings with the Iudex Neuvillette, while long and enduring, were still pleasant in nature, even if the man clad in blue was a bit awkward with small talk and could only offer various types of water as refreshments. Lyney was confident that the liquid in each of those pitchers was exactly the same, but the Iudex seemed insistent that they were all entirely distinct from one another.
The Duke, on the other hand, was an entirely different story. Meetings with Wriothesley were often short and sweet unless there was some sort of major development suddenly in the works, but the man’s attitude made discussions within the walls of Meropide feel longer than those within the Mermonia. Lyney and Wriothesley often behaved like oil and water: two substances that wouldn’t ever mix no matter how hard you tried. And yet, even knowing this fact like it was Celestia’s gospel, there was something oddly gravitational about that ungodly irritating, borderline cocky warden that drove the blond Fatuus mad.
After everything that happened, leading up to the events of the prophecy, how could Lyney even find it in himself to be drawn to the other man at all? It didn’t make sense, and it probably never would.
Lyney was already growing more and more familiar with the layout of the underwater prison with each passing week, and with his new title as a Fatui diplomat rather than a prisoner, his presence within the Fortress was barely regarded with the batting of an eye. The young woman at the front desk already knew him by both face and name, so there was little need to address him every time he entered. Once Lyney was officially registered on the list of people Wriothesley considered his special guests (the gesture, while entirely professional, still made the young magician’s skin crawl), he was free to move about the prison whenever and however he wished, as long as he stayed out of the Forbidden Zone. What a shocker.
Giving his due respects with a nod and a casual wave over his shoulder to those at the registry, the thick, rubber soles of his boots created a muffled clicking sound when met with the dense, rusted metal of the Fortress floor. There wasn’t much ground left to cover to reach the Duke’s office, considering that Lyney already knew the route by heart, but even still, it wasn’t very hard for the magician to find himself distracted by the constant happenings of the prison regardless. The heavy, crisp clacking of the Production Zone’s machinery penetrated through the floors beneath him, causing the building to shake and rumble every so often, while a symphony of voices, some quiet and some boisterous, filled the air and made the dull confines of the underwater world feel much more alive than many would believe possible. Who knew that a place chock-full of outcasts could feel so inviting?
The blond Fatuus was plenty experienced enough to tune out noises he detested and tune in noises he desired, so it mattered not if a group of civilians-turned-criminals were getting too chatty near the Coupon Cafeteria. Surely they weren’t drunk; alcohol was contraband in the Fortress. Perhaps they were simply just that noisy on the regular? You would think that Lyney would have mentally logged this kind of information by now, considering how often he finds himself re-breathing the same muggy old prison air at least once a week. It was a miracle that his lungs hadn’t turned stale, crusting over with fine salt crystals from the smell of the seawater alone... He’d have to be sure to give Freminet his sincerest condolences the next time he saw him.
“Ah, well if it isn’t Mr. Lyney!” That unmistakably deep tone, a voice akin to that of an old gear with a bad habit of screaming for oil, belonged to none other than Wolsey, the supervisor of the cafeteria. He was an alright guy. Not super chatty, but not super unfriendly either. Pretty run of the mill if you were to ask Lyney.
Still, he was certainly worth his weight in Mora compared to most of the other members of the Fortress, a certain Duke to name one in particular. Almost like flicking a light switch, the smile on the young magician’s face sprung to life, the teeth flashing through vaguely pink lips shining brighter than the old, busted lights illuminating the cafe counter. “Monsieur Wolsey! A pleasure to see you again, my friend.”
“Another meeting with His Grace, I presume? I doubt you’re here for recreational reasons.” His laugh was just as rough as the occasional rumble in his throat.
“A correct assumption to make!” The laugh in Lyney’s own throat was the total opposite, lighter and more soothing on his vocal cords, even if a bit breathy around the edges. Nimble fingers covered by a fine layer of cotton would grab at the brim of his signature top hat, flipping it up and down into a brief, friendly bow across his torso. As much as Lyney hated being in a place crawling with bad memories, he couldn’t find it in himself to be outwardly rude, at least not to anyone who was simply passing through his line of sight. He’d be sure to save that kind of snake-like attitude for a certain warden. Returning his hat to his head with a quick, practiced swipe of his hand along its brim, a tired but honest look of curiosity would pass through sharp, lilac eyes. “I, too, assume that you’ve been well since the last time we got to chat?”
“Ah, you know how the days are down here. Long and slow!” Wolsey’s signature chuckle would slowly delve into a minor fit of coughs, the hand he used to block the sound waving around in dismissal just beside his head. “Things have been the same every day for the last… Shoot, how old am I again?”
“Oh, believe me, I trust you. I think I’d be more shocked if the days in Meropide weren’t repetitive,” Lyney mused gently under his breath, his eyes flitting about the mostly empty tables nearby before landing on a certain harvester mek just beside the main awning of the cafe. “It’s good to see you as well, Bran.”
“Greetings.” A static-like, monotone voice shuddered through the old robot, its wheel turning with seemingly no destination in mind. “What can I do for you?”
Its responses were automatic, programmed to serve one purpose and one purpose only. Lyney wasn’t expecting to have a proper chat with a mek of all things. However, he couldn’t help but humor the machine regardless of whether or not its words were easily predictable. Just another thing that he’d have to thank his little brother for. “Nothing at all, my friend. Just giving out my hellos.”
“Understood.” A solid clink and a thunk followed by brisk silence. Lyney figured that was the end of that.
However, something was starting to feel oddly uncanny about the space around him. Nothing had changed, at least not visually, but the energy surrounding that general floor of the Fortress felt… Strange. Lyney was familiar with all types of strange, but this particular kind of sensation was certainly not kind in the slightest. It felt sinister like a spider crawling up the back of his neck. He did what he could to keep the lifting of his hand to the back of his head casual, gloved fingers scratching absentmindedly to dull the odd ache in his skin. “Tell me, the Duke wouldn’t happen to be out and about now, would he?”
“Mm.” Wolsey thought out loud with a hand on his chin, his eyes searching about the drawers behind the counter while his ears remained trained on the younger man across from him. “Not that I recall! His Grace is always in his office, at least more often than not. I reckon he’s still in there now considering he’s meetin’ with you and all. He’s quite punctual when it matters!”
When it matters. Why did that make Lyney’s skin itch even worse? “But of course! You never can predict that man, however. He could have gotten the sudden urge to stretch his legs. It’s not as though the Iudex himself is down here to pay a visit.”
“‘Spose not! But I’d reckon that you’re still a rather important guest. Ah hell, I’m sure he already knows you’re here! His Grace tends to know stuff like that.”
“Perhaps he does.” Did he really count as important? Lyney considered people like Father to be important, not himself. “It’s like he has eyes everywhere, I’ve learned.”
Wolsey seemed to laugh at that comment, somehow aware of everything that went down between the Duke and the Knave’s second-in-command. At least, he knew a somewhat watered-down version of it. “That he does, but he wouldn’t be the Duke if he didn’t!” Lyney supposed he had a point there. “Say, need a meal or anything to go before you get stuck in that meeting? A friend of His Grace is a friend of mine! I’ll make sure it’s a deluxe, just for you.”
‘A friend of his Grace is a friend of mine!’ Oh please. Despite the hiss in his gut, he had to keep up appearances. He’d never let his smile falter, never in a million years. “I appreciate the thought, Mr. Wolsey, but I assure you that I’m just fine. Monsieur Neuvillette and company were plenty generous with their snacks and tea just hours ago. I believe my stomach is fine where it’s at for the time being.”
Wolsey seemed to understand with a brisk nod of his head, the quirk in his lips lifting his mustache just a touch. The wrinkles in his face made his aura much more inviting than the average person's. He had quite a lot of “dad energy,” at least that was a phrase Lyney had heard Navia use before. She was quite the eccentric woman. “No worries, Mr. Lyney, this old man hears you loud and clear.” Without missing a beat, the cafe supervisor was already back to organizing plates and setting meals aside to pass them through Bran’s internal storage unit. A diligent worker he was. Lyney could respect his work ethic. “Do say hello to His Grace for me, won’t you? I haven’t seen him around for his lunch hour like usual!”
Wriothesley? Acting out of his normal routine? How peculiar. Soft, platinum blond bangs fell across Lyney’s right eye as his head dipped into a careful nod, his smile as bright as it ever was. “I’ll be sure to pass on your regards! You can count on me, my friend.”
“Aye. A good kid you are.” There was that gruff laugh again. “Don’t work your brain too hard, lest you end up a zombie by the time you leave through those gates!”
The metaphorical spider at the back of his neck was beginning to grow restless, making the magician give in to the smallest of shivers. Undetectable on the outside, but soul-shaking on the inside. Just what the hell was going on? Detaching his hand from his neck, Lyney gave his second casual wave of the day, tipping the brim of his hat towards the ground as his body turned to flash the skin of his shoulder blades to the man behind him. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. A lovely afternoon to you, Mr. Wolsey.”
Luckily for Lyney, the Duke’s office was just a few long strides away from the Coupon Cafeteria, making the switch from casual conversation to serious discussion all the shorter. The blond Fatuus had already passed it by when Wolsey had caught his attention, truth be told, so retracing the steps he had taken just moments before was already giving him a heavy sense of deja vu. The soles of his boots had already walked the same path fifteen times before, or thirty if you counted the trip out and away from the office on top of that. It was slowly but surely becoming a part of Lyney’s own routine, much to the magician’s dismay. Those with even half a brain would be able to note that Lyney’s habit of keeping count was rather unusual considering his supposed hatred for the warden for the Fortress, so why did he feel the need to remember such a number?
Not even Lyney himself understood why.
By the time his feet had carried him from the cafe to the rather intimidating grand doors of the Duke’s office, two particular sensations began to swim through his bloodstream: unease and an unknown sense of fear. Lyney knew exactly why he felt so uneasy. Even though it had been four months since the events of that fateful day in the Fortress, he still couldn’t shake the prickling sensation along his back and his arms. Most would go insane reliving the same tortuous memory every time they were faced with the source of their suffering, but Lyney wasn’t like most. He was already used to shouldering his past burdens, even if they hurt him more than just mentally. Father certainly wouldn’t be happy if he let his mistakes hold him down forever.
However, that odd sense of fear was new. It was new, and it scared him. Lyney had been through enough to be able to stare that usual sense of fear right in its eyes in silent challenge, holding his ground until it eventually left him alone to continue with his work, but this? This kind of fear was foreign, feeling just as sinister as that metaphorical spider crawling across his skin by the cafeteria. The longer it lingered, however, the quicker the hairs at the back of his neck began to stand up. Now this was a feeling he could understand.
He was being watched.
With the palm of his right hand pressed firmly against the sturdy, cold metal of the door, the Fatuus risked a look back to find… Nothing. Nothing at all. Not a single object or person was out of place compared to how they were just before his back had turned. Not even the two guards standing at attention at the end of the walkway had moved. They never paid him any mind because they already knew about his relation to Wriothesley and the nation’s revitalization project. So the real question became: just who or what was staring holes into his back?
Even if the unsettling sensation was beginning to ease up the longer Lyney looked around, almost as if it somehow knew that he was aware of its presence, it nevertheless continued to loiter. Tickling at his back and running its inhuman hands all over his body, the phantom feeling was enough to stress to the magician that it was most definitely there, even if he couldn’t see it. The shiver he gave the second time around was much more noticeable, the quiet hiss that passed through his teeth reminding Lyney’s brain that, yes, he still had to breathe. He had to breathe and stay calm, lest whatever unknown force watching him took advantage of him in his brief flash of weakness.
He still had a meeting to get to, and the last thing he needed was Wriothesley picking up on his emotions on top of everything else.
At this point in the game, Lyney had entirely forgone knocking on the Duke’s door in favor of making his way in whenever and however he pleased, mostly to annoy the ever-loving Seven out of him above all else. While that way of thinking was still in play, the unwanted tension in the magician’s shoulders certainly made his desire to barge in more apparent. The quicker he entered, the quicker he could escape whatever was out there.
Click. Creak. CLANK.
“Ah, Mr. Lyney. I suppose knocking just isn’t in your wheelhouse of mannerisms, is it?”
Why did Lyney feel at ease hearing the Duke’s voice in particular, out of all the sounds in the Fortress? There were too many “Why”s when it came to Wriothesley, and Lyney honestly despised it.
“I see no need to knock if you’re already confident knowing that the one refusing to do so is me each time. Saves me the trouble of waiting the five seconds it takes for you to yell down the stairs now, doesn’t it?” With the door shut with a solid thunk behind him, Lyney felt his shoulders ease and the smile on his face lose a bit of its wobbly edge. “I’ll finally consider knocking once I deem you worthy enough of my manners.”
A deep, almost velvety chuckle broke through the cold air of the Duke’s office just up the grand, semi-spiral staircase, the sound echoing and bouncing off the tall metal walls and licking at Lyney’s ears until his body shivered a third time. Luckily, it wasn’t enough to shake his demeanor. The blond Fatuus wasn’t sure he could really handle his composure being broken a second time. “Fair enough. Be my guest and spare your knuckles from touching iron for a while longer.”
With that invisible threat now shut out entirely, Lyney felt himself physically and mentally relax, even if it was only for a few passing moments. His nerves were bound to come back pinched harder than ever once his feet carried him to the top of the stairs. Each step he took felt heavier than normal, thanks to the sound of the old metal bending and groaning under the pressure of his body weight, clearly worn down from years of use. They were old, sure, but it was obvious that the Duke made sure to stay on top of their upkeep. The railings were much the same, littered with dents and grooves from hands like Lyney’s own dragging along its length or clenching around its aged metal with stark white knuckles and bitter intentions.
Thanks to the copious amount of time Lyney had spent in the Fortress, both in an official and unofficial capacity, he knew that all kinds of people had to have climbed these very stairs, from the truly innocent to the thoroughly criminal. There was no telling what kind of stories were left behind in those alloy structures.
Sitting and waiting at the top of the stairs, to no surprise to anyone, was Wriothesley, his eyes trained routinely on the absurd amount of documents and files cluttering his desk. The magician had slowly learned during his time as the Fatui’s Fontainian diplomat that the Duke was expertly skilled in dealing with large amounts of work, even the kind that would cause the average businessman to develop a monumental headache. A paper stack twelve inches thick was child’s play to the warden and could easily be gone through in a mere couple of days. Lyney considered himself lucky that the only kinds of paperwork he ever found himself tangled up in were two to four-page magic show contracts and mission reports written and given to Father at the end of each expedition.
Wriothesley didn’t pay the Fatuus much mind the entire time he ascended the staircase, choosing to remain silent save for the sound of the scratching of his pen against parchment, but the instant Lyney was fully exposed to the warden at the final step, those striking, lavender-blue eyes would rise to lock with the lilac shade of Lyney’s own.
They seemed oddly gentle, but only around their edges. The Duke’s pupils were as piercing as the look he wore on the daily.
“It’s good to see you again, Mr. Lyney.”
“Can’t say I’m as equally charmed to see you, but I guess there will eventually be a first for everything, hm?” Lyney was quick to snark with that iconic grin on his face, the distance between the stairs and Wriothesley’s desk feeling as if it was a whole lot less than a handful of steps. Whatever was going on between the two of them, it was as unusual as the current state of their unlikely partnership. Not just anybody could spit the same kind of sarcastic comments towards the Duke without facing some sort of consequence, maybe even multiple consequences depending on which comment you wanted to pick apart. Wriothesley, for one, was already growing accustomed to it, and contrary to popular belief, it was almost as if the warden didn’t really seem to mind it. If anything, it humored him. The quirk in his lips wasn’t exactly something he was trying to hide. Someone had to play along with Lyney’s little games after all.
