remember

when thjazi begins to account for his own injuries, all azune can do is nod. it doesn't sound too bad. legs, arms, norma never worried too much about those kind of wounds, all things considered. it is guts and chest wounds that need to be treated fast.

“Do you presume to know why I came here?” It was that same old mocking tone but contrasting to the way his eyes closed, head tilting slightly as if guided by the brush of Azune’s callous thumb over the soft skin of his cheek. Too delicate and soft for a warrior and a veteran. Only a thin scar across his upper lip marred the perfect visage, like a chip in a porcelain cup. He chuckled low and his eyelashes fluttered as he closed his eyes for a moment.

Almost distractedly, he picked the tip of Azune’s braid, rolling the end with his fingers until it was as fine as a rare ginger brush. It was unclear if he was allowing himself to stay in the closeness of that intimacy, or allowing Azune to keep him there. But he was there, for now, tense but close, looking like he might start to purr at any minute or simply bolt. Maybe not even he was entirely sure. 

Julien Davinos wasn’t a stranger to intimacy, but not of this kind. Any other time he would have pushed Azune back on that bed and let the night take them where it willed. It was what one usually did when death was certain, or when alone with a handsome and willing knight. But Azune asked, or needed something more of him— Somehow giving up his life to die by his side felt far easier. He could give him a hundred oaths if it involved fighting by his side. 

Those green eyes looked up again to watch him, a near perfect jade green, pale and cool. Fast fingers tugging slightly at the end of the braid wrapped around his finger.

because the truth was, that julien did not allow himself this kind of intimacy but instead chased it away with what would allow him the upper hand. that's what azune had been used to in all those past nights. but this felt oddly familiar to given trust and he would cherish this memory even if they did not survive the following day.

he was so beautiful like this, even the tiredness and messy appearance of travel. all silver edges as the moonlight hit him from the window. sharp and driven in a way that felt so him, but with this vulnerable undercurrent. a real sliver of julien he didn't believe he allowed himself to rise to the surface. and for a moment, he wanted to let the animal part of him keep him here if only to hoard more of these moments.

he planned to show julien where he'd kept his personal items, and anything that would be useful to the cause. to not leave more questions than answers like thjazi had. but the two people that had stepped foot in this apartment would be coming with him tomorrow.

The other hand still gripped the bottle, crushed between their bodies, his only known way out of the pain discarded and forgotten. There was none of the playful possessiveness he had come to know, but a hungry, lonely desperation. He tasted salt on his lips, grief, fear. Too raw, too open, too much.

With a grunt that sounded almost like a wounded animal, Julien finally turned his face to the side, breaking the kiss. He didn’t entirely pull away, his hand still holding a fistful of his shirt, body tense. A nearly drowned man taking shaky, lungfuls of air. He felt just as lightheaded, his mind reeling to grasp at the threads of his thoughts, his cool disregard that always kept him safe from this kind of thing. 

He tried his usual smirk and opened his mouth as if to say something, but nothing came, just a too vulnerable intake of breath that made him feel sick to his stomach. Like offering his neck up for the chopping block. Stupid.

Dead, cursed gods, how he hated him then. 

he wasn't good at reciprocating care. never knowing the right words to say, despite being overly aware of other's emotions around him. he could see julien struggling under the weight of it all, as if his own grief was chafing against julien's. now that his focus had solely fallen on this man in his bed, it was easier to see the tears welling in that sharp jade gaze. fighting for control over overwhelming emotions that azune had just surrendered himself to.

“ okay, ” he breathed at the other's first words. who would've thought? back when their fate first met, on different sides of the battlefield, that they'd be tangled like this now. that he'd have his back without being asked to. “ we've showed einfassen the truth of that night. ” azune confessed, cupping julien's cheek, as if that could provide some comfort. “ with careful fabricated evidence, but we did not let tachonis' lies cover up what really happened. ”

there is much that i know of you, harondus had said meaning his service of the falconer's rebellion. and now there is something you know of me. and azune hoped it meant the beginning of his distrust towards house tachonis. he hoped he didn't doom julien too.

Yet lately all that seemed to exist was that permanent feeling of things unraveling, one bad thing after the next. The cold certainty that his father, Callowyn, his friends, his whole household was trapped somewhere under Primus Tachonis power, the thought of Alba slowly withering away with every day that passed. His mother’s fear that he would die in some dark unreachable place where she wouldn’t even have a body to grieve over, just like his father. The certainty that he would, that some twisted part of him wanted it.

