Info & Warnings ◈ Post-canon, slow burn, mutual pining, future smut, Louis social link, spoilers for the whole game!!
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"As penance for his crimes, His Majesty the King William I has sentenced Count Louis Guiabern to a life of duty in service of the crown."
The rightful heir takes the throne, Louis bends the knee, and a strange bond of trust is forged.
“As penance for his crimes, His Majesty the King William I has sentenced Count Louis Guiabern to a life of duty in service of the crown.”
The throne room was dead silent as Batlin read his first decree to the Lords and Ladies of the United Kingdom of Euchronia. Will was seated at the very back, on the elevated marble podium where the people’s throne lay. At the very foot of it were his comrades in arms, the recently appointed Six Partisans and his captive in war. Between Leon Strohl and Eiselin Hulkenberg was the man every single person in the room was staring at with looks of utter contempt and disdain, a tall head of pale blond curls and soiled cream leather.
Bound in iron around his wrists and stripped of his igniters he was only a man, and one nobody could bring themselves to fear any longer.
“King William I does not pardon his crimes against Euchronia,” continued the crier, “but offers leniency on the count of the admittance of his guilt and his unprompted submission to His Grace.”
That was enough to prompt a buzzing of chatter amongst the crowd. In hushed voices and frustrated huffing they displayed their scorn, not just for Louis, but also his prosecution.
Batlin rolled up his scroll and glanced sheepishly at Will. He could only sigh. He’d always expected that dealing with the Lords would be the most difficult part of ruling, but he hadn’t expected pushback on his very first audience, much less with how overwhelmingly popular Louis had been.
The people were fickle, he supposed. Especially those who wanted to poke and prod their way up the social ladder.
He stood up and raised his hand, quieting the whispers across the hall in an instant. The long, regal cape he wore over his shoulders weighed down his every movement, and his crown just the same. Symbols of the responsibility he bore of carrying both his fate and the people’s trust. There was, however, a safety in that feeling, one he saw reflected in the eyes of his closest friends, his confidants, and now, his protectors. It only spurred him further and lit the dark path before his feet.
“Count Louis has done this country a great harm and disservice, be it in regicide, conspiracy, or magic-born atrocities – of this I will never deny,” he spoke loud and firmly. He took a step down, and then another, inching closer to his comrades and his captive with every word he uttered. “However! I will not put another man to the sword without due process and reason. The former was resolved the moment Louis Guiabern bent the knee before the Six and I. The latter is made clear if you take the smallest glance at the life he has led.”
He stood before them all on equal footing. Etiquette demanded the King to always stand above all, or so he learnt in his youth. Instead, he followed the rule he chose for himself. With his back to his chained nemesis and his front to the country’s most powerful figureheads. His journey to that point had taught him many a skill, and audacity was but one of them.
“My Lords and Ladies this man has more use to us alive than he does dead. No matter how you spin the truth, that much is clear.”
Years of stellar service in the military, unprecedented skill in battle, wisdom in war and intelligence in analysis. Resilience in facing horrors, shrewdness in overcoming obstacles, and building an empire of his own. Banding tribes of all creeds together and making them work with each other seamlessly was but the tip of the iceberg. Look a little under that and one could find a wealth of rich expertise. Louis was everything he needed in a new administration. If he weren’t so corrupted by grief he might have made an admirable ally from the get-go.
When he turned around to face away the disgruntled crowd, Hulkenberg eyed him somberly in concern. It mattered not. He knew he was doing the right thing.
“Do any of you know what it is like to hold no prejudice in your heart? To treat others equally and measure them on their work and character alone?”
Louis’s eyes pierced his own most sharply, something indescribable in the ice-cold blue of his irises.
“This man’s crimes will not be ignored, and will not go unpunished. But he will be utilised to help further our nation’s project of unification and equity. Despite our countless differences, and despite his treason, we have a shared ideal.” He faced the crowd one last time, and in earnest, he concluded. “I ask only that you trust my judgement.”
Louis was tall and dignified, even when bound and rid of his prosthetic horns. He towered over Will as he eyed their Clemar, Roussainte and Rhoag guests with as much disdain as his stoicism permitted. It was satisfying, Will realised. So used to the vitriol of others he was, he’d quickly learnt to always keep his head down and save face. Louis cared little of it, especially now that the cat was out of the bag. Self-preservation meant nothing when stripped of titles and protected under the crown.
When he looked down at Will, he could have sworn he was smirking just a fraction. The notion aggravated him. It was hard not to when Louis was the reason he lost so much and almost lost a whole lot more.
“Louis Guiabern. Do you swear now and forever, in front of all the great houses of the Kingdom of Euchronia, your undying fealty to me as your King and to my sovereignty across the land?”