“Eventually, you say? Well, then I eagerly look forward to the day that the Great Magician Lyney looks at me with anything other than pure disdain,” The Duke spoke with an amused lilt in his tone, the chair at his back creaking ever so slightly as his weight shifted within it. “When such a day will come to pass, I’m not sure, but I’m interested in seeing a kitten without its claws out.”
Oh, the twitch in Lyney’s right eye was awfully apparent beneath the bangs in his face, and he ultimately chose to ignore the faint heat at the tips of his ears in favor of keeping that perfectly trained smile plastered on his face, even if it was entirely too strained for his own good. “You make it incredibly hard to play nice, Your Grace.”
Another chuckle rumbled through Wriothesley’s chest, the cuffs at his hips clinking quietly against the frame of his seat. “My apologies, Mr. Lyney, but you make it hard for me not to ruffle your feathers, or tussle your fur, if you will.”
“Perhaps you can save the jokes for after this little meeting of ours? I believe there’s still business to discuss, is there not?” Lyney fired back, the irritation at the back of his head forming into a dull throb.
“Mm, I suppose there is.” Wriothesley’s fingers began to card through a few of the more isolated papers on his desk, his right thumb lifting up to his mouth long enough for his tongue to swipe over it as a means to create more of a hold on the files before him. The action made Lyney cringe somewhat as that same thumb pulled apart two stubbornly stuck together articles clearly labeled ‘Rapid Relief Project’ at the top. “Anything new to report since last time?”
At least they could finally get down to what Lyney came here for in the first place. Heaving a hushed sigh under his breath, the magician adjusted the brim of his hat to sit more comfortably atop his head, the Fatui drone in him pushing more toward the front of his brain. “Not that I’m aware of. Nothing that could negatively impact our work anyhow.” A quiet hum from Wriothesley in response, his eyes still scoping through the content of the documents in his hands. “Most of the Fatui forces in Meropide have trickled out over the last couple of days, leaving you with much fewer agents to keep track of than before. Father has had them moved closer to the heart of Fontaine or out closer to Poisson to aid in the final stages of its reconstruction.”
“That certainly sounds like music to my ears. The less of you that linger around in my fortress, the less I have to strain myself to keep track of you lot.”
‘You lot.’ It was funny how two little words could make the blood beneath the magician’s skin boil. It was like Wriothesley viewed them as something less than human. While the flash fire in his veins was brief, the annoyed look in his eyes was persistent.
“How fortunate for you.” The words that fell from Lyney’s lips felt like hot magma with the way they were spat with such underlying force. “And you? Anything I should be aware of? Anything Father should know about?”
Lyney’s mention of the Harbinger he called “Father” made the Duke lift his head to meet the other’s gaze. If Wriothesley had never seen an angry feline before, he certainly knew what one looked like now, albeit the more human kind of feline. Perhaps Lynette would look the same when faced with something she didn’t like.
“Considering the fact that I’ve given you most of the information that I have, at least that of which I could possibly share with you, I would have to say no. Nothing for me to report.”
The silence that followed was thick, tense, and above all, awkward as hell.
Lyney knew that the information Wriothesley could share was limited and would eventually run out before long, and given that it had already been sixteen weeks since their meetings began, it only made sense. Yet even so, he couldn’t help but be irked.
Why? Why was that?
With Wriothesley giving him, and in turn Father, everything he reasonably could, his meetings with the Duke would be over. Sure, there were still a few loose ends to tie up before their interactions could truly come to a close, but that kind of work could be completed with a singular meeting more, if not finished now. Even Wriothesley knew it; the Fatuus could read it clear as day on his face. It’s the exact moment Lyney had been hoping for since this whole diplomat thing started.
So why did the idea make him feel sick to his stomach? It made no sense. Not one lick of it.
“Lyney? Are you alright?”
Ah, right. Lyney was still in Wriothesley’s office. He couldn’t afford to space out like that.
Giving his head a rather firm shake, regardless of the look the Duke would give him, a more than irritated huff whistled through the small gap between the magician’s lips. A brief look of–Annoyance? Anger? What was it?–crossed his face before that usual mask of his interlocked itself around the invisible hooks on either side of his head.
“More than fine, Your Grace!” Something odd flashed across Wriothesley’s face. Concern, was it? “Absolutely fine. Couldn’t be happier.”
“Lyney.”
“Oh please, dropping the Mister not once but twice? Foreshame, Your Grace. And here I am being nice enough to use your proper title.”
The concern on Wriothesley’s face was quickly morphing into that of exasperation, even if the expression he carried was still anxious around the edges. “Are all magicians this eager to dodge questions?”
With his right eye once again twitching, Lyney found the more emotional part of himself slipping through his facade, his heels sharply turning his body around to flash his back towards the Duke. The noise his shoes made was shrill and sharp, causing the blond to flinch. “There’s quite a lot you don’t understand about magicians, Your Grace! Perhaps you should brush up on your knowledge.”
“Hold on a second, Lyney.” There he goes again. Lyney. Just Lyney. It made the blond’s insides twist with something disgustingly warm.
“What, pray tell, would I be holding for? There’s nothing more to say now, is there? We could simply mark this down as the quickest meeting in all of Fontainian history and call it a day. Makes both of our lives all the easier, wouldn’t it?”
The sound of chair legs screeching along sheet metal fell on deaf ears.
“I’ll have the rest of Father’s soldiers pulled from your oh-so-lovely underwater prison within the coming days and save you the trouble of having to schedule yet another meeting with us lot .” Lyney’s ears were starting to feel clogged. The heavy pressure from such an intense, oncoming headache made the magician’s own internal dialogue sound muffled and unintelligible. Why was he bothered so much? Why was any of this even an issue to begin with? What was going on with him?
There were entirely too many questions and not nearly enough answers to match.
“Good day to you, Your Grace. May this be the last time our paths ever cross.”
SLAM.
The light above Lyney’s head was abruptly cast out in favor of shadow, his skin surging with the piercing cold sensation of one of the railing’s pillars pressing into the exposed part of his back. It made him hiss yet again, his eyes scrunching closed for a few moments as the nerves in his body processed the sudden assault. When the lids of his eyes dared to pry themselves open again, the Fatuus was met head-on with his attacker, Wriothesley himself. Who else could it have been?
His face looked cross, desperate, and troubled all at once. What a hauntingly beautiful expression for the Duke of all people to wear.
The heat at the tips of Lyney’s ears was just getting worse with the newfound proximity between them, but the magician still wanted to claw around for any kind of excuse, pointing the blame for his high body temperature on his Vision. The aggressive pounding in his chest, a heartbeat usually level now hammering in a pattern concerning enough to throw Teyvat’s finest doctors into a panic, was entirely unrelated. Naturally.
“A thousand apologies if this seems out of line for someone such as myself, Your Grace,” Lyney spoke as evenly as he could, his throat bobbing so, so slowly as he swallowed, “but aren’t you a bit late to the party? Attacking me now of all times, when you could have done so months ago, the last time you had the chance?” ‘The day I thought you had taken the two most important people in my life away from me for good.’ His thoughts went unspoken, but the subtle shake of rage in his pupils did all the talking for him.
Most people with more sense than a rock would be afraid for their lives, being cornered like this by the Duke of Meropide, but Lyney had felt greater fear looking into the crucifixes of his own Father’s eyes. “Do you really, honestly think that I’m here to attack you? Surely you’re smarter than this, Mr. Lyney.”
A mildly offended scoff filled what little space there was between their bodies. “Oh, so now the honorifics are back? You’re as inconsistent as you are brutish.”
The grip Wriothesley held on the railings grew stronger, the iron seeming to scream for mercy under such bone-crushing force. It made Lyney’s eyes dart down and to the side, if only for a moment. He couldn’t afford to be intimidated. If the Duke were to try anything at all, he’d have to be on his guard. His own two hands were just itching to call upon his bow in less than a second. Perhaps even a bit of a disappearing act would have to be in order.
“Being a brute fits me, wouldn’t you say? I’m a warden. I run this prison. I believe a bit of force comes with the territory of the job. How else am I supposed to make sure my inmates-” a brief pause- “even former ones, heed my advice?”
If Lyney’s metaphorical fur wasn’t bristling before, it certainly was now. “You don’t have any right to pass on orders to those who don’t even serve you.”
“And how else am I supposed to get you to listen otherwise?” The Duke’s tone was dark, but it was nowhere close to the same kind of dark that was used for unruly convicts. “You ignored me.”
“As far as I’m concerned, I can ignore you as much as I’d like to, for any reason.”
“Not when you make a face like that.” He was making a face? “What’s going on with you?”
“Why would any of that matter, least of all to you?” The Fatuus continued to spit, a vague crack in his voice showing its edge as he spoke that last syllable. “I’m not someone you should concern yourself with, Your Grace .”
“Stop calling me that.” The railings cried out, louder this time, as the shadow looming over Lyney’s head darkened. Wriothesley was drawing closer.
“Oh? And why’s that? Is that not your proper title? It’d be unbecoming for someone of lower stature to not address the Duke with the respect he deserves, no?”
Crack . Did the railing… Break?
The brittle snap of the bars at his back made Lyney’s train of thought falter, his lips hanging open in a stunned part as his eyebrows furrowed together out of concern or anger, he wasn’t sure which. The look in Wriothesley’s eyes was intense . A gaze deadly enough to kill a man on sight. It made the air in Lyney’s lungs stall, his eyes nearly watering at the edges from his need to cough, to breathe, to speak . But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t do it. It was like he was frozen where he stood, the expression on his face a snapshot of his current point in time.
There was no doubt in his mind that this was one of the many reasons why Wriothesley had become the Duke in the first place.
“Lyney.” Honorifics gone, Wriothesley spoke up again, tone low and scarily careful. “Are we not equals now, you and I? There’s no need for this Your Grace this and Your Grace that. We’re working to better the same cause. You’re the only one that hasn’t acknowledged that.”
He sounded so sickeningly sweet in that strange, emotionally constipated way of his, it was almost enough to make Lyney laugh. Ribcage shaking hard and fast with the sudden intake of so much air, Lyney cracked a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh, I’ve certainly acknowledged it, but I choose to ignore it.”
“And that’s because?”
“My family and I. We’re Fatui.” Stated like the fact it was. “All my brothers and sisters, Freminet and Lynette, myself. Every last one of us is a Fatuus . And it’s clear to me that you’re certainly not a fan of any one of us. So why should I delude myself with the fantasy that we’re equals even if you say it’s so?”
Something oddly pained seemed to flash across those lavender-blue eyes, a weighty breath passing through the Duke’s nostrils. It was almost as if he was a bull withholding its desire to charge at that bright red cloth. Was he making himself appear softer ?
“Lyney, listen.” Wriothesley’s grip on the railing has loosened, but the damage was already done. Clear, heavy cracks were scored into the metal, scarily so, in the shape of the warden’s hands. Even if Lyney couldn’t properly see them, he knew they were there. The Duke held an unreasonable amount of strength, the true extent of which was only exposed to those around him when the situation called for it. “It’s obvious that you and I got off on the wrong foot. We both know that.”
“Oh really? What an astute observation to make, Your Grace.”
“ Wriothesley .” The older man countered with a huff, clearly resisting the urge to rub at his temples. “But setting your sarcastic comment aside, there’s clearly still some animosity here when there shouldn’t be.”
Lyney knew that the animosity was one-sided. He wasn’t oblivious to all of Wriothesley’s past attempts at mending the awfully broken bridge between them. His attempts at fixing what was already broken before it could even be built. His attempts at starting a friendship . But a proper friendship requires effort from both parties involved, and for one party in particular, there was too much of a struggle behind letting go of the past. Lynette and Freminet had made peace with what happened a long time ago, so why couldn’t Lyney?
“I’m not going to apologize for what I did.”
“I didn’t expect you to.” Lyney was quick to quip back.
“As the Duke of Meropide, I have people to protect and rules to uphold here. When you and the rest of your Fatui brothers and sisters started trickling down inside my fortress, you forced my hand. Plotting behind my back isn’t something I take lightly.”
“Believe me, I know why you took the actions you did, but that doesn’t change my feelings on the matter.”
Another sigh and a temporary pause. Wriothesley looked… Conflicted. Lyney could certainly tell that much. So, he pressed on. “I understood well enough that we were on opposing sides. You had something you wanted to protect, but so did I. Although, I’m unsure of if you even know what it’s like to lose someone you care about.”
Ah. That must have struck something tender deep within the Duke. The lids of his eyes twitched, but only for a moment, and the conflicted emotion on his face slowly melted into that of sadness. A strong sense of regret. It made the magician falter on his words, choosing to bite his tongue and tightly press his lips together. Perhaps he had Wriothesley all wrong, in more ways than one.
Despite the sorrow in his eyes, Wriothesley chose to push out an overly airy laugh, the tone of which sounded much more dead than it did joyful. The complete opposite of what a laugh was supposed to represent. “And that’s where your thinking would be flawed, Lyney. I’ve lost more than I care to admit, so I know full well the kind of stress I put you under. And for that, I’m sorry. I can’t change the past, nor would I want to, but I can at least apologize for your suffering. I’m sure you can understand that sometimes, when push comes to shove, you make decisions you ultimately never would have under different circumstances.” The Duke paused for a few beats more, passing another breath through his nose. “That’s why I sent Clorinde to fetch your brother while I kept your sister safe with a warm spot of tea. I may be a brute, but I’m not a monster.”
Lyney could feel the air in his lungs catch again, his heart stuttering as Wriothesley pressed on. “I couldn’t really have you calling my bluff, now could I?” He was smiling, but it felt hollow. “Keeping up appearances is how you fool the masses. I’m sure you know that better than anyone else.”
What was originally supposed to be a somewhat professional business meeting was quickly turning into an unpredictable juncture of vulnerability and accountability. Lyney wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to feel about it.
“For clarity’s sake, I’m still not apologizing for my actions.”
“You think?” Did Lyney really let himself scoff? A real, sincere huff of a laugh instead of his usual sarcastic dry heave? “Surely you don’t doubt my intelligence that much, Your Grace.”
Wriothesley’s eyes rolled halfway up into his head, the corners of his mouth molding into the ghost of a smile. “I don’t, and I’ve already told you to call me Wriothesley. For the right hand of a Harbinger, you sure do lack some serious listening skills.”
They were bantering. Things were slowly becoming normal again, even after such heavy words had been uttered just seconds earlier. At least Lyney could ease a bit of the tension in his body. Whatever tension he could possibly get rid of in their current position anyhow.
“I’ve heard you loud and clear, Wriothesley . I just prefer annoying you instead of listening to you. It’s much more fun for me that way.” If you strained your ears hard enough, you could hear the faint sound of a purr rumbling through the blond Fatuus’s throat. It was oddly charming, but equally as distracting for the Duke. The sudden knit in his brows told Lyney that he most certainly wasn’t expecting it. However, it caused his previously faint smile to grow brighter and easier to see, so maybe the sound was a good thing in the end.
Although, why would a purring noise of all things cause the Duke to smile? Perhaps he was a fan of cats?
That must be it. Just cats, of course.
While the figurative distance between Lyney and Wriothesley still felt massive, it was appearing as though that gap was slowly but surely closing the longer the Duke’s words rolled over and over again in the blond’s head. The change wouldn’t be instant, Lyney was certain of that much, but there was going to be change whether he wanted there to be or not. His perception of the warden was warping and bending, much like the iron floor beneath his feet, and while it scared him more than it comforted, something inside him felt…
Lighter.
How gross.
“Lyney?” He truly did sound softer, didn’t he?
