Intertwined Hearts / Intertwined Fates
Gods I am currently so obsessed with noblewoman Essatha and urchin Amon AU I shake it like a ragdoll between my teeth I love it I love it I love it arf arf
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Was this real? Of all the places that life could lead him, how cruel the humour if it held any sort of intention within its grasp. Splendid the luxury; how it made him feel sick with wanting, and with that wanting sick of himself for having the audacity to want at all.
Lady Essätha had no shortage in her kindness. If not for how early and unsuspecting this was all, he would have believed himself a charity case. For show: maybe; but for to better her own self-image would be more like it. This concept too would have run into its doubts, however. Every glance at her came with a great difficulty not to see the poetic version everyone drew so endearingly of her. She was it seemed every bit as was sung and said of her: generous, considerate, thoughtful and wise.
And I am a fool for staring, Amon Clermont thought bitterly. She was something of class and refinement; something far beyond the realm of his thoughts. He didn’t deserve to close his eyes and think of her so softly; or the way the light shone from her eyes whilst she smiled at him.
How long had he been here on her property now? Nor more than a week, and he could feel the disaster of John Keats and Fanny Brawne burrowing into every detail of his life. She was like a flame, and he the moth. He was not so clever and imaginative as the late author, but oh, Bright Star she was. There was an understanding in his heart now, how men could buckle and break to write such passionate odes.
It was all circumstantial. He reminded himself this again and again as he stepped into the mother-in-law suit on the Meduza estate grounds. Proving to her hospitality again and again, when he had held doubt on the very idea of staying in her home, she had finally convinced him of at least taking the extra dwelling unit. More importantly: it gave him some much needed distance between his crazed thoughts, and of her, though he tried not to admit it to himself. The smell of her fragrance lingering in the air of the manor; the sound of her moving throughout the hallways, her laughter; Gods to yearn for something so maddening like a boyish crush and a madman’s obsession.
There was a possibility that his time tied to Essätha Meduza could lead to his death. But what better fate to die, then? He had nothing, and she provided him with all humanely needs and all desires he gently attempted to rebuke. And there was her of course; her mostly importantly. The way she fidgeted her fingers, pulled back her hair, turned her eyes away as though shy when their gazes caught and lingered to long-
Pity him, he must be blind. Seeing things he shouldn’t, definitely. Amon gave a shake of his head, laughing at himself harshly as he moved about the room to undress. He opened the dresser (when was the last time he’d gotten to use one of these?) and gathered out some attire to wear to bed. There was no running water to this unit, but he had bathed and brushed his teeth in the main house before mulling down the walkway to the smaller house. Amenities on top of amenities, he was becoming spoiled.
Grunting, Amon tossed back the sheets and comforters to make space for himself in the mattress bedding. He took a great delight in the plush mattress; though Lady Essätha warned him that it was old and likely lumpy. It felt heavenly enough for him, and he took up the covers to shield himself from the chill of the night. Leaning over to where he’d left the lantern bedside that he’d walked down with, he blew out the lick of flame, and turned over to rest.
The world danced behind his eyelids as sleep swiftly overtook him. Nestled in warm bedding, full from a grand feast for dinner; all his dreams and thoughts were plentiful fantasies. All the comforts he had been missing out on for so long; all the literature at his fingertips, the access to humanity he’d been rejecting for so long.
Then of course, there was her. The glow of her in any lighting; it mattered not the sun or moon, the candlelight or magical baubles. It flowed through her, along her, beside her; filled her like an ethereal glow. She was the light, and it beckoned to her welcomingly. It came home to her readily; and brightened her eyes, her face, her smile-
A rapping at the door abruptly shattered him into awareness. At first he thought he had imagined it. Then Amon thought better of it; wearily remembering the hostile intentions of the murderous assassin. They would not come knocking in the middle of the night, no; but what if it was the Warden, or one of the temple healers. What if something had become of Lady Essätha?
Amon rolled quickly out of bed just as the second knock timidly rapped upon the door. He blinked at the blurry darkness that was his room, stumbling around the bedposts. There was so little moonlight on this night, and he could hardly see a damn thing. Tripping over one of his boots at the end of the bed, he growled to himself with annoyance as he finally made it to the doorway to tug the handle open.
I must still be dreaming.
Like Heaven’s Gates had opened before the very doorway, Lady Essätha stood awkwardly, her arms wrapped over her bosom in the chilled night air. Though he had grown accustom to the visible light catching off the golden hues of her iris like a predator stalking the night, her gaze was like a beacon in the night, guiding in warmth.