And now Azune, that beautiful and broken man lying on that bed, as certain of his own death as he was, still walking towards it like a fool. He wanted to look away from his sad, pretty eyes so transparent in that moment. Wanted to look away from the knowledge that he was baring his soul to him then, not all of it, but the small animal fear he had kept tucked away for as long as he had known him. 

I’m jealous, he had said about Julien’s outburst, that he could express his emotions, let them flare out. He had been so composed then, so calm and confident. That man, or that mask of a man was shattered now and all he could see was the boy he might have been. Back when all their lives changed, whent he first pebble of this avalanche had started rolling. He didn’t remember, but he said he had been there— and he still hadn’t used it against him.

His hand rested on Azune’s stomach as he leaned slightly to look at him, it stayed there, steady, solid. He could feel his body rise and fall with each breath, warm and present, achingly alive. He stared at his own hand, eyes glassy, but he didn’t cry. Nothing as dramatic, his emotions held tight like a blade in a clenched fist, bleeding and hurting, yet still not letting go. 

or those nights they spend, tangled in rented sheets and in a desperate search to feel alive. the julien after the massacre of house davinos was the clearest to see. lost, mourning, a weapon honed to avenge those that had hurt him. this julien tonight, is perhaps the biggest puzzle of all. he’d been used to a sharp tongue and possessive touch. the steady hand on his stomach was almost uncharacteristically tender in comparison. staunching an invisible wound that had begun to bleed since thjazi’s funeral.

although a day before, it was his hand staunching an actual wound. and her words that brought a part of a little boy back to life.

julien’s words hit him, as if someone had taken his warhammer and knocked the air out of his lungs. a mere 12 hours ago, he was sobbing and begging asking for assistance in the support of his case. he’d tried his oldest and his closest friend. he’d tried a boy who was not alive anymore but could prove it all. just don’t let me go alone. please don’t make me go with only of what i already have. a small animal noise escaped him. not quite a sob, more of a gasp. at hearing an answer he was searching for, from a question he didn’t know how to ask. after all, julien had been both a victim and a witness to it all.

He leaned back on his elbows, watching Azune’s reflection through the full length mirror by the wall, eyes fixated on the pages the way he had seen Illondra fixated on her harp when playing. Intense, absolute focus. 

With a small grunt he shoved it all back down, every sharp memory he was better off leaving alone, and instead thought back to Riesingürtle. To the practical matter at hand.

would harondus insist on keeping him safe, keep demodus and groto 'safe' just to hand them off to the tachonis? or had the pile of evidence grown so large that they couldn't ignore it? and they were as scared as he was at the thought of the priestly house of death. he knew where his luck usually fell with the houses.

“ sounds like them, they're always looking for hard evidence. you did right to leave, ” azune sighed, and a deep groan escaped his lips. the more he looked at the papers and evidence and the testimonies the less sense it made. his head hurt, his vision blurred, and he wished he, too, could disappear from the window. “ could you... ” the words died on his lips. he knew his orders. suck it up, nayar. would a written testimony from the heir of house davinos change anything? if the lord of the house had already heard the truth from them and it wasn't enough.

Now the same king his mother had looked down upon was offering refuge— yet it wasn’t comforting, somehow it just made the bite taste more bitter. The Golden Orchard was meant to be the refuge after the doors to Tír Cruthú had closed. What comfort was in being a beggar in someone else’s land? What would happen when that kingdom, barely standing in its too young legs, fell next?

He took another swig of the drink and sat on the bed, next to the papers, staring without looking. Azune’s voice brought him back, the words taking some time to shape themselves in his mind.

“ no, ” it wasn’t wise or useful. it was a trap wrapped in a web lies. and he could only hope he’d scared harondus enough to be listened to. “ but i don’t really have a choice. ” this had always been his role to play. and harondus dangled the sword over his head—his service to the falconer’s rebellion—for far too long now.

he dropped onto the bed next to julien, like the papers before him, and pushing them aside so he wouldn’t drop on the floor. “ can you tell me what happened? ” he asked, more exhausted than he did all day, picking up his notebook and pen from the assortment of papers. if there was anything he could use, or at the very least not be caught off guard he needed to know.