“Hm?” There was no sneering comment this time. Just a quiet noise of curiosity as lilac met lavender-blue. Lyney’s heart had yet to stop flipping.
“I don’t expect things to fix themselves overnight,” Wriothesley began, his head tilting a few degrees to the right like a curious puppy, “but perhaps you could humor me for a proper spot of tea sometime?”
“Haven’t I humored you plenty? I already stop in for tea once a week.” Lyney mused under his breath, leaning his body up and off the pillar of the railing just enough to convince Wriothesley’s body to move back in accommodation.
“Sure, I suppose you could say that,” the Duke chuckled yet again, “but I mean tea outside of these meetings of ours. Considering that most of our business is all said and done, I doubt I’d get another chance. That leaves me with no choice but to extend a formal invitation to you myself, right now, in this moment. Or I can as far as to make it an informal one. Depends on which you prefer.”
A more personal opportunity to have tea together, huh? The Lyney from twenty minutes ago would have gagged and nearly thrown up out of disgust, but the Lyney of now? He was hesitant yet intrigued.
It was almost as if he could feel Lynette’s all-knowing stare shove daggers straight into the back of his head. She certainly didn’t have to be there for the sensation to occur.
“You really are determined to go through with this whole ‘us being friends’ thing, aren’t you?” The quirk in Lyney’s brow was teasing but equally curious. If you were to ask him if the perks in the corners of his mouth were authentic, he would have fully dodged the question.
Wriothesley seemed to hesitate with giving his answer for a breath or two, but whatever uncertainty glossed over his eyes quickly evaporated before the blond could even fully digest the sight. “Sigewinne often tells me I could use a few more people in my corner, so what’s the harm? Might as well turn a former enemy into a friend, lest you come for my throat later on down the line. A tried and true strategic tactic for survival I would think.”
“Oh, so you can make jokes? It’s good to know that your sense of humor isn’t as stale as the rest of you.” Never in a million years did Lyney think he’d find himself fighting back a genuine grin in the presence of the Duke of Meropide, but here he was doing it anyway. He seriously had to be falling ill…
“I like to think that I’m very funny, thank you very much. I just rarely get to show off my joke-telling expertise. When everyone sort of expects you to be serious twenty-four-seven around here, there aren’t exactly many chances for me to brush up on my skills.” He could not be serious.
“And I’m the unfortunate first victim of said practice. How lovely for me.” It was becoming increasingly painful to resist the urge to flash his teeth in a bright, wide grin, so he opted to turn that urge into a smirk instead. It could easily be passed off as sarcastic at a moment’s notice. “I suppose if you’re going to be torturing me with whatever you plan on wisecracking, you might as well make it worth my-”
In an instant, something in Wriothesley’s demeanor changed, like a shark smelling blood in the open ocean. Lyney could have sworn he saw the older man’s pupils constrict like a snake’s just seconds before his body leaned forward to press the magician even further into the pillar at his back. While the cap on the metal spire had clearly been an attempt at reducing the support's overall sharpness, it certainly wasn’t enough to make too much of a difference in the long run. Lyney could feel those iron edges digging more and more into his back, the force not enough to break his skin but definitely enough to cause him a bit of pain. The Fatuus was quick to work his canines into the surface of his bottom lip to keep from crying out or hissing too loudly in alarm.
What the hell was going on?
“Wriothesley-”
“Quiet.” The warden’s tone was soft yet harsh, but Lyney could tell that such a tone wasn’t necessarily directed at him.
Lifting his right hand to grip onto the Duke’s left arm, Lyney’s nails were no doubt creating a bit of pressure through both his gloves and the sleeve surrounding Wriothesley’s skin. He could hold a solid grip when it really mattered. Despite the obvious one-word order from the other man, Lyney proceeded to pry. Whatever Wriothesley was up to was causing him quite a lot of pain after all. “ Wriothesley ,” Lyney spoke up again, voice low and sharp, “What in Celestia’s name is going on?”
Whether he did it subconsciously or because he noticed Lyney’s discomfort, the sudden occupancy of Wriothesley’s hand against his back, blocking Lyney’s bare skin from its prior impalement, made that dull heat in the blond’s ears surge closer to the front of his face. Oh for the love of- “A certain little bird isn’t in the nest where it should be.” With the warden’s head so close to him now, the magician could feel the other man’s warm breath ghosting over the shell of his ear. Keeping his composure was so much harder now than it had ever been. “Keep your voice down, kitten. I can’t listen for the wings otherwise.”
“ Kitten? ” Lyney fully hissed this time, his face getting hotter as the irritation in his gut began to stir. “Do you have any idea what you’re do- ing !” The last syllable of his sentence was all but ripped from his throat as the hand on his back pulled him further into its owner’s chest, the fever in his cheeks reaching an all-time high.
There was no more blaming his Vision for this. At least the action got him to keep his mouth shut, for better or for worse.
For every beat that passed after, it felt as though time had slowed significantly. Lyney’s face was uncomfortably warm, and the feeling of Wriothesley’s fingers brushing along his skin made the pounding in his ears ten times more aggressive than normal. He hated the entire experience through and through, but there was nothing he could do to properly shake the Duke. Wriothesley trumped him severely in both height and weight, so any amount of physical resistance would be futile. Surely he could snap his fingers and disappear into a flurry of cards and colorful streamers if he really wanted to get away, right? It was the easiest possible solution to his problem. And yet, his body made no effort to move, his hands even less so. This wasn’t like him. This whole situation wasn’t like him. From genuinely smiling at Wriothesley’s terrible jokes to letting the same man order him around, it hurt Lyney’s brain more than the god-awful headaches he got from the Opera Epiclese’s stage lights.
Too much was happening, and it was happening way too fast. Celestia must have really been angry with him.
The only sound that dared to persist through such a tense moment in time was the quiet humming of Fortress machinery from down below and the faint swoosh-ing sound of the fan blades overhead. Not even Lyney let a single breath pass between his lips. However, before long, Wriothesley would be the first to make a move of any kind. His hand would slowly retreat from its place at Lyney’s shoulder blades and his feet would take one, two, three steps back, creating a much wider gap between himself and the Fatui magician just in front of his person. Wriothesley made no effort to speak until he deemed that Lyney had gathered his bearings accordingly. “Sorry. It wasn’t exactly my intention to startle you like that.”
“I’d say I was less startled and more confused.” Nimble fingers adjusted the brim of his hat, his brows heavily furrowed in a rather quizzical shape. Luckily for him, the flush on his cheeks was able to dissipate just enough to appear normal again. Wriothesley certainly wouldn’t have let him live the color in his face down if he saw it. That bastard. “What’s all this about a little bird? I didn’t particularly take you for a man interested in keeping animals, let alone small ones.”
The bird in question likely wasn’t a bird at all, Lyney assumed. Still, he wanted to hear what the Duke himself had to say about it. His lips were the origin for those words after all.
Wriothesley, a shocker to no one at all, knew very well that Lyney was aware of his code word. Even if he had no theories as to what it could mean, he was at least knowledgeable about its intended purpose as a cover-up. Giving the best, most reassuring smile he could, the warden lifted a hand to his chin to rub deep at his jaw, an almost exasperated chuckle working through his chest and up his throat. Even now, the target of such a huff didn’t seem to be Lyney. “You’d be right with that assumption, but as for this bird in particular, it’s nothing you need to concern yourself with. Not if I can help it.”
“Not if you can help it? That implies that I should, in fact, be concerned with it in some capacity.” Lyney wasn’t sure if it was thanks to the several years of training under the Knave herself that made his gut stir with such an intense and foreboding sense of unease or some sort of secret second thing, but all he knew for sure was that this ‘little bird’ Wriothesley was keeping track of had to be related to that shadow-like presence from before. The two incidents were entirely too close together to be a complete coincidence.
Wriothesley, however, seemed keen on withholding any information concerning the matter. “It’s nothing that I alone can’t handle.” The man was nearly as stubborn as Lyney himself. The look on the Fatuus’s face must have been an interesting visual since Wriothesley could do nothing but laugh upon staring at him. “If it’s one thing you can trust me on, it’s this. Although I won’t force you to do such a thing.” He was painfully aware of the wariness on the blond’s end, and oddly enough, part of that made Lyney feel guilty. Almost. The Duke would certainly have to earn his trust, but perhaps it won’t be as hard as Lyney originally thought it would be.
Oh Archons help him.
“Lyney.” The sound of his name rumbling through that old dog’s chest (Was he really that old? Perhaps only a handful of years older than Lyney himself) caught his attention. “If you’re still itching to leave, you’re more than welcome to go. I suppose there isn’t much left for us to discuss, so I don’t see the point in making you stay.”
The magician nearly wanted to open his mouth and object to the idea, just to linger around for a while and figure out what the Duke was hiding. However, the warden was right. There really wasn’t anything left for them to discuss. Lyney was the first one to point that fact out after all. ‘There’s nothing more to say now, is there?’ Did Lyney have any rhyme or reason to stick around longer than absolutely necessary? As far as he was concerned, Wriothesley was his polar opposite, from their hair color to their Visions, and being around him for far too long was bound to spark devastating flames that could melt through cast iron floors.
But would they be flames of harbored hatred or something else entirely?
Wait.
Something else ?
He’s got to get himself to a doctor.
There wasn’t much time left for the Fatuus to waste. With Wriothesley already quirking a brow in silent query, Lyney would have to give him an answer at some point, and it would have to be an answer the other man could actually believe. Using his left hand to support his body against the railing, his right would quietly lift itself to rub at the lower half of his face in stressed thought. Although, he nearly yanked his hand far away from his chin the moment he remembered Wriothesley’s bare skin had touched that exact palm. Composure, Lyney, keep your composure.
“If there’s nothing left for us to deliberate, then I suppose my presence here is unnecessary.” That pristine white and black glove would set itself aside to reveal a modest yet practiced smile underneath. His right hand would soon join his left as they moved to lift the blond up and off the railings. “As much as it is unnerving to know you’re currently hiding rather important information from me, I can’t exactly pressure you into giving me all the answers.” A brief pause. “To be fair, I certainly could if I wanted to, though I’m sure you know that well enough already.”
In an instant, one of the many custom cards Lyney had commissioned for his shows would appear between the middle and forefinger of his right hand, the small piece of cardstock flashing its red-black diamond pattern in the Duke’s direction. The magician showing his literal cards this way could certainly be interpreted as a declaration of challenge, but in this case, it was simply just a gentle reminder of what could happen should Wriothesley stumble down the wrong path. Even the grin on his face turned disturbingly sweet, mirroring the cat-like design printed atop that chessboard. “I’ve gotten close once before, no?”
“Close is the keyword there.” Wriothesley took the showing of that card seriously, even if the shine in his eyes was clearly humored by the display. “Perhaps if that head nurse of mine hadn’t moved as quickly as she did, we could have had a duel for the ages.”
“Hm, perhaps indeed.” Waving the card up and down once, twice, three times, then twirling it around his fingers as one would normally swivel a pen, Lyney’s thumb would slide and snap quickly against the tip of his middle to do away with the card in a bright flicker of flame and ribbons. Sigewinne’s presence in the room during such a heated exchange made quite the difference in terms of the outcome of their encounter, and it was something the magician often thought about behind closed doors in the dead of night. What would have happened if Sigewinne hadn’t been there to stop him? The Duke’s office would most likely have ended up burnt beyond repair, Lyney was certain. “Unfortunately, there’s no use dwelling on the past. It could certainly drive a person mad.” Hypocrite. “You can keep your secrets, but do try your best to avoid making this kind of behavior a habit.” Scratch that. He was a major hypocrite.
Lyney didn’t have to read minds to know exactly what the warden was thinking. The annoyed look on the Duke’s face was easily met with the curt, airy sound of one of the Fatuus’s more genuine laughs. If the huff caused Wriothesley’s eyes to soften, neither man mentioned anything about it. “Old habits like those tend to die the hardest, sorry to say,” Wriothesley smirked.
“That they do.” Another hushed silence surrounded the space, the ticking of the nearby clock sounding more and more like the nails of an impatient mistress. Lyney would soon speak up before the clock’s tenth click. “You’re quite confident that I won’t take the chance to run and never return, regardless of your invitation.” Lyney’s eyes would meet Wriothesley’s for several breaths more, not even the slightest of sounds passing between them as the fan continued to whirr overhead. The Duke only continued to smile.
It made something in Lyney’s throat catch.
“That’s because I don’t recall you ever turning down the offer, Mr. Lyney.”
Man alive. He had him there.
“You truly do live up to your legacy, don’t you? I can see how you were on to me and my siblings faster than we could spin our heads around.” That was probably the closest Lyney had ever gotten to complimenting Wriothesley, and it was related to one of the memories he hated the most no less. He couldn’t look the Cryo user in his eyes after a statement like that, but it didn’t take a genius to know that the smile on Wriothesley’s face was genuine, even if a little smug.
Satisfied enough with the amount of embarrassment he had already had to sit through, Lyney once again used the excuse of adjusting his hat to hide his face, risking a glance towards the Duke once his body had turned to its side. “But don’t hold your breath, Your Grace. My moves are and forever will be unpredictable from this moment forward.”
“I expect nothing less of the Great Magician Lyney himself.” Archons, he spoke with so much affection that it almost made Lyney feel sick. “The offer still stands, whether you choose to take it now or not. Just do me a favor, at the very least.”
“Oh? You? Asking me for a favor? This must be of the utmost importance then.” Lyney dared not to rotate his body back to face the other, but his ears were already tuned in to regard the other’s words. Whether he took them to heart, however, was an entirely different story.
“Keep yourself safe. And do watch your back.”
Well, that was completely unexpected. Those few words alone were enough to cause the Fatuus to take the leap and turn his head. That wasn’t a threat, was it? Was this Wriothesley’s way of warning him of a strike yet to come? Was this a hidden declaration of war? He couldn’t possibly be thinking of trying anything so sinister, not after all that friendship talk. There was no way it was all a facade…
Right?
The answer was written as clear as crystal on Wriothesley’s face the moment the magician turned to face him. There was no hostility, no malice, not even a singular drop of ill will. While the expression on his face was quite serious and as rigid as stone, there was not an ounce of evidence to support Lyney’s doubts. It was a face that the blond knew all too well. It was the face of someone with a resolve, who meant every last word that fell from their lips.
The face of someone who looked as though they had something they wanted to protect.
Being on the receiving end of something so utterly raw caused an unearthly chill to rattle the bones in the young man’s body. He silently hoped and prayed that the Duke didn’t catch it.
“I know how self-sacrificial you are, so do me a favor and look after yourself. For once. If not for me, then for yourself. And if not for you, then for your family.” The Duke’s eyes were swimming with an emotion that Lyney couldn’t quite put his finger on.
As yet another laugh passed between those slightly glossy lips, a head of platinum blond hair, shielded only by a top hat of intricate design, would fall in the way of bright lilac eyes as Lyney’s neck swiveled at his shoulders. Just how many more curve balls was Wriothesley planning to throw at him? “Oh? And why are you worried about me so suddenly? It’s starting to appear as though you care.”
“It’s because I do.”
Lyney would have fallen if it weren’t for the iron grip his left hand held on the metal railings.
“You may not feel the same way that I do, but we’re on the same team, are we not? It’s only fair for me to care about those I work with.” Ah. So that’s what this was about.
“I suppose you make a valid enough argument, Your Grace.” Lyney hated the way his insides clashed around beneath his skin and bones. Like all the relief and disappointment swimming around inside him couldn’t save the bickering until after the function. “I can’t promise much, but I shall do as I see fit to keep my life in perfect working order.”