“Lady Essätha?” He drowsily grunted with shock. “Did something happen? Are you alright?”
The noblewoman reached up, pushing strands of curly black hair from her face. Her expression was naked with a kind of vulnerability he only ever saw at the Temple of Torm, when they had been admitted for healing after he’d saved her from the attempt on her life. Everywhere else, she had managed to hold a cool demeanor of strength and refinement. She was unshakable in that way.
“I’m sorry to have woken you at such an hour, Amon,” she rasped. Amon. He loved the way she said his name. It lifted his spirits; how she curled it just right, announced it in such a way that gave it meaning and life and vibrancy. Not Mister Clermont, but Amon.
Call me anything, and I’ll answer to it, milady.
“It’s no trouble at all, Madame,” he answered with a rough clearing of his throat, “how can I be of service to you?”
She rubbed her elbows uneasily, dropping her gaze from his. Her entire body folded inward with doubt.
“I shouldn’t be bothering you-”
“Upon my mother’s name, milady, you are not causing me bother in the least. Is there anything that I can do for you?”
With a sigh, the woman’s shoulders sagged. “Would it… be alright if I slept here, tonight? I can’t seem to garner and rest. Every little noise sounds like someone’s in my room.”
Her throat flexed. Amon could still see the distinct impression of the rope that had at one point been tightened there, attempting to suffocate the life out of her. His own throat swallowed heavily, burdened by the reminder that still remained there.
“Of course, ma’am. This is your house, after all.”
Essätha lifted her eyes to gaze up at him with relieved fondness. “Thank you- but this is your space while you are here. I don’t want to intrude.”
“Not at all,” he quickly remarked, stepping aside as he gestured with a respectable bow. “Please do come in: the night is chilly, I wouldn’t want you to catch cold.”
Her eyes were grateful as she tentatively stepped into the small dwelling space. “I’ll take the armchair-”
“The bed is most certainly yours, milady.”
“I promised this room to you; the bed is yours,” the noblelady insisted as he quietly closed the door after her.
“Madame: respectfully, I have slept on much less comfortable things than an armchair. I’ll be alright.”
To his great astonishment, she jutted out a finger at him, her voice stern: “I will take the floor, then, if you must take the armchair.”
“That is a waste of a bed milady,” Amon countered, slightly exasperated.
Though it was too dark for him to see it, her cheeks inflamed with color. “Why do we not just share in the bed, then? It is large enough for two people.”
He knew she could see him blushing; with her remarkable vision that adjusted to even this inky black. Amon swallowed thickly as his heart leapt in his throat; enthralled with the idea. One that, he knew, he should be taking no interest in.
“I- That would be indecent, madame. I’m not worthy-”
“Amon,” say it again, he prayed; latching on to her every breath and word; “This is not a matter of philosophy, nor class; this is simply about rest and impartial equality. You were granted this space as your own; therefore, the bed is rightfully yours. However I will bend in this matter to share with you the bed, since I know that you are far too much a chivalrous gentleman and wouldn’t allow a lady sharing the same space as you to be less than comfortable. We can share in the bed.”
The matter-of-fact way that she said it, well, how could he refuse her? He should; he needed to, but he didn’t wish to. There was a thrill in his body; tingling from nerve end to nerve end. The very idea of her pressed so close to him while they rested, it made him feel a giddy restlessness of joy in his heart that he wished he could vomit out. He needed to be rid of it; this longing. It was unhealthy. It would lead nowhere.
“… Fine. Fine, but I can lay at the end of the bed-”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Essätha snorted, making her way to the bedside. She climbed in with ease beneath the layers of fabric, and patted the adjacent side as she glimpsed up at him.
Join her? Now? His heart was pounding; sweat beading on his brow.
With an aching lightness in his chest, Amon shuffled around the other side of the bed; his eyes having adjusted better to the dark. He sank down at first, giving her time to change her mind, but she was already ahead of him; pulling back the sheets on his side, smoothing out the bedding cover. Her mass of black curls flopped into the pillow, burying herself in like it was a Queen’s comfort.
Slow as a snail, Amon took a seat on the mattress. One by one, he raised a leg to shimmy beneath the blankets. Lady Essätha huffed softly at his sluggish delay; tugging up the covers like a shroud before he had even laid back.
“Goodnight, Amon.”
Feeling inadequate and stupefied, Amon inclined back into the mattress, immediately turning his back to her. He couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t bare to. He feared that his own passionate desire would be plain on his face.