Louis’s eyes sharpened like blades, his gaze never leaving Will’s as he got down on one knee and reached his bound hands for Will’s own. The gesture was unexpected, more akin to how a knight might ask a maiden for her favour than a soldier begging forgiveness. Weeks of strange emotions welled up in him, weeks of taking apart and building Louis’s ideology back together, of analysing every look he gave Will over the course of their acquaintance in futile attempts and better understanding him, of begrudgingly easily empathising with his feelings as a fellow Elda, orphaned and cursed and left with nothing to grasp but a name. Spellbound, he watched the blond's elegant movements, his gaze met with his own. Like he could read Will wide open, in most infuriating defiance, he brought his left hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. He felt his cheeks burn, heart caught in his throat as his lips curled into a scowl. The Lords were all used to rings being kissed by their vassals, the Ladies accustomed to roses and handkerchiefs. Louis was of the Eldan Sanctum, of the skies and the battlefield; what he did was a provocation, surely, not fealty.
Will looked up and met the mortified looks on his friends' faces, Hulkenberg and Heismay ready with hands on the hilts of their swords. But Will, heart pounding in his ears and so drawn into Louis’s strange web, only watched in vexed fascination.
The curly blond tresses of his hair were more matted than before in the aftermath of his imprisonment, but they curled into his cheeks and framed his face most handsomely nonetheless. His surcoat was dirtied in brown, either by blood died cold or dirt left unshrugged from the aftermath of their battle and fall from the skies.
It was arrogance. Everything about Louis dripped that brand of confidence built like gilded armour around a heart they both knew and saw was tortured with anxious trauma. To feign submission most transparently, after everything he did to him and his country, was begging for punishment. Will was forgiving and understanding, with a heart large enough to gather all with both flaw and virtue, but Louis was walking on a knife’s edge. Purposefully so.
He did not hide the frustration in his face. And Louis seemed utterly amused, gazing up through his lashes and pretty hair. If he could, Will would show him his royal archetype once more.
“I’ve already done so, Your Grace. But I swear it anew before the pigs who gorge themselves on that which they did not earn.”
It took Will’s best efforts not to laugh amidst his anger. It was a great offence, one that had gasps and loud sneers of indignation echoing throughout the hall, begging for their Majesty to cull the man’s head right off his shoulders for insubordination.
Will barely heard any of them, as he and the man below him shared something between their locked gazes that kept his feet rooted to the ground. His undivided attention rested not in the court or in the words he ought to say, but the conspiratorial smile the Count offered most willingly. Perhaps he did wrong in doubting him.
The look in his mirthful eyes wasn’t one of insubordination; it was one of a desire for challenge. His tongue peeked from between his lips and licked over the raw, pink skin, barely parched despite the less-than-optimal conditions of his prison cell. Will mirrored the gesture unconsciously, his heart fluttering with excitement in his chest, his palms growing sweaty.
Naive. They would call him naive. But how could they not, when they didn’t know what it was that swimmed between them when he grabbed Louis from the fall and brought him back to his senses amidst the humid earth at dawn. They didn’t understand the grief in Louis’s eyes as he saw the King’s archetype fall from around Will as he closed his hands in tight fists in his lap, his ego crushed and his ideals of equality smothered by his King. They could never even guess the strange grin he gave him as he admitted with uncharacteristic humility Will was his better, worthy of the title, and leagues stronger than he ever could be.
For a man like Louis, that was loyalty in the truest form. Loyalty born out of pure, unadulterated merit. He was a man who followed not the rule of law but the rule of labour.
Vexation and feverish heat ever present, Will nodded, his voice so low only Louis and those closest to them could hear.
“Doublecross me at your own risk.”
Louis cocked his head to the side, not unlike a playful cat. His pale thumb unconsciously traced over his knuckle.
“Do you mistrust me so, that you’d doubt me after all you’ve seen?”
“I don’t know what to think about you.” The words were almost spat out, the months of exhaustion that had insidiously built up beginning to creep up on him the more he tried to make sense of the blond.
“I think you do,” he said with utmost ease, his voice silky soft and caressing him in all the right ways. Louis was complicated, a right headache of a man, but at the root of it they were two sides of the same coin. Bound by tribe, by ideals, by fate. He could assume the worst all he desired, the truth was bare and spoken plainly before him.
He squeezed Louis's hand lightly, the walls around his heart hardening. As he slipped it away from his calloused palm, little jolts of electricity danced on the surface of sun-kissed skin.
New Bond: Rank one.
“You’ll earn my trust if you’re as honest as you claim to be.”
For a fraction of a second Louis seemed relieved, bowing his head as his shoulders relaxed before looking back up with the same infuriating smile.
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
Will took a deep breath, the weight of his Kingdom on his back as he took his sword out. He brought the tip to Louis’s left shoulder, then raised it and rested it on the right.
“I pronounce thee, Louis Guiabern, my loyal vassal and retainer henceforth,” he spoke louder, projecting his voice deserving of his title. He then sheathed his sword and took a step back. “Now rise.”
Louis did just that, towering over Will once more. He realised how relaxed he had been as he watched him quickly became rigid before the hateful eyes of the court. He was nothing if not a caged animal patiently peering through iron bars and salivating at his own bloody thoughts. It threatened to send a shiver down his spine.
“This audience is adjourned," he said finally, wiping the sweat of his hands on the pristine fabric of his trousers. "I bid you all good tidings and safe travels.”
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