The Duke would take what he could get. “That’s enough for me.” Broad, chiseled arms would move to cross over Wriothesley’s chest as the stone-cold guise he wore like a badge of honor would melt around its edges to reveal a vague sense of peace. It would seem as though he found a small piece of solace in the magician’s words. “Say hello to Lynette and Freminet for me.”
“I’ll think about it.” The way Lyney could feel his cheeks aching was a terrible, awful sign. Wriothesley was clearly doing things to him, and he didn’t like it one bit.
A thick blanket of silence would soon follow behind Lyney’s words as his steps were slow, careful, almost cat-like as his left hand trailed along the length of the bars, creating a soft, shuffling type sound due to the material of his gloves. His fingers, clearly still intrigued by the cracks in the metal, would move slower just to purposefully trace the shapes of each and every one of them, and the Fatuus was well aware that the head guard dog of Meropide was watching his every move. He had enough control over his Vision to avoid searing straight Pyro into his skin, so the heat had to have come from somewhere, or in this case, someone else.
Lyney, in his several years of performing magic for other people, was used to the stares and the vast amount of attention he would be given in exchange for his talent. But having the Duke’s eyes follow him like that was unlike any amount of attention he had ever received.
It was the kind of recognition that he certainly wouldn’t mind keeping all for himself.
With the watchful eyes of a wolf at his back, Lyney would descend one step after the other, his hand trailing along the rails of the stairs all the while. From the outside, his departure appeared standard, but to those who could read his body language, they could easily sense that the Fatuus was certainly up to something. His hand would hesitate for a beat, then two, then several more before curling its fingers tight around the iron barrier. It was an action noticeable enough to make the warden over his shoulder shift his weight from his left to his right foot, the structure of his arms falling loose inside his elbows. Lyney could tell as much even without the use of his eyes; he already knew that he had Wriothesley’s attention, hook, line, and sinker. All the better for him once he hoisted himself up and over the rail with the force of a soldier but the grace of a dancer.
The sudden rush of adrenaline in his core was brief, entering and exiting his body as swiftly as the wind would blow through his locks. With his free hand clutching tightly at the brim of his hat, the accessory would move little to none during the freefall. The heels of his boots would land upon the industrial floor below with a satisfying clack, and his back would quickly set itself into a straight and narrow line. Although this was his first ever jump from the Duke’s staircase, this was not his first time attempting such an action in general. Nevertheless, the spontaneity on its own was plenty to make the warden jolt with alarm, hurrying himself into a position to grip the banister and look down at the level below to check on Lyney’s condition.
Hearing the heavy sigh that pushed through his throat was music to the young magician’s ears.
“I believe I told you I was unpredictable.” A swipe to his cap and a tilt of his neck upwards. “Someone has to keep you on your toes after all!”
It took just a touch longer than Lyney would have expected for Wriothesley to gather his wits. “Didn’t I already tell you to keep yourself safe?”
“That you did, but I’m sure even you know the old saying, don’t you?” The smirk that splayed itself across Lyney’s face could throw any heartbeat out of line. Wriothesley’s was no exception. “Cats always find a way to land on their feet~”
To say that the warden was stunned with the Fatuus’s words would be an understatement of the highest degree. He was, for the lack of a better word, completely and utterly flabbergasted. The visual of the Duke of Meropide looking as stupefied as he was would forever be imprinted in Lyney’s brain, and whether he considered that a good or a bad thing was still heavily up for debate. Without wasting a moment more, Lyney would turn his attention to the large, imposing doors of the Duke’s office and start his feet forward, doing as he had already done before with Wolsey as he threw a casual, nonchalant wave over his shoulder. “Keep your jaw hanging open like that, and you’ll eventually catch flies.” The blond huffed another purr-like giggle. “Prends soin de toi, Wriothesley .”
If the use of his proper name left him speechless, Lyney wasn’t sure about it. He gave no attempt to look behind him nor did he halt for a single step. The focus he held was on the door in front of him, his top priority being to get out of that office as quickly as he possibly could. Too much had gone on that day, from an agonizingly long chat over politics and relief efforts with Monsieur Neuvillette, to the highly uncomfortable presence of a spirit he couldn’t even see, down to the unknown territory that was the conflicting feelings in his heart concerning one man in particular. In all honesty, Lyney was more than eager to return home to make his family of two a family of three again.
If something else was bound to go wrong today, he hoped that it’d at least happen in the comfort of his own home so that he could avoid dealing with the turmoil all on his own.
With the doors having been abruptly pushed open, the warmer air from the main sector of the prison was quick to mingle and dance with that of the cooler, much crisper air that escaped from the confines of the Duke’s office. The sudden shift in temperature, as well as the movement from all that air brushing past his nearly bare legs and shoulder, caused the magician to suppress a particularly heavy shudder as the bulky open door borderline slammed behind him. Never had Lyney heard a more ominous, foreboding sound than the one that erupted from the friction of the two large doors clicking together. It ricocheted off every flat surface it could reach, creating a dome full of haunting echoes. Would he end up apologizing for it later? He wasn’t exactly sure.
Apologies, however, would end up being the least of his concerns moving forward, for the entirety of the Fortress’s central floor, save for himself, was left vacant. A desolate wasteland of forgotten papers, creaking pipes, and flickering bulbs.
The Fortress of Meropide… Was empty .
“What in the name of the Seven…” Lyney muttered under his breath, not daring to raise his voice above that of a strained whisper. Speaking any louder than that felt like some sort of cardinal sin, especially in a large cavity such as a Meropide devoid of any sign of life. It was completely unnerving, like a scene right out of a popular Fontainian horror film. Not one inmate could be seen lingering around the stairs or loitering in the cafeteria way past their break time; not even a staff member was present at the Fortress's front desk.
The only living, breathing body around was Lyney and Lyney alone.
“Hello?” Lyney’s voice nearly cracked at the end thanks to the way his entire throat clenched with nerves. One step. Two steps. Three. “Ms. Monglane?” Nothing. “Mr. Estienne?” Once again, nothing. “Mr. Wolsey?” The only thing that returned Lyney’s call was his own echo.
Before long, he would reach the end of the walkway to Wriothesley’s office, his eyebrows furrowed in what could only be construed as genuine, bonafide fear.
Clink.
Clank.
Clink.
The machinery in the Production Zone, just below the main floor, was still in use. That means that the entire Fortress wasn’t necessarily on shutdown, but perhaps just the current floor. But why shut down one floor but leave open the rest? If there was some sort of emergency, none of the machines on any one of the floors would be in use, save for the elevators. On top of that, Wriothesley didn’t mention anything about an emergency. If anything was amiss within the Fortress, Wriothesley would have known about it. Surely he would have told Lyney about something as important as a potential crisis happening inside his own prison?
‘Keep yourself safe. And do watch your back.’
Of course. Wriothesley did warn him, just not about what.
Should he look for the others? Find out where everyone had scurried off to? Or should he just return to the surface on his own, regardless of whether or not anyone besides Wriothesley knew he had left? What was the right thing to do here?
‘It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with. Not if I can help it.’
If Wriothesley cared about him as much as he wanted Lyney to believe, then why didn’t he try harder to stop him from leaving? If there was an issue serious enough to cause the entire central floor of Meropide to evacuate, then why wasn’t Wriothesley keeping him safe inside his office? Why did he let him get as far as he did?
Lyney didn’t need to be protected. He could protect himself just fine. He’s done nothing but be a protector for his entire life.
So why? Why did this one instance of not having that extra shelter irk him so? Why why why why-
Creak.
Lyney wasn’t alone.
Spinning on his heels with a kind of speed and precision that could easily confuse him for something otherworldly, the magician was fully expecting to come face to face with someone or something, be it human or monster, but just as he had already seen before, there was nothing. Just an empty passageway and a grand set of doors. But Lyney was smart enough to know that nothing doesn’t make a sound, so what was he missing?
The hair in his face would only prove to be a nuisance as his neck turned this way and that, the sound of his heartbeat growing more irregular within the depths of his ears. Lyney wasn’t one to get caught off guard often, so the fact that whatever was watching him, hunting him , like it was some twisted, morbid game, could destroy his defenses so easily, made the surface of his skin crawl with thousands of invisible marching ants. He wasn’t in control and couldn’t possibly take control if his enemy stayed concealed. Lyney had been trained by the best of the best, and yet finding something that didn’t want to be found was easier said than done.
The shadow lurking where he couldn’t see it was experienced, and Lyney likely wasn’t its first victim.
Lilac eyes darted briskly to the left and right, up and down, and around again, but were ultimately left with zilch. Nix. Not a damn thing. The sound had most definitely come from behind, considering the general direction of the noise, but as for what made the sound, Lyney couldn’t be sure. All kinds of objects within the Fortress could creak and crack in the same sort of fashion, so could he argue that it was the floors? The walls? The pipes? The figurative time bomb of a clock in the back of his head mocked him with its tick, tick, ticking as it wound closer and closer to zero. If he didn’t want to meet a potentially untimely fate, he’d have to figure something out and quickly.
“Come on, Lyney, think…” The Fatuus murmured to himself, the ticking in his mind growing louder.
Tick. Tock.
“If I were a shadow, where would I be…” The palms of his hands were growing sweatier inside his gloves.
Tock. Tick.
Lyney turned and turned and turned. Not a single soul had yet to show itself, let alone another sign of life beyond that peculiar creak of metal. He was stumped. Lyney, likely the strongest Fatui member currently in Fontaine, was stumped . How could someone be so shifty, so elusive , that not even Lyney himself could find them?
The echoes of Lyney’s heels against the iron-plated floors did little to ease the tension in his bones. He was the sole source of any and all noise on the central floor, and any little move he made only amplified his paranoia. Was this what his shadow wanted to accomplish? To push him to the brink of insanity just so they could pounce at his most vulnerable? No, Lyney couldn’t let that happen. If Father were to find out how careless he had been when taking down a threat, who knows what she’d have to say? The young Fatuus, for one, wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to find out. Pausing his steps to take a breath, the ticking of his internal clock slowed to a dull roar as his body twisted itself at an angle, halfway turned towards the office doors and halfway turned towards the reception desk. Even if the sound had originally come from behind him, there was no telling if the origin of the noise had moved by now. He had to keep both his eyes and his ears open if he was going to catch anyone or anything.
He could do this. He had to. He had to succeed.
A beat. A breath. Another beat. Another breath.
“Come out, come out, wherever you-”
The young magician’s soft yet cautious tone was cut short by the sound of a heavy step followed by the telltale sound of a blade scratching along its makeshift sheath. One second felt like twenty the moment Lyney’s eyes met with the source of all his troubles. A man, much larger than he, with eyes wide and shaky and deranged , so far off the edge that Lyney wasn’t even sure the man knew he was sinking. Drowning. Dying in whatever madness he had lost himself in. The blade in his hand was short but sharp, clearly crafted from old metalworking sheets and hastily tied to a jagged stone with rotted tape. It was a weapon that could easily be created by a child no older than five, but in the hands of a man gone too far, it was as deadly as the barrel of a gun.
Lyney knew this well, and hesitation would only serve as his death sentence. He had to be nimble, act faster than the Electro bolts that darted across the sky during a storm, if he wanted to leave with his life, so with his pupils narrowed to slits, his Pyro Vision thrumming with power and searching for an excuse to ignite the space around him, a singular playing card would wedge itself in-between his middle and index as his body screamed with the desire to defend itself.
“Fatui son of a-!”
CRACK.
When the blond was almost certain that the blade would have made contact with his person, he was met instead with the disorienting feeling of nothing at all. In an instant, a surge of sharp, ice-cold wind would tear past both Lyney and his attacker, but only Lyney would possess the freedom to move as he pleased. Whether to shield himself from the blade no doubt coming for his head or the freezing blanket of Cryo crystals throttling themselves in his direction, the instinct to raise his arm as a defensive measure came as naturally as breathing. Lyney’s teeth would clench together tight, a shrill noise of distress and alarm scratching at the insides of his throat as the sheer force of the wind nearly blew the hat right off his head and left his coattails rustling madly behind him. He considered himself lucky that he didn’t lose something as vital as his hat to the waters at his sides. While the cold was certainly startling, the Vision at his back countered the temperature drop with relative ease until the gale brushing past his body all but vanished entirely. It took several slow, careful blinks before Lyney dared to even open his eyes again, but when he did, the sight before him was like nothing he could have ever imagined.
For the second time in his life, the young Fatuus found himself rendered useless in the presence of the Duke of Meropide.
Just in front of his person was the visual of an inmate gone mad, head held tight within the confines of large, metal fingers, and if you stared hard enough, you could almost see the structure of the man’s entire skull start to give way underneath the intense, crushing weight of the mechanical gauntlet it was trapped in.
“Y-Your Grace!” The high-pitched, oddly giggly lilt in the madman’s voice was revolting. “I-I can certainly explain!”
“Can you now?” Oh. That was the same tone as before. The same tone that Wriothesley had used to warn Lyney of a certain little bird. This was the person the Duke had been keeping track of. A man who had Lyney’s name written in bright red ink at the top of his internal hit list. “I’d certainly like to see you try and worm your way out of this one.”
“Y-You see, I was just taking out the trash! Yes! Helping around the Fortress like a good inmate should!” The homemade blade in his hands was shaking with the fear of a man who could see his life flashing right before his very eyes. He couldn’t even find comfort in the floor beneath his feet as the warden deemed that too much of a privilege for an exile out of line, the man’s legs wiggling around like bait on a line. Lyney, while no longer in the same defensive stance as before, was hesitant to allow himself to relax just yet, the blond watching both the inmate and the Duke with wide, wary eyes.
“And what trash would that be?” Wriothesley’s tone was beginning to shift into something threateningly careful, his fist clenching harder around the head in his grasp.
“The Fatui! The Fatui, Your Grace! The Fatui scum who disrespected your authority!” What? This man knew? Knew about what had happened in the Duke’s office all those months ago? “I-It was all for your sake, Your Grace! Man’s honor!”
“So your preferred way of dealing with a man who broke my rules is to break even more of my rules just to get a chance at ending his life?” Another clench. “Inside my Fortress?”
The inmate was beginning to cry out in pure, unadulterated pain by now, Lyney instinctively taking a few steps back as his eyes shrank into a half-lidded state. The Cryo energy in the air was growing stronger in tandem with Wriothesley’s anger, and the magician was silently thanking the gods above that he wasn’t on the other end of such potent fury.
But the barely contained rage now dripping from Wriothesley’s authoritative aura… Was it all on his behalf?
“Please forgive me, Your Grace! I-I’m so very sorry! I only wanted to help you! To lessen your burden! T-To get rid of those god-awful, good-for-nothing Fa-” The man’s words were cut short the moment his skull made contact with the metal floor beneath him. It resounded so harshly within the boundaries of the space that Lyney thought the man would have died on impact. Luckily, or unluckily for him, his attacker was still very much alive. Suffering, but alive.
A thin layer of ice was quickly starting to spread across the iron plates and intricate circuitry of the Duke’s gauntlet. It was obvious to anyone who knew him that using his Vision against those who did not possess one of their own wasn’t exactly a tactic he preferred to utilize when he could help it. However, when push came to shove, those who were substantially more savage than the rest were met with more force than the average troublemaker. If you were ballsy enough to try and pull anything underneath the watchful eye of His Grace, a plot fit enough to harbor your grave would be picked out in no less than an hour.
The Fortress of Meropide was a lawless land, a place where the jurisdiction of the Court of Fontaine could not follow. For Wriothesley, he was and forever would be its law, and if he felt as though you deserved to kick the bucket, he’d be the first to help guide your foot to the pail.