“Goodnight, Lady Essätha.”
“I told you before my dear: you can call me just Essätha, or Essie.”
“Of course, milady.”
She sighed on the other side of the bed, and it sounded sad. He hated that sound, but couldn’t make any sense on why it sounded that way. The framework of the bed creaked and bounced slightly as she apparently rolled over, curling herself up into a ball.
He allowed himself a single glimpse over his shoulder, seeing nothing but the thickness of her locks and her body rolled up in a balled up indistinguishable shape beneath the sheets. It didn’t take his thoughts much though to fill in the gaps: the soft, suppleness of her skin; aglow with the rich autumn tones. The gentle valley of her chest rising and falling, the curves of her hips, the line of her throat as her head tipped back-
Clamping down on his thoughts with an bear’s iron trap, Amon turned his head over. His lips were white; pressed together firmly as he bit the inside of his cheek. He was being incredibly indecent; daring to think of her so boldly when she was right there. Gentle and funny and sweet and right there. Like fate teasing him. Or how her voice so boldly challenged him; had him biting his tongue and finding no fault in how she approached him with an answer before he could dissuade her.
It would be over soon enough. He would wake and she would not be there; like the dream he believed it to be. Or he would wake and she would not be there, having fled from his side as she should. He was hardly a prize to be won, in status or appearance with his hideous scars. She was just lonely, and frightened. How could she not be, after what she’d been through?
And he would not take advantage of her fears. He would not abuse her kindness. She was here because of her night terrors, and he would respectfully be humbled by her finding security in his presence. Nothing more.
Eventually, his eyes fell closed. Sleep this time was dreamless; almost in a knowing that the reality he sought to ignore couldn’t be matched by a fantasy. To have her so close to him was far more than an urchin like he deserved. A nobody. A cast out. A failure on his family name; a would-be murder, a mess, a disaster.
When night fell to dawn, and he blinked in the morning light to stir to the world, he thought that maybe he was still asleep. It must be a pillow in his arms; it had to be a pillow.
But Lady Essätha groggily hummed in her sleeping state, curling herself bodily into him.
He wanted her. Not sinfully; though he may be a sinner. He wanted this casual comfort; the connection of human touch so peaceful and so long forgotten. Exploring bodies in carnal lust was easy to come by; a welcome lull to a deeper kind of loneliness. This though; blissfully content, was fulfilling in every way he could ever want day by day.
How on earth had they come to this though? She in his arms, her legs tangled with his, the heat of her breath wafting against his chest?
Tentative; fearful he would wake her and she would headbutt him right in the face, he nuzzled his face into her lush ebony curls as he knew he shouldn’t. She smelled of morning dew on marigold’s bloom; like the freshness of the cotton sheets and the ozone in the air before rainfall. There was a sweet hint of vanilla on her skin, and Gods, she was soft against him; loose and relaxed with trust and faith. Her skin as warm as a summer day, the sound of her breathing muffled against him as she shifted as though to get closer; to climb into his ribcage.
Let her go, his mind demanded. Get out before it becomes too much. Before you’re pulled in any further. The loss will destroy you otherwise.
She slept so serenely now. He could recall her restless nature even now at the Temple; how she’d been struggling against invisible nightmares and horrors that gripped her. How could be possibly refuse her a moment of tranquility, even if it was with himself? Yes it was selfish to take any joy in this moment; in a moment not warranted for him, but it wasn’t just for him, was it? She had come to him asking for his presence; wanting of this feeling of protection she felt assured he offered.
The noblewoman sighed, rubbing her cheek just beneath his collarbone. A stillness took over him bodily; hoping she did not wake and scramble away from him. Not yet; just give him a moment more to pretend, to craft a memory so vivid from this moment that he might yet be able to find comfort within it long past his time here.
Amon gave a muted thanks to the Gods, and clutched her closer; swearing her felt a reflexive tightening of her own arms around him as he pressed his face into her locks. He peered wearily at the rising sun filtering in through the curtains, knowing that all too soon it would rouse her completely from her slumber and they would have to unweave from this nest they made together.
Gods help him, he prayed he could find a way to learn how to unweave his heartstrings from her unknowing grasp one day too, before he lost. Before leaving was such agony that he couldn’t bare it. Before he settled down here, watching her, wanting her, and witnessing her grow with someone else yet being unable to live with the idea of never seeing her again.
Maybe his father had been right about him all along.
He was just a pathetic boy, with a weak heart.