Lyney, completely frozen with fear, dared not to move even a lash in his eyes. He was afraid that, were he to alert the Duke of his presence, then he too would be next. Logically speaking, such an event was unlikely to happen, but witnessing such a strong bout of violence up close and personal like this would petrify just about anyone, even those who have witnessed horrors far more brutal than a mere body slam. His assailant, previously squabbling endlessly in a desperate attempt to spare his own life, had gone silent, his fingers twitching like dying fish on a tugboat. He was certainly still breathing, if the quiet, raspy sound of air struggling to push through his airways was anything to go by, but his reluctance to speak gave off the impression that he had lost his will to live near entirely. He was submitting himself, admitting defeat while he still had any semblance of consciousness left. If he were anyone else, the young magician would have considered taking pity.
“The last I checked, I didn’t require any assistance enforcing my own rules.” The growl in Wriothesley’s voice could shake rock if given the chance. “If I truly wanted somebody dead, don’t you think that I would have sought to achieve such a result by now?” Not a word was uttered in response, and yet the stillness spoke a thousand words more than any formal address. “I suggest you think twice about holding me in the same regard as a deity because as far as I’m concerned, even gods are capable of smiting their disciples.”
Several seconds would pass following Wriothesley’s ominous warning, and for Lyney, his lungs would continue to refuse to spare him a breath. That was until the smallest of stampedes could be heard rumbling down one of the many prison corridors. The previously barren Fortress was beginning to feel alive again. Only then could the magician allow himself to breathe.
“Your Grace!” Lyney could recognize the sound of that voice even if his eyes stayed locked with the form of the man in front of him. “Adélard’s room has been besieged at your request, sir.”
Besieged? “Good.” The pressure of the gauntlet surrounding the man now known as Adélard’s head would disperse as the Duke shifted his posture upright, the large hunk of metal shaking itself about to rid its exterior of the frost. Small flecks of ice would fly away and settle onto the floor below, creating an almost condensation-like effect. “Estienne, please see to it that this man is separated into his own specially designated chamber. I don’t want him coming into contact with anyone that isn’t a guard. I’ll be sure to have your rotations scheduled before the evening hours.”
“Understood, Your Grace.” With a rigid, fluid salute from Estienne and the other guards, Wriothesley would take his own fair share of backward steps as he allowed his subordinates to execute the task they had been given. Despite being as old as he was, Estienne was clearly one of the more highly respected guards in the prison. Not only was he kind, but like Wriothesley, he knew when enough was enough. “Camden, you’ll help me escort this man to the East wing. Galvana, I’ll entrust you with returning the other staff and the rest of the inmates to the main floor.” Estienne gruffed. “If anyone asks, you are to specify that the situation is under strict investigation, but safely under our control.”
“Yes, sir!” The young woman standing just behind Estienne’s left shoulder, features soft but eyes narrowed hard, risked a glance at the man lying motionless on the floor with an air of overwhelming disgust. It was almost as if she knew something about him that Lyney didn’t, making her attitude towards the man all the more severe. “Leave the residents to me.”
Galvana would be given a curt nod in return as Estienne gestured just off to her right, signaling for her to take her leave and get the Fortress back in proper working order as fast as humanly possible. The other guard left behind after Galvana’s leave was most likely Camden, although Lyney didn’t really recall his face all that clearly. He must have been somebody who slipped past his radar during his stay in the Fortress all those months ago. While he and Estienne promptly executed the order to remove Adélard from the site, a fourth guard would suddenly make their appearance, the haste in their step giving off the impression that whatever he had to say was important enough to kick his heels into high gear.
“Your Grace!” Grainville, one of the select few guards Lyney knew by name, did his best to hold his composure despite the thin layer of sweat forming on his forehead, barely concealing the heaving motion in his chest. “The search crew has made considerable progress with the inspection of Mr. Adélard’s room.”
“Is that so?” The Duke addressed the older man head-on, the quirk in his brow sharp as his left hand massaged the wrist of his right. “That certainly sounds like good news, but with the way your skin looks pale, I’m assuming there’s more to the story.” With the single biggest threat on his life now gone, several of Lyney’s joints would cry out in relief the moment he permitted them to move from their previously paralyzed state. Being in the dark like this was more frustrating for him than anything else. It certainly didn’t help that whatever was going on had him at the center of it all. Did Wriothesley really want him to stay that oblivious?
“You’d be correct, Your Grace, but there’s a bit of an… issue.”
“An issue?” Wriothesley’s voice was quizzical at the forefront but hid a thick layer of irritation just beneath it. The Duke and his true intentions, whether expressed with his voice or his actions, could never go undetected by the Knave’s right-hand.
“Yes, sir.” Lyney could see the way the lump in Grainville’s throat bobbed with a severity that only someone with something to fear could manage. “It’s something I suggest you come and see for yourself.” If the man wanted to avoid alerting Lyney to the way he glanced at him in the corner of his eyes, he did a terrible job at doing so.
Wriothesley, on the other hand, did not attempt to hide his eyes from the young magician a mere few feet away from him. It wasn’t long before those cold, lavender-blue eyes met with the warmer, more calculated lilac gaze just across from them, their pupils locked in a dance they could really only describe as hesitant.
“If it’s substantial enough to require my presence, then I suppose I have no reason to ignore your concerns,” Wriothesley spoke up after a few beats of silence, the hike in Grainville’s shoulders easing just barely, although it was ultimately short-lived. He was back to being tense faster than Lyney could do away with a dove in his hat. With his decision made, the warden would soon turn to face the Fatuus much more head-on with a vague, apologetic shine in his eyes. “I highly suggest you head back to the surface.” Wriothesley sighed. “I won’t deny that me ushering you on out of here is a bit crass considering what just happened, but I doubt you wish to be here any longer than you have to, for a multitude of different reasons.”
‘For a multitude of different reasons.’ Wriothesley was much too kind for a man of his status, and yet that kindness only had the opposite effect on Lyney.
Even with a lack of a proper response to his suggestion, Wriothesley figured that Lyney saying nothing at all was better than a retort in terms of accepting the situation at hand. He could take this chance to follow Grainville and assist the search crew with their work, but he knew better than to assume that Lyney of all people would heed his advice, no matter if it was for his benefit or not. The younger of the two didn’t even realize he had opened his mouth to speak until the sound of his own voice began to fill his ears.
“Now hold on just a second!”
With their backs having turned to somewhat shun Lyney behind them, it was borderline comedic the way the warden and his guard spun on their heels to address the elephant in the room: Lyney’s involvement. “You can’t seriously be suggesting I go home after just being attacked by some loon with a sorry excuse of a knife?”
“Isn’t that all the more reason to leave? To keep yourself away from further harm?” Even Wriothesley’s attempts at being sincere sounded more smartass-y than they should. All the more fuel to make the lid of Lyney’s right eye twitch.
“Not a chance. I’m coming with you.”
“Lyney, that won’t be necessary.”
“Oh really? It’s not? Even though this whole situation revolves around me and me specifically?”
Wriothesley seemed determined to get the blond to back down. “Listen, I get the frustration and confusion both, I really do, but I seriously encourage you to just go back up to the surface before things get ugly.”
“Uglier than having my head on the chopping block?” The unimpressed look on Lyney’s face could rival the Duke’s own exasperation in terms of intensity. The air between them was thick, nearly palpable, and the apprehension in Grainville’s body was beginning to spread like a cold chill. Immovable object, meet unstoppable force. “I think not.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, the Duke had officially met his match in terms of stubbornness. “Lyney, I really am trying to act in your best interest.”
“And I’m acting in mine. I believe I have the right to know what’s going on.” He had a point, and Wriothesley knew it, too.
There was no winning when Lyney was so headstrong and set in his ways. If Wriothesley wanted any chance at sending the other man home, he would have to carry him to the elevator and transport him to the next Aquabus himself, which definitely wasn’t going to happen. He rarely left the walls of the Fortress, unless Neuvillette personally requested his presence for one reason or another, but even then, the Iudex normally met him at the top of the lift leading to the tunnels of Meropide. Stepping any further than a few hundred feet away from the Fortress’s entrance was almost entirely unheard of for him. He’d have to be thoroughly insane if he let Lyney of all people become the sole reason why he broke that life-long streak to begin with.
Then again, when it came to that peculiar cat-like magician, perhaps succumbing to a little bit of insanity wasn’t entirely out of the question.
Seemingly resigning himself to his fate, a heavy, reluctant sigh would escape Wriothesley’s mouth as his hand would leave his nose and place itself upon his hip. “Fine. Given the fact that fighting you would be the equivalent of trying to scrape away dried super glue with a broken fork,” Lyney could only crack a knowing smirk in response, “I suppose you can come with. But don’t say I didn’t try and warn you ahead of time. If we find something unsavory, you’ll have nobody but yourself to blame.”
Grinning wide like the Chesire Cat he was, it was almost as if Lyney had never experienced a flash of his mortality just moments prior. “I’m happy to hear you change your tune, Your Grace!” The blond not so discreetly ignored the way the Duke shook his head in disapproval to instead focus his attention on Grainville, as uncharacteristically anxious as the poor guard was. Whatever this search crew found, it had to be pretty unsettling. “Mr. Grainville, if you will?”
The aforementioned man seemed unsure at best with the way things were going, but one quick, although reluctant, nod from Wriothesley was enough to convince him to just go along with it. “Of course, Mr. Lyney, Your Grace. Please, follow me.”
Unsurprisingly, the walk to Adélard’s room was short-lived, although, for one man in particular, it felt as though it was longer than the miles between Yilong Wharf and Marcotte Station. Grainville might as well have been sweating bullets. Despite being older than the Duke of Meropide, he was, quite literally, the law around the Fortress. He was by no means a cruel and unreasonable ruler, but when his large stature was a mere couple of feet away from you, it created an unreasonable sense of unease that most guards could agree was nauseating. It certainly didn’t help that a Fatuus of all things was at his side, nearly walking in tandem with the same foot each time. Lyney being on the Duke’s special list of people did little to soothe the fear that settled into his old bones. It was like having the Tsaritsa and her favorite Harbinger both breathing down your neck.
He most definitely didn’t get paid enough for this.
With every step their little trio took inside those wide, pipe-structured halls, the vibrations from their soles would quickly rebound off the walls and work their way back to their ears, their next few strides always feeling more heavy-footed than their last. The vague impression of a handful of hushed voices could be heard at the end of the West residential wing, but the closer their footsteps drew to the source, the more muffled those voices became. They were discussing something they didn’t want anyone else to hear, let alone the Duke of the Fortress. This on its own was enough to make Lyney’s curiosity reach its peak.
“Say, Mr. Grainville.” The slight hunch of the older man’s shoulders did not go unnoticed. “Just what kind of mess are we dealing with here, hm?”
It took a few uneven breaths through his nose for the guard to feel comfortable enough to respond. “Fortunately, nothing graphic.” A shift of the belt around his waist. “At least in physical terms.”
Lyney and Wriothesley, nearly surprising themselves, shared a glance out of the corner of their eyes. It was growing increasingly obvious that whatever Wriothesley was meant to see, and whatever Lyney was not meant to see, was clearly troubling, no blood and guts required. How interesting. “Then it’s a psychological issue?” Wriothesley questioned.
“By my judgment, I would say so, sir…” A much brighter, yet more unstable light could be seen at the end of the pipe. The assailant’s room was just up ahead, and the shadows flittering along the wall seemed restless. Afraid even. “It may not be so easy to stomach.”
“So I’ve gathered. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” Lyney’s right eyebrow was deep inside his hairline by now, but you could barely tell with all his hair in the way. The magician was no stranger to the unpleasant, so whatever it was that was making the bones in this man’s body rattle, he was fairly certain he could handle it. Yet, with so much hesitation seeping into his body language, it felt as though Grainville, a man who barely knew anything about him beyond his Fatui label, was wholly unsure if Lyney’s experience alone would be enough to save him from yet another scar on his mind. Even still, the worried glances he was catching from the guard in front were beginning to bristle his non-existent fur, regardless of his good intentions.
The room in which Adélard had stayed was in absolute disarray, and that was if you wanted to sugarcoat the truth. As long as your eyes stayed level, you didn’t even have to cross the threshold of the open-concept door to see the absolute state the man’s room was left in. Whether it looked this way before or after the guards still present in the space had gone through it, Lyney was skeptical. Tattered papers and books thrown about, old clothes scattered along the floor, and a mountain of broken pens and pencils reduced to nothing but nubs. It was the work of a man dedicated to a cause, but that cause was still shrouded in mystery.
The sentries deployed for the job looked largely unfamiliar to the blond Fatuus. They were either stationed in sectors unrelated to his mission all those months ago or they were never really around to begin with. Shift changes were common, and Lyney could only remember so many names and faces from that list of guards Lynette had helped secure mere days before their assignment began. And yet, even if he knew little about the lot of them, they, in turn, knew more about him than he ever thought possible. Judging by the ghost-white look that dawned on each of their faces, Lyney’s attendance was both unexpected and undesirable.
“Your Grace!” Clearly disturbed by Lyney’s presence at the Duke’s side, the leader of the group left behind did what she could to choke down her anxieties. Based on her appearance, she was likely around Lyney’s age, yet the bags under her eyes made her appear much older than one would think reasonable. Not even the worn-down tie in her hair aided her case. With a swift salute as she straightened her spine, the words that fell from her mouth felt rehearsed and overly sterile. “We were able to find significant evidence relating to the missing contraband case from last month, just as you expected. Everything that was lost has been accounted for, save for the consumables.”
“Good work as always.” Praise from the Duke alone seemed to smooth a few of the nerves in her body, but it didn’t take long for them to grow back like a lizard’s severed tail. “What’s the catalog?”
Like a machine with human components, the guard just to the young woman’s left passed over a folded piece of parchment that was prepped to be read aloud. “Two spools of rope, one Kamera, one half-used roll of tape, a collection of wine bottles both emptied and broken, and three reels of Kamera film.” Her lips seemed to freeze as if convinced to do so by some external force, and the gleam in her eyes exposed the terror eating away at her very core. Her tone of voice was shaky at best and completely disoriented at worst. “All used, sir.”
“All used.” Wriothesley parroted the words back to her, the faint question in his speech appearing to ask ‘Did I hear that right?’ The young woman’s nod was enough to draw a tense puff of air through the warden’s nostrils. “I see. And I’m assuming this film is-?”
“Also all accounted for, Your Grace.” It wasn’t hard to tell where the used film was located either. Lyney was able to catch sight of a few scattered photographs strewn about the man’s makeshift desk, and several more were pinned up to the wall, likely by bits of those broken wine bottles jammed into the cracks of the metal wall panels. Talk about a real do-it-yourself operation. Although, from where Lyney stood, he could barely see what was processed onto the small photographic squares.
“Considering his erratic behavior and impromptu decision to start stealing from the contraband bins, even with all the personnel around, I’ll assume that the contents of these photographs are the big cause for concern.” Straight to the point as always. Cutting to the chase was clearly Wriothesley’s style. Even Lyney was beginning to wonder about the contents of the film.
More worried looks passed between the guards in the room, and far too many of them spared too long of a glance at Lyney himself. “Yes, sir. You would be correct.” The awkward shuffling of the list in her hands led to an awkward shuffling of her feet. “We have yet to move any of them from where we found them. We… Wanted you to see them first, before anything else.”
Lyney, unfortunately, had too many manners to just step out and take a look for himself before the Duke could even breathe a response, so all he could do was watch from the corner of his eyes as the lashes of Wriothesley’s own twitched in what the Fatuus could only describe as annoyance (but at whom?). The warden refrained from responding with any words at all after that, choosing to react in a physical manner rather than a verbal one. Wriothesley moved with large yet measured strides, the subordinates blocking his path parting evenly on either side like the keel of a boat cutting through the surface of the ocean. Not a soul dared to stand in his way; the consequences of challenging his authority were far greater than the reward for stopping him.
That same kind of energy, however, was not so easily given to Lyney.
The magician could only make it forward one step before the guardswoman moved to stop him, effectively cutting him off from following the same path that Wriothesley had taken milliseconds prior. The action, while justified, caused Lyney’s brow to raise yet again. “I apologize for my forwardness, Mr. Lyney, but it would be best if you stayed where you are…”
She wasn’t there to upset him by any means, but behind her hesitance lived a guard who knew the Fortress law like the back of her hand. Lyney could certainly applaud her dedication, even if it displeased him. “I’m under the impression that I’m heavily tangled up with the matter at hand, aren’t I? Shouldn’t I be able to take a look?”
“Well, you’re of course involved, but-”
“Then that seems reason enough to let me pass through, no?” The smile stretching across his lips was polite, but laced in irritation around its edges. It was clear that she could tell as much by the way her throat bobbed.
“I really don’t suggest you do so, Mr. Lyney. It’s-”
“I’ll be sure to be in and out. You’ll barely even notice I’m-”
“ Lyney .”
Now that’s quite bone-chilling. If the sound of Wriothesley nearly growling out his name caused him to startle, no one made note of it, not when everyone in the room seemed to jump in sync. Lyney lifted his head to respond to the rather rude address, but the visual of the Duke’s sour, angry expression was enough to silence the retort in his throat.
“Go home.” The grip that Wriothesley had on the desk at his hips was unyielding. “Please.”
The warden’s sudden bout of anger only fueled Lyney into pressing further. “Why are you changing your tune all of a sudden? What happened to me coming along as long as I blamed nobody but myself?” Lyney perched his hands on his hips in an act of defiance, his brows furrowing together in an exact mirror with the Duke’s own. “I know the consequences, so I should be allowed to look as I please.”
“And that was before I realized what we were dealing with. So I take back what I said. You need to head back to the surface.”
An offended scoff tore itself out of Lyney’s throat. “And you expect me to listen to you?”
“Knowing your track record, no. But I’m seriously hoping you will just this once.”
Lyney risked a step forward, and this time, not one guard stood in his way. But the Duke took notice. Using his body as a shield of sorts, the brisk turn of his figure gave the young magician a modest glimpse at his target. Barely any of the details could be seen. Just a few jumbled red and brown blurs. The heartbeats that didn’t belong to the two Vision holders at odds were thumping harder than what could legally be considered healthy. A staredown between cat and dog so sharp, you could deliver the cleanest of cuts through the finest of jade.
“Go home , Lyney.”
“I will once blubberbeasts start to fly.”
Wriothesley wasn’t handling the attitude all that well, anyone would be able to tell you that. The fingers of his right hand were twitching in a strange pattern, like they wanted to reach out and grab the Fatuus by the side of his hoodie and drag him back through the pipes and into the elevator. Lyney knew he was striking a chord, but he was not about to lose his footing on whatever ground he could hold. His determination often led him to the most dangerous of places, and yet he would never be able to learn his lesson. “I won’t ask you again, Lyney.”
“Then don’t.” The blond lifted one hand from his hip to flick his wrist in a wave, shaking his head in the same vein as a disappointed mother. “Simply allowing me to see the film will quickly put an end to that broken record of yours.”
“Though you’re well aware of the fact that I can’t let you do that.”
“And why is that? Is it something so awful that not even the victim of this whole mess can take a peek?”
“It’s something that the victim should be sure to steer clear of if he knows what’s good for him.” The rumble in the Duke’s throat was as much of a warning as any, and the guards that stood the closest to their boss had begun to back away. They weren’t exactly keen on getting caught in the crossfire.
But Lyney wasn’t swayed by any of the warnings that Wriothesley had to give. He had faced dangers far greater than this before, so the snarl of a hot-headed dog was about as threatening as the yap of a newborn puppy. “I’m not fond of this little game of yours, Your Grace.” Lyney’s feet were beginning to move again. “Please, step aside.”
Wriothesley had anticipated this outcome, more so than all the other paths the blond could have possibly taken, so he acted accordingly. When Lyney took a step forward, so did he. At first, the Fatuus had met his gaze with a curious look in his eyes, but with every subsequent move he made, you could see that curiosity rapidly morph into vexation. The warden was copying him.
If Lyney moved left, Wriothesley moved right. If Lyney moved right, Wriothesley moved left. The warden turned himself into a living, breathing blockade. The pair slowly fell into the song and dance of an uncanny waltz, swaying with synchrony so eerily beautiful that it clashed rather harshly with their current state of affairs.
“What are we, children? This is hardly befitting for your age, let alone a man of your stature.” Lyney hissed through partially clenched teeth, desperately straining himself on the tips of his toes to see over the warden’s ridiculously broad shoulders. “Get out of my way.”
Before long, the dance between them grew awkward, looking more and more like a grown man’s rushed attempt to wrangle a bull in its corral, or perhaps spook a bear back into the woods. “Look. I’ll explain everything to you later on when we get this whole situation under control, alright? For the love of the Iudex, would you please stop moving?”
“Just let me through, Wriothesley!” If he weren’t in the middle of protecting the desk behind him, the Duke would have been over the moon to hear Lyney use his name again. “This is ridiculous .” The blond’s displeasure was starting to boil over, and for once, he couldn’t care less about his manners. Lyney took a rash step forward into a half-lunge, attempting to sidestep Wriothesley’s bigger body with sheer speed alone, but the warden was quick enough in his own right, even if he was much slower than the Fatuus in the grand scheme of things. A strong, rigid arm would nearly latch itself around Lyney’s waist the moment he was close enough to cross that human barrier, and the force from the action would send a quiet, semi-strangled choke ripping through Lyney’s chest and into his throat. It barely even qualified as painful in Lyney’s eyes, and yet it still stung him all the same.
“You-!” Lyney started to speak before moving to rip the arm from his waist, but it wasn’t budging. “Let go of me!”
Wriothesley did what he could to urge Lyney backward, but the shorter man was much stronger than the warden originally gave him credit for. “I’m sending you back, and that’s final. You can hate me all you want, but I’m not changing my mind.” Even with the blond still fighting against the hold of his arm, Wriothesley pressed on. “Henri, Manon, if you could please escort Mr. Lyney back to the elevator, you’d have my thanks.”
Nobody wanted to step forward and take over for the Duke, not even Henri and Manon, but they didn’t really have a choice. In truth, Wriothesley was more than willing to take up the task in the case of no one executing his order, but many of his subordinates were more afraid of letting the warden down than anything else. If they had to wrangle a feisty cat in the form of a highly-trained Fatuus, then so be it. The two addressed by name would step forward, albeit with an extreme amount of caution, and with hands outstretched as if dealing with an actual rowdy beast, they looked more like animal control than prison guards. The visual of such from the corner of his eyes did little to soothe Lyney’s seething panic.
In fact, it only escalated things further.
The presence of the two at his back along with the practically immovable forearm around his middle was enough to set off Lyney’s internal alarm bells, sending the magician’s mind into overdrive. With his left hand pressed firm into the side of Wriothesley’s outstretched arm, the Vision hanging from the bow at his back would pulse once, then twice, before surging like a flash fire. A fleeting but searing wave of Pyro energy was then released from the palm of Lyney’s hand, creating enough of a shock for the Duke at his side to click his tongue in pain and loosen his grip just enough to allow the blond to slip past him with ease.
Coupling such hasty movement with the panic lying heavy like a boulder in his gut led to Lyney borderline stumbling into the desk he was oh-so-desperate to get to just moments ago. The old wooden box shuddered and groaned when the bone in Lyney’s hip collided with the corner in a piercing jolt of pain, no doubt. A sharp intake of air whistled through the small gaps in Lyney’s teeth as he attempted to grip the desk for any kind of support he could manage, the Vision at his back still throbbing with so much power that you could practically see sparks flying off of it. He was frazzled, sure, but he was finally out of Wriothesley’s hold and exactly where he wanted to be.
The others in the room were certainly just as surprised as Lyney was in a way, but their surprise was not nearly as short-lived as his own. The wide-eyed looks on their faces remained as they bore figurative holes into his entire body, and he wasn’t sure if they were better or worse than the looks of pure pity from before. Regardless, he had gotten his way in the end, so that had to amount to something despite all the undesirable gawking.
Unlike those who served him, Wriothesley, still shaking himself free of the uncomfortable heat that came with the flames previously licking at his arm, seemed far more hurt by the entire ordeal. Lyney couldn’t particularly deduce why the warden had looked so troubled, although he figured it was most likely a tie between his sudden choice to light a fire against the Duke’s skin and his ultimate victory with bypassing the artificial wall between him and the evidence. It made Lyney feel guilty, but only for a fraction of a second as the cocky smile that clawed its way onto his face wiped any semblance of remorse from his mind.
“My sincerest apologies, Your Grace. I truly did try my best to reason with you.” The chipper Lyney’s voice became, the darker Wriothesley’s eyes turned. “If you had simply agreed to let me through in the first place, we wouldn’t exactly be where we are now, would we? I’m fairly confident that whatever it is you wanted to hide from me isn’t anywhere near as bad as you think it-”
With his back facing the wall, the moment the Fatuus’s head had turned to take its first real look at the disorderly project behind him, all the color drained from his face in the blink of an eye.
The photographs Wriothesley and his guards tried so hopelessly to keep him away from were all of him. A documentation of the last few months of his life captured and affixed to the wall like the test subject of a science experiment he never consented to.
Lyney could feel his blood run cold throughout his entire body, his eyes darting around to each one of the photographs along the wall and across the desk. Among them, Lyney could make out what looked like messily handwritten schedules, documenting where he was and what he did throughout each of his Fortress visits. “What… What is this?” It felt… Wrong to touch any of the photos displayed before him, let alone the unsettling reports on his whereabouts. The anxiety he could barely keep contained under the surface of his calm facade caused his fingers to twitch as they hovered around. “I don’t- I don’t understand.”
“I tried to keep you from it.” It was Wriothesley’s turn to speak in that moment, but he made no attempt to move himself any closer. He sounded cold, unfeeling, but not because he didn’t care. The heartless tone in his voice was meant for someone else. Someone who might as well consider himself lucky to still be alive. For how long? Not even the Duke could tell you the answer to that. “If I would have known it had gotten to this point beforehand, I never would have let you come down here to start with.”
The Duke’s words, although passing through Lyney’s ears just fine, could do little to shake the young blond from the stupor he was left in. Seeing himself logged and recorded so thoroughly this way was more than just upsetting. It was downright distressing . While Lyney’s memory was the furthest thing from photographic, he could still clearly recall the days in which the photos were taken. A shot from just a month prior, where Lyney had stopped to have a chat with Ms. Monglane at the front desk, discussing the opera performance she had seen the night before. Another from last week, catching Lyney in a fumble as a rouge rubberband had gone flying and knocked his beloved hat right off the top of his head. And one from less than a couple of hours ago. A clear, physical print of his conversation with Mr. Wolsey at the Coupon Cafeteria, bright smile and all. That last photo, striking enough of a chord within him to make him yank it free from the jagged piece of glass that held it prisoner along the wall, made his gut stir with something awful. Something so awful, it was a miracle he didn’t puke on the spot. He was being watched for far longer than just a day, and the prickling sensation he felt crawling across the back of his neck was only the tail end of a nightmare he never even realized he was having.
“Adélard began to display some concerning behaviors in the days following your first visit to the Fortress post-flood.” The sound of Wriothesley’s voice broke through the uncomfortably thick silence filling the room. “I didn’t think much of it at first, blaming it on a bad night’s sleep or a severe lack of sleep in general. I sent a guard to keep a close eye on him once your second visit made the negativity spell worse. I wasn’t sure if your weekly attendance in the Fortress was the root cause for his issues, but I didn’t want to rule it out entirely.” The longer the warden spoke about the situation, the more his tongue laced itself in a hefty layer of poison. “It was only when Adélard started lingering around the administrative area, just days before our contraband carts failed to match their initial inventory, that I realized something bigger was going on.”
The photo in his hands, shaking with an intensity that Lyney had yet to feel in quite some time, shuddered in tandem with the shallow, uneasy breaths passing through his lungs. “So you knew? You knew all of this was happening, and you did nothing to put an end to it?”
“I had no idea that he was keeping tabs on your every move.” This time, Wriothesley took a step towards the magician just out of his reach, but he moved no further than that. “All I knew was that he was watching you, at the very least.” Wriothesley… The way he sounded so guilty pulled at Lyney’s heart, though no amount of remorse would make things any better. Not now.
“So the missing Kamera didn’t tip you off? Really now?” Lyney spat, clenching his hand tighter around the photo in his hand.
“I didn’t have enough evidence to pin the blame on him for the missing contraband.” Another step. “All I had was a hunch. I can’t just execute my judgment on nothing but a hunch.”
“Then why didn’t you at least tell me this whole thing was going on behind my back? Why keep it from me?”
Those questions caused Wriothesley to stall, clenching his fingers into fists over and over again in an attempt to keep himself grounded for what was to come. “I didn’t tell you because I wanted to keep you safe.”
The stillness that followed was so potent that you could hear a pin needle drop to the ground.
“Keep me safe?” Lyney spoke in a hushed, almost miffed-sounding tone. “Keep me safe ?” He repeated, a laugh forming deep within his chest with no real joy at all. The strange mixture of anger and devastation etched into Lyney’s otherwise charming features made Wriothesley’s heart twist. “What about keeping me in the dark keeps me safe? Wouldn’t you think it would be safer to, oh I don’t know, tell me I’m being hunted like prey for a predator?”
“If I told you, you would have gone out of your way to put an end to the issue before I could finish with my investigation.”
“Well of course I would have, seeing as you weren’t doing a damn thing about it yourself!” The blond’s chest heaved the more he raised his voice, Lyney becoming entirely unable to hide the hurt in his words. “You knew full well what he was up to, and you still did nothing. At this rate, maybe you even set me up to be ambushed out there!”
Wriothesley, even if taken aback by Lyney’s accusation, had no grounds to refute it. And the Duke was not one to lie once the cat was let out of the bag.
His choice to remain silent was the only answer Lyney needed before he scoffed again, speaking dangerously more level than he had before. “You did. You did set me up.”
“Lyney, listen.”
“You telling me to keep myself safe? Telling me to watch my back? That wasn’t just a general note of kindness, was it? You know, I’m not so dense that I didn’t know you were after the guy who attacked me. The prison being so dead quiet had to mean something . Protecting your Fortress and all.”
“Lyney please.” Wriothesley was beginning to plead, the furrow in his brow knitting itself with as much desperation as it did dread.
“But oh no, turns out you evacuated that entire floor just to send me out into the den of a beast who was eyeing me like a prize-winning steak for the last several weeks.”
Tensions were at an all-time high, and the only one willing to do anything about it was Wriothesley himself. He drew as close as he could to Lyney’s space without getting his face scratched by those ungodly pretty claws. “I did what I had to do, Lyney, but I swear on my life that I wasn’t going to let you get hurt.”
“And I call bull .” Lyney pointed an accusatory finger towards the Duke’s chest, the rest of his hand crumpling the photograph into his palm. “Doing what you had to do? Where have I heard that before?”
Those words struck Wriothesley like a knife to his heart, but he couldn’t afford to back away. “Lyney, please. I can explain everything to you if you just let me-”
“You don’t need to explain anything to me, Your Grace .” A real knife would have been a far more forgiving punishment for his actions. “I’m already plenty familiar with this little game of yours, and it’s not one I want to have to deal with ever again.”
The photo, now ruined from the sheer force of Lyney’s grip, would be slammed back down against the shabby wooden box of a desk, rocking with enough momentum to shake several loose pages into the space around the magician’s feet. He was fed up and wanted the whole room, not just the Duke, to know it.
“I suppose I’ll heed your advice and take my leave now, lest someone else begins watching me from the rafters.” Wriothesley wasn’t sure if it was the god-awful lighting in those pipes or his brain, for once, exposing him to a truth rather than a lie, but the glimmer in Lyney’s eyes was far too wet to be brushed away as nothing at all. The blond was torn apart by his actions, and Wriothesley would rather the Fatuus tear him limb from limb than walk away, giving him no chance at redemption whatsoever.
Before Lyney stepped much too far out of his reach, the Duke of Meropide, for the first time in a long, long time, acted on impulse, grabbing hold of the magician’s hips with firm yet gentle hands as he hoisted the man up into the air to lay his stomach across his shoulder.
Wriothesley would be stating his case one way or another.
Being snatched so suddenly didn’t exactly sit well with Lyney, his breath hitching at the same time it left his body once he was all but tossed upon Wriothesley’s shoulder. The color that had previously left his face returned in one fell swoop, rushing back with enough severity for his cheeks to match the underside of his coattails. “What? What in archons’ name are you doing? Put me down !” Lyney cried out so shrill, his voice practically cracked towards the end. He was lucky that his lightning-fast reflexives saved his top hat from falling directly onto the dirty prison floor below.
“Getting you to listen,” Wriothesley spoke so matter-of-factly, it made Lyney’s reasonable question feel oddly foolish. “I’m entrusting the rest of you to collect what’s left and send it to my office once everything’s squared away.”
The sentinels assigned to the case were more or less stunned, and that was putting it lightly. Henri, the meek lad that he was, grew enough of a pair to ask the question every one of them was thinking. “What would you like for us to do with the photos, Your Grace?”
Despite the racket Lyney was causing, yelling and struggling about as he tried his damnedest to break free of Wriothesley’s hold, the order that left Wriothesley’s mouth was by far the clearest, most deafening thing in the room. “Document everything and start a log. As for the originals, burn them. I don’t want a single one of them left behind.”
When the Duke speaks to you in such a harsh, cold tone, you don’t even allow yourself to think twice. You simply just do.
The entire journey back through those winding prison drains seemed long. Much longer than their initial trip through them. Lyney had some kick to him, both literally and figuratively. The term ‘feisty’ was barely enough to cover the sheer amount of power in Lyney’s thrashing, and even someone of Wriothesley’s size and strength found it hard to keep the cat’s claws out of his back. The two-handed grip he held on the Fatuus’s lower body was what the warden would deem sturdy enough, and yet the blond over his shoulder nearly made his hands slip a few times. “You’ve seriously got to stop moving so much. I really don’t want to drop you.”
An agitated growl rumbled through Lyney’s throat as he huffed and puffed in Wriothesley’s hold, his face beyond uncomfortably hot. Even his Vision was sputtering with as much ferocity as the rest of his body. “Then why don’t you solve both of our problems and put me down !” He emphasized the word ‘down’ by driving the toe of his boot into Wriothesley’s stomach, but the larger man did nothing more than give a slight groan.
“You think I haven’t already thought of that?” The Duke did what he could to discourage Lyney’s more aggressive approach to wiggling free by briefly lifting and adjusting his body, causing the blond to clutch onto his hat and relieve the warden’s back from being repeatedly beaten with those unusually bony fists. Lyney, of course, was not very pleased with the action. “I don’t exactly want to add to the collection of bruises I already have, but seeing as the two of us need to have a much-needed conversation, I have no other choice.”
The moment the two of them had returned to the main floor of the Fortress, inmates and staff members alike who were allowed to resume their previously disrupted lives found it incredibly difficult not to stare at the display being, literally, carried out before them. All the wide eyes and gaping mouths suddenly falling upon him made the hairs on the back of Lyney’s neck stand up, the awkward flush on his face only continuing to get worse with each passing second. It was completely and utterly humiliating. If any of his fellow Fatui were to see this, he’d never be able to live it down, nor would word about it manage to avoid his Father’s ears for long. The attention on its own was enough to calm his thrashing more than a simple readjustment from Wriothesley himself, and the warden was beginning to thank his lucky stars that Lyney cared more about his public image than his desire to win their little dispute, if you could even call it little.
“I hope you know that I hate you and everything about this.” Lyney kept his head low as he spoke, heavily shielding his face with the large brim of his hat all while doing his best to ignore the feeling of Wriothesley’s fingers digging into his hips.
“Yeah, I don’t exactly have to be a mind reader for me to figure that out.” Wriothesley quipped back, but it didn’t sound nearly as chipper as what he was probably gunning for. Keeping the mood light was difficult, considering the fact that both men were bothered for similar yet different reasons. It certainly wasn’t easy trying to maintain the mysterious, unshakable aura he normally wore, not when a flustered human cat was hanging halfway down his back. He might as well start prepping for all the questions he’ll be bombarded with later on concerning the entire ordeal. “Five minutes. Five minutes of your time. That’s all I ask.”
“Bold of you to assume I’ll even give you five seconds the moment I’m back on solid ground.”
“Touché. But I also know how that brain of yours works, whether you want to believe it or not. I have things I want to say to you, and you’re willing to up and walk away without ever finding out what I’ve left unsaid?” Wriothesley had a point, and Lyney hated him for it. “Curiosity often kills the cat, but satisfaction always brings it back. So please, humor me with just a fraction of your time.”
Not much was said after that. Not a word from Lyney, not a word from Wriothesley. The remaining duration of their, more so Wriothesley’s, walk to the warden’s office was silent. Only the heavy clacking of metal boots and the poorly hushed whispers of those scattered across the floor kept the quiet from being truly quiet. It wasn’t until that large, weighty set of double doors had been opened and shut behind them that either man made any attempt to do anything at all.
Once Wriothesley was positive that the grand doors behind them had shut completely with a satisfying click, only then did he bend his body forward to slide Lyney off of his shoulder with a tenderness so unlike him that it would have disturbed the young magician if he weren’t too focused on finding his footing. Lyney took a handful of steps away the moment he was able to, eager to create some kind of distance between the two of them. The way he brushed himself clean of whatever invisible dust particles he deemed bothersome felt frustrated, annoyed, dejected . The sight of it only worsened the frown now tugging at the corners of Wriothesley’s lips.
There was still a lot of bad blood that they had to wash away, even if it was almost entirely one-sided, but Wriothesley would rather be damned to the Abyss for the rest of his life than give up all of the progress he made. At least, the progress he thought he made.
His actions as Wriothesley the Duke rather than Wriothesley the Individual might have just cost him everything.
“Listen. Let me start by saying I’m sorry. Again.”
“You? Apologizing not once, but twice today? What a miracle Celestia has blessed me with.” Lyney clearly wasn’t having any of what Wriothesley had to say. Being unable to read the expression on the blond’s face on top of that did little to help the Duke navigate the discussion.
Wriothesley tried his best to shake the snide comment off his back, but it was difficult to completely rid himself of the quiet, unsavory truth that came with it. “I know I’ve already said it once, but I assure you that every decision I’ve made leading up to today was solely to guarantee your safety.”
That remark must have been enough of an attention-getter. Lyney found himself turning around to face the warden behind him head-on, the squint in his eyes framing the narrowed state of his pupils like fine art in a first-class Fontaine gallery. The Duke wasn’t sure that kind of fury could look nearly as alluring when displayed by anyone else. “You say that like I’m some sort of damsel in need of your help .” Help sounded so much more like a curse than a normal word.
“Now you’re just putting words into my mouth.”
“Then why can the letters forming your words be rearranged that way?”
A heavy breath of silence.
“Why even allow me the chance to hear something that’s not even there?”
“Because you don’t have the full story, Lyney.”
“What does that even mean?” There he goes again. His voice cracking like he hadn’t hit puberty years ago. The clench in Lyney’s fists was curling in so tight that his gloves would do little to stop his nails from leaving marks behind on his palms. “Why don’t I have the full story?”
“Because you won’t like hearing the truth.”
The magician could only blink. The truth? What truth? Voice low, Lyney pressed on. “What are you talking about?”
Wriothesley looked sad. So god-awfully sad. Like he wanted to be anywhere else but there. “You’d just shake your head and laugh if I told you. Besides, I’d only be repeating myself over again, and I’ve clearly done enough of that today.” A dry laugh. More so a sigh. “I’d just be a broken record, you know?”
Their back and forth was full of more callbacks than a failing opera show. Comical at its core. “Judging by the day I’m already having, I doubt whatever it is you have to say to me will be any more laughable than that previous little stunt of yours.” Calling it little was the understatement of the century, but for the sake of the argument, it drove home enough of a point to bust the front door of Wriothesley’s home wide open. It was only fitting that a magician of all people would make him lay out all his cards like this. What a bittersweet feeling.
The words he wanted to say didn’t fall out right away, nor could they. Wriothesley, as unshakable of a pillar as he was for the entire Fortress, had his own fair share of weaknesses to shoulder. When faced with his greatest of fears, not even the Duke was invincible to the profound tremors of such deeply-rooted anxieties. And Lyney, oblivious to all the warden’s inner turmoil, played a part as both in a story he knew nothing about. Wriothesley knew that the young Fatuus would figure it out one day, whether by sneaking around where he didn’t belong or from hearing the Duke spill his heart out to him by choice. He just never knew that the day would come so soon. Just four months after the tides had changed the course of their lives at the exact same time.
Fate had a weird way of showing her ass.
As time passed on with a lull in conversation, Wriothesley searched and searched to find the words he so desperately needed. The two stood still with their eyes interlocked, a gentle blue that could chill the deepest parts of your bones and a sharp amethyst that could melt through pure, twenty-four-karat diamond. Lyney was expecting a response before too long, and Wriothesley knew as such. As much as he wanted to sit and think about what to say, he couldn’t afford that kind of luxury. Whatever needed to be said had to be spoken here and now. It couldn’t wait until later.
The smallest of gaps formed in the space between Wriothesley’s lips as he readied himself to press on, but it quickly closed just to reappear a second later. The air in his lungs felt congested, almost expired, and he deeply regretted not breathing in one last time. “I wasn’t lying when I spoke to you before, up in my office. I really do care about you, Lyney.”
“Just as someone you have to-”
“Work with, I know. I made it sound more like a formality than an honest affair. And while that fact still stands, there’s more to it than that.”
Lyney’s eyes only seemed to grow further into tiny slits as his hands released those coiled fists and rested atop his hips. A non-verbal cue to keep going. “I care about you as more than just someone I work with.”
A pregnant pause so robust it could choke a Sumpter Beast.
“I care about you because I like you.”
That was certainly a new expression for the blond. Wriothesley nearly wanted to burn it into his memory to keep for the rest of his life, but he figured it would have been too inappropriate for the matter at hand, even if Lyney was unaware he was doing it in the first place. It took the magician a while to process those words. The Duke couldn’t find it in him to blame him.
“Is this some kind of joke?”
“Fortunately for me, no. Unfortunately for you, also no.”
A quizzical blink and a heavy crease in the blond’s brow. “If you’re still hellbent on this whole friendship thing, you don’t exactly have to plead your-”
“This is,” Wriothesley paused, swallowing down the lump in his throat, “This is definitely not about the friendship thing. I would still like for us to further our relations for the better, both politically and personally, but this isn’t… About that.”
“I like you more than I probably should.” He sounded like a grade-schooler. Confessing how he felt like this? He might as well have been a young boy asking his childhood crush for the honor of having this dance. But then again, he never did get the chance to fall in love like a normal kid now, did he? Better late than never, along with all the cringe that came with it.
A glint of something akin to surprise flickered in the Fatuus’s eyes, and yet, it faded away as quickly as it had arrived. “You know how I feel about you.”
“I do.” Gods, he sounded so pained.
“Then why-”
“Not even I know the answer to that. All I know is that I do, and I can’t do anything about it. Not that I really want to.” This wasn’t the first time that Wriothesley had sought something he wasn’t allowed to have, and it most likely wouldn’t be the last. At least now he could have some sort of closure, even if the answer he anticipated would tear his heart in two.
The rigidity in Lyney’s body eased the slightest bit, but it wasn’t because he was at peace. Rather, his thoughts were in chaos. Exhausted, confused, overwhelmed, an elixir of emotions so potent, the pressure in his eyes was head-splitting. Using a hand to shield his eyes from view, disguised as an attempt to rub at his temples, Lyney would berate himself for clenching his jaw so hard later on. “If what you’re telling me is to be believed, then you’re admitting to me that you like me, and that’s not as a potential friend.”
“Well, when you put it like that, it kind of sounds pathetic.” Wriothesley had to clear his throat to quickly do away with the sad chuckle hanging on the tip of his tongue. “But you would be correct.”
“And why does hearing that clear up nothing for me?”
It was Wriothesley’s turn to blink this time. “Excuse me?”
There it was again. That peculiar shimmer in Lyney’s eyes. The moment that hand came down, so did several of Lyney’s many fortified walls. A moment the warden thought he’d never get to see, and it was for all the wrong reasons. “If you like me as much as you say you do, then why? Why go through all this trouble just to put me in a position you never wanted me to be in?”
Ah. He really has messed up, hasn’t he? “Lyney-”
A simple raise of his hand, eyes downcast with a frown so set in his face that it felt criminal. Someone as vibrant of a blaze as Lyney should never have to look so forlorn. The sight was agonizingly ironic. “I think I’ve heard enough. You wanted five minutes of my time, and I gave it. That sand dial’s already run empty.” Oh how Wriothesley wanted to reach out, just to touch him, to hold him, to tell him that all the thoughts in his head were wrong, wrong, wrong . But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.
Taking a quiet, shuddering breath in, Lyney could only calm the hellish pounding of his heart in his ears so much before he reached an impasse. “I wish you the best of luck with that inmate of yours.” Lyney had an image to uphold. He couldn’t let some mindless nonsense crumble his foundation, especially if the nonsense concerned a brutish, foolish, idiot warden of a man. Father would only be disappointed in him. Smoothing out the fabric of his shirt and adjusting the fit of his hat, the blond stepped forward, eyes focused straight ahead of him with no care for the man clad in red and black to his right. All he wanted was to go home. To get away. To not have to deal with any more of this mess. At least let Wriothesley honor that much. “If for any reason you find yourself searching for me,” Close enough now, a gloved hand would reach out, ready to pull that metal door wide open. “Don’t.”
SLAM.
Not this again.
The door to the Duke’s office would crack open no more than an inch before it was promptly slammed shut, Lyney finding himself, once again, under the shadow of the man he wanted nothing more to do with. Once was more than enough, and twice was far beyond the line.
Lyney kept his voice level, his eyes never leaving the sight of the exit in front of him. He might as well become familiar with the patterns soldered into the door. “This is rather unprofessional for you, Your Grace.”
If anyone were to see the scene before them unfold in real-time, knowing not a thing about either man involved, you would assume that the young magician was simply just the victim of a man who could no longer control the beast within. It would certainly make for a record-breaking light novel in Inazuma. “Lyney, please .” Wriothesley kept his hands pressed firmly into the door, close to both sides of Lyney’s head, effectively creating a barrier with little to no room for escape. “How much more honesty do I have to give for you to understand me?”
Lyney, still refusing to turn his head, remained silent. Wriothesley kept going. “I know I should have gone about it differently, but I had no other way of drawing him out. I had to pretend to turn a blind eye and keep you as far out of the loop as I possibly could. If he suspected that either of us knew what he was planning, he would have wiped himself clean before I could manage to catch him with the dirt still on his hands.” The longer he spoke, the lower his voice would drop, his head mirroring the sound as it too began to droop. “If I could have avoided throwing you out into that bear trap, I would have gone ahead and skinned that damn thing’s hide a long time ago.”
The blond continued to give a cold shoulder, but the bones in his neck would turn so little that not even Wriothesley could see it. “To be honest with you,” The warden paused, his hands clenching further into the door before him as his forehead barely ghosted across Lyney’s bare shoulder. How intimate a position for them to be in, yet the Duke could barely take the time to cherish it properly. “I wanted to kill him.”
A deep breath in one throat, a catch in the other. “I wanted to kill him the moment I saw those photographs. I already knew he was watching you, like a hawk eyeing its next meal, and that alone was enough to make me want to tear his head from his shoulders. But seeing you stuck in so many tiny, white borders…” Wriothesley inhaled sharply through his nose, pressing his forehead further into Lyney’s skin. He, still, left the twist in the other’s neck unchecked. “It was enough to make me see red.”
His hands, slow and hesitant, would slide down the iron hatch, but they were reluctant to release the blond entirely. Wriothesley’s breath, hot and shaky, caused a strange and foreign sensation to slither down Lyney’s spine. “I could have killed him. I honest to god could have. And yet I didn’t. I didn’t kill him because I was concerned about you more than I was with anyone or anything else in that room. Keeping you safe was all that mattered to me. It really, really was.”
“I know you’re capable of protecting yourself. Only the gods know what would have happened that day if Sigewinne hadn’t shown up.” Bringing up such a painful memory for the Fatuus was risky, but Wriothesley pressed on. “You’re strong. I know that more than you think I do, but is it really so criminal for me to want to protect you?” He sighed, focusing all his attention on the feeling of his skin on Lyney’s. It was the only thing keeping him grounded. “To protect the one person I’d never imagine myself falling for, and yet I did?”
All was quiet. Wriothesley didn’t dare to lift his head from Lyney’s shoulder, nor did Lyney attempt to move him. They simply stood there, existing in each other’s spaces for who really knew how long. It was as pleasant as it was painful. The ticking of that old clock on the wall, the humming of the industrial fan just above their heads, the creaking of old, leaky pipes surrounding them on nearly every side. It all created such a comforting yet disturbing ambiance as the sounds of their breathing slowly but surely melded together. An unexpectedly beautiful harmony.
Then, the sound of a gentle, cooing dove. Lyney’s voice.
“Falling for someone like me is a terrible thing.” Lyney dared not to speak much above a quiet hum. “It’s a decision you’re bound to regret.”
“I’ve held many regrets in my life, Lyney.” As if he would scare the other by moving too fast, the lifting of Wriothesley’s head was slow and careful, but the moment their eyes had met for the billionth time that day, the sight, the Duke reasoned, was plenty worth the wait. “But falling for you certainly won’t be one of them.”
Lyney would cast his eyes away from Wriothesley, down to the floor or back to the door, but eventually, almost as if he were pulled in by magnets, those bright, amethyst would always make their way back to that vast ocean of lavender at dawn. A gaze so hard to resist, Lyney couldn’t help but return his boat to the dock. Perhaps this is how all bad habits got their start.
“And what if I can’t possibly change the way I feel? All this… Uncertainty? Anger?” The blond forced out a breath, turning his body about halfway around to face Wriothesley further. The Duke, in turn, created a bit of distance between them, yet kept himself close enough to remain a few meager inches away. Like a moth drawn to a flame. “What if you’re waiting years for someone like me to even come around?”
For Wriothesley, the absence of a clear-cut “No” left him as surprised as he would have been had he received a yes, if not more. It was certainly not the answer he was expecting, but he’d be a damn fool to take it for granted. Cautiously, the warden removed his left hand from the door and raised it to brush some of the hair away from Lyney’s eye, the Fatuus’s face feeling the slightest bit warm from the caress of those calloused fingertips along his cheek. If he wasn’t stunned already, the inhumanly loving smile on Wriothesley's face would have been enough to seal the deal.
“I’ve waited this long already. What’s a few years more if it means I have a chance?”
If you were to tell Lyney that he would eventually find himself the main object of affection of the person he hated the most in the world, at least, the person he thought he hated the most in the world, he would have laughed. Laughed so hard that he cried. Then he would have ended up ruining his makeup and getting upset over it.
But there was no laughter. No laughter, no tears, no nothing. Being faced with such a reality didn’t shake him nearly as much as he thought it would.
Why was that?
Why, why, why…
He’s already set a new record for the amount of “Why”s he’s asked himself today, so what’s the harm in a few more?
“Archons.” Lyney scoffed under his breath, shaking his head back and forth with a wobbly smile on his face. “What in the hell am I supposed to do with you?”
“Not sure.” Wriothesley quipped back, his own smile growing at the corners. “I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”
“For your sake, I sure hope so.” Lyney can’t remember the last time his voice sounded so soft. He only spoke that way to those he really cared about, and as jarring as it was to consider, he supposed that perhaps, just maybe, he cared about Wriothesley, too. In his own weird little Fatui way. He’d have to sit and think on it for a while, he was sure, but Wriothesley was patient. More patient than any prison warden probably ought to be. “I’m still a part of the Fatui.”
“I’m well aware of that.” Wriothesley’s other hand began to descend from the wall, falling far enough to hover by Lyney’s waist. A silent question.
“I’m stubborn, hot-headed, selfish.”
“Yes, yes, and yes. I knew all of that already.” Nimble, gloved fingers curled around the length of Wriothesley’s tie, embarrassment searing through the cloth and traveling up to glide across the back of his neck. “Why don’t you try and tell me something I don’t know?”
Two Visions. One Pyro, one Cryo. Humming in tandem with one another.
If Wriothesley’s head was subconsciously moving forward to close the gap between them as his free hand reached up to take Lyney’s hat off his head, Lyney made no move to comment on it. If Lyney’s hands had tightened their grip on Wriothesley’s tie to tug him further down, all the more into his personal bubble, Writohesley uttered not a peep about it.
“Liking me for me will be the single worst decision of your entire life.” Breathless. Hesitant.
“Good thing I’m more than well-equipped to face the consequences.” Breathless. Hopeful.
All the scars that littered Wriothesley’s face and neck, tanned skin seared with marks of battles past, were all that Lyney could see. From his short lashes to the dark, prickly beard along his jaw, seeing the Duke from such an angle was new. It was odd. It… Wasn’t terrible. For Wriothesley, he thought much the same, but the hammering in his chest was enough evidence to expose that, yes, he liked Lyney, so much more than the magician could probably ever comprehend. With those soft, shiny lips, eyelids painted with the ghost of magenta, he could easily put even the most talented of artists to shame.
To Wriothesley, Lyney was beautiful. To Lyney, he supposed that Wriothesley wasn’t nearly as hard on the eyes as he once thought. For them, inches would become centimeters then centimeters would become nothing at all. The space between them, once a million miles wide, had been drawn to a close, like a curtain call at the Opera Epiclese. A curtain call so sudden and so unexpected that you couldn’t help but cry out for an encore.
The kiss they shared was short. It was a far cry from the stuff that was written in the romance novels found on the shelves of Fontaine’s many bookstores, but for one warden in particular, it was an embrace he wouldn’t trade for anything in all of Teyvat. Lyney vaguely tasted of blueberry soufflé, a snack Wriothesley was sure he had gotten from Neuvillette earlier that day, and mixed with Wriothesley’s hint of earl grey from his prior spot of tea, he would have to argue that they certainly tasted great when put together like this. A flavor he would happily try again any day of the week.
Pulling away was hard, at least it was for the Duke, but getting to see that dazed, almost embarrassed look on Lyney’s face made the distance a little more tolerable. Lyney, surprisingly enough, was the first to speak, smoothing Wriothesley's tie back down into its proper place. “I’ll give it some thought. No guarantees that I’ll come around all that quickly.”
Humming in response, Wriothesley returned that cat-embroidered hat to its rightful owner, his right hand yet to leave its place at Lyney’s waist. “Take all the time you need. And hey, if you ever need another kiss to check on your progress, I’d be happy to oblige.” That earned him a swift smack to the chest, but the butterflies in his gut were much too busy knocking around his insides for him to really mind. In fact, he was more amused than offended.
“You’re lucky I even bothered to kiss you in the first place, especially after everything you’ve done.” Lyney gave the smallest of starts at the feeling of Wriothesley gently catching the hand he had used to swat at him just a second ago, the heat in his face getting worse as his knuckles were lifted to Wriothesley’s lips. The warden looked so smitten, it was nearly vomit-inducing. Keyword nearly.
“You’re right. I really am awfully lucky.” Wriothesley chuckled as he kept ahold of Lyney’s hand, faintly rubbing his thumb across the top of his glove. “And you have my honest thanks.”
“Oh please, you’re going to make me sick.” Even with such seemingly harsh words, Wriothesley continued to laugh at the blond before him. Lyney would fidget with his hat and distract himself with fixing his hair, clearly flustered by the Duke’s forwardness. Who knew that kind of audacity would be turned on him in such a way?
“I don’t suppose this means I can keep calling you kitten now?”
“Call me that ever again, and I’ll show you what a real kitten looks like.”
Putting his hands up as a sign of surrender, Wriothesley's smile was large and full of teeth. “Alright, alright, message heard loud and clear. I suppose I’ll wait until later to try that again.” The cross look the Duke earned in return for his comment was priceless. Lyney was certainly a whole lot of fun for him to tease, and now with this strange arrangement between them, the teasing was bound to get worse, whether Lyney wanted it to or not.
Before long, another lull in conversation came to pass, although for once, the sound of silence wasn’t nearly as gut-wrenching as it used to be. Instead, it was pleasant. Comforting, even if a bit awkward. And yet there was a question still hanging in the balance. One that had been asked long ago and was in desperate need of answering.
“I’ll take it that you’re still eager for me to accept your offer for tea?”
“Ah, so you remembered.” Lyney always remembers. “Sure, eager could be a word for it.” Wriothesley chuckled, crossing both of his arms across his chest with an easygoing grin on his lips. “I’d certainly still like to meet for tea, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it next week.”
Lyney quickly quirked an eyebrow in response. “Oh, really? Wasn’t that what you originally suggested in the first place? Around our regular meeting time?”
“I did,” Wriothesley confirmed, pretending to chew on the inside of his cheek in thought. “But something’s come up since I proposed the idea.”
Was Lyney… Disappointed? No, there wasn’t a slim chance in hell that he was disappointed about missing a tea date of all things with Wriothesley. Wait. Date? Why did his brain assume it was a date? Oh Archons help him. Abruptly coughing into his fist in a pathetic attempt to hide the blooming flush on his face, Lyney avoided Wriothesley’s eyes as he pressed on. “That something being?”
“Well you see, an inmate of mine went rouge and attacked one of Fontaine’s most important diplomats, and with interrogations left to conduct and lots of evidence to review, not to mention that inmate’s eventual punishment, I’m afraid I’m going to be busy for the next little while. I plan on having tea with said diplomat to discuss where we go from here. I’m sure you can understand, Mr. Lyney.”
Gods, what a smart-ass.
Rolling his eyes so heavily you could see nothing but the whites of his eyes for only a flash, Lyney couldn’t exactly deny that the corners of his own mouth were beginning to turn up again. “But of course, I understand you perfectly.”
“I’m happy to hear you do. So, how does tomorrow at noon sound? I can have Wolsey save us two plates of the finest stuff in the cafe, or I can import some of your favorites from the surface. Your choice.”
“I’ll take the finest that His Grace is willing to offer.”
It was Wriothesley’s turn to roll his eyes now, his tone low but warm. “What have I told you about calling me that? I have a name, you know.”
“Says the guy still calling me ‘Mr. Lyney’ after putting his mouth all over mine.”
That made a pretty shade of red dust across the warden’s cheeks. “Yeah alright, touché. But in my defense, I was joking.”
At the sight, Lyney couldn’t help but laugh. It was a small little thing, closer to a scoff than something deep from his gut, but it was a laugh nonetheless. The sound only pushed that bright red shade further onto the tips of Wriothesley’s ears. “Noon is fine.” Lyney mused as he gave his hat yet another quick fix, turning his way back around to face the door yet again. “Need me to bring anything for our meeting tomorrow?”
“Nah, just yourself. And your siblings if they feel up to it. I’ve still got plenty of tea to go around thanks to the Iudex’s inability to withstand a smooth-talking shop vendor.” Wriothesley’s chest, for once in his life, felt much warmer than it ever had before. Funny what pretty blond Pyro users can do to you.
“Hmm. I’ll certainly keep that in mind.” Lyney, having reached forward once more to try his hand at the door, was not met with resistance this time. He was free to leave if he wanted to, just as he had planned to do in the moments leading up to Wriothesley’s sudden declaration of honest affection. Thinking back on it just made Lyney’s own blush all the more saturated, the tips of his ears getting warmer and warmer just as Wriothesley’s had done. In this way, they truly did look like exact mirrors of the other.
Opening up the door to view that underwater world of sheet metal and iron just outside Wriothesley’s office, Lyney, by some unknown force, found himself stopping just seconds before he could take his first step past that threshold. He was hesitating. For what, not even he was sure.
“Everything alright?” Wriothesley sounded behind him, the underlying worry in his tone unable to escape Lyney’s notice. It was oddly kind of cute.
“Oh yes, everything’s fine.” Lyney finally began to sound like his usual, peppy self, his head turning back to look at the Duke over his shoulder. “Just thinking.”
“Oh? What about?”
‘I’ve held many regrets in my life, Lyney. But falling for you certainly won’t be one of them.’
“Nothing important. Just a few personal affairs back home. Although, now that you mention it, I suppose there was one thing I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
If Wriothesley smiled any wider, he was bound to tear his cheeks apart. “Enlighten me.”
“Wolsey says hello.” A beat, a breath, and a smile. “And I, goodbye. À demain, Wriothesley.”
In a moment, Lyney had left the door wide open in his wake, and in the next, his form was already turning the corner leading down to the elevator back up to the surface. To those in the Fortress who had been paying close attention to the young Fatui diplomat all these months, they would have thought that a ghost taking up residence somewhere inside Meropide was more likely than that blond Fatuus leaving the Duke’s office with a smile, of all things, written clear as day across his face. It was as much of a miracle as winning the lottery at the Coupon Cafeteria. For some, getting to witness such a sight served as a bit of good luck for the rest of the day.
‘If that young Fatuus with the prominent scowl on his face can leave here with a grin, then maybe my day won’t be so bad after all!’ they were sure to say to themselves. What a strange thing to possibly find joy in, and yet, could anyone truly blame them? Certainly not.
“Your Grace!”
“Ah, Estienne. Good timing. I take it that all the tasks concerning Mr. Adélard have been taken care of?”
Estienne was no fool. The smile on Wriothesley’s face was one he had yet to see the young Duke wear before now. The bright, shining grin of a man in love. Even Estienne felt the corners of his mouth begin to turn upwards in a positive direction.
“Yes, sir. All the evidence is logged and accounted for, and Mr. Adélard is still inside containment.”
“Glad to hear it.” The subtle yet strong crack of Wriothesley’s neck made that smile of Estienne’s falter, his brows furrowing together in a rather concerned fashion. “Say, mind doing me one last favor?”
“Of course, Your Grace. How can I be of assistance?”
“Do me the honors of taking me to him. There are a few things I’d like to say to the old lad.”