#loushu

[malviolet]

i was just reinfected with a mind virus called metaphor

[saccharinecoffee]

In merit and rule, Ch. 1 | LouWill

Pairing ◈ Louis Guiabern & Will

Chapter word count ◈ 2,102

Info & Warnings ◈ Post-canon, slow burn, mutual pining, future smut, Louis social link, spoilers for the whole game!!

Read on Ao3

"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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Thank you so much for reading! Please consider sharing and checking out my other works! 💗💗💗

[saccharinecoffee]

True love's kiss | LouWill

Pairing ◈ Louis Guiabern & Will

Chapter word count ◈ 2,881

Info & Warnings ◈ Sleeping beauty AU, canon divergence, childhood friends to lovers, first kiss, possessive Louis, spoilers for the whole game!!

Read on Ao3

The fugitive and previous Kingsguard Louis Guiabern returns to the Ancient Eldan Sanctum for the first time in five years. His objective: to save his only friend and love from a curse he did not cast.

Louis checked his pocket watch as his Skyrunner approached The Eldan Sanctum. Five years to the day. Five years since he watched in horror as his closest friend’s eyes fluttered closed for the last time, surrounded by dark, blood red vines that dug into his skin and left his body limp on the ground. He wasn’t fast enough, strong enough, and that guilt weighed him down ever since.

Always on the run, he’d been since then. Always in search across the land for new magics, new potions and ingredients that might break the spell and bring him back to his shattered heart.

His was a hardened heart, even then as it broke. Darkened from disaster and loss and grief, layered and rough and impenetrable to that very day. But his prince was always his exception. Idealistic, but nothing like his father. Naive and gentle, but smarter than half the veterans who’d supervised him in the military. He was the only one who knew of his identity. He was the only one who could know. And how he’d loved Louis the more for it.

My Charadrius, he’d jested fondly. You’ll fly to me and cure me of any misfortune, won’t you?

Every day he would gaze upon his looking glass and greet his slumbering face. He looked as peaceful as he did awake, despite his complexion growing ashen in the shade of the inner Sanctum. He’d get him back. His runner would reach its destination soon, and his well-practised incantations were ready to be cast.

It would be a hit-and-run type of mission. With his status as a fugitive and a traitor to the crown, he only had one shot at infiltrating. Chaos would be their friend – with enough commotion outside the entrance, enough allies following his orders and plenty of swiftly cast spells, he’d make his way through and down the long trek to the Sactum unscathed. At least that was the plan.

His lungs burned as he ran, sweat beading on his neck as his hair stuck to his face. The scent of earth and greenery grew heavier with every flight of stairs, magla growing thicker and giving the air a static quality. His legs, toned and agile, struggled to keep up with each and every step without slipping and falling, his armour and igniters weighing down his frantic speed. He was unforgiving, shoving whomever stood in his way to the side, sounds of yelping and clattering echoing around deaf ears. He was never magnanimous and caring like his prince was, always single minded on survival and expertise to a near-cruel degree. The years he spent apart from his prince only solidified that fact, his cynicism and frost-cold eyes only sharpening.

He did it all for him. Without him, he felt as though he had no one left. He’d have nothing else. And by god would he burn the world down to ash if that came to be true.

With a flurry of elemental magic, the large doors at the foot of the tunnel blasted open. Eldas scattered like ants in a panic, some running away from him while others rushed to the chamber he knew housed his prince.

The entire time he’d been in his travels across Euchronia, he’d kept his bitterness at bay. His pride as he conquered every beast and dragon and lair he could get his hands on was enough to spur him on in his quest. And he did admirably so, collecting and reading and building his repertoire of knowledge, all for his prince, all for one singular life.

Now though, as he inched impossibly close to his goal, every step closer to his beloved, he felt it all brust in his chest. It was maddening, being made as the villain. They would never know his strife. They could never reach his ankles in the lengths he’d gone through. They saw themselves so good yet hadn’t put themselves in half the danger he did for the sake of their prince. Stoicism failed him then, as a deep scowl etched through his expression, unsheathing his infused sword and slicing through his opponents with fire. Their pain-wracked, bloodied bodies meant nothing to him. If they wanted their lives they should have known better than to stand in his way.

He rushed through a last pair of doors and felt his heart nearly leap out his throat as he met his prince once more. He didn’t have the time to take in his sleeping form, to revel in finally touching him once again. He was on borrowed time, he reminded himself, and so he cast the first spell, blocking the entrance with a barrier invisible to the naked eye. He knew it worked when people quickly gathered and started to bang desperately at the magla with their fists. He paid them no mind and made his way around the altar his prince lay in.

He cracked a smile without meaning to.

Will was taller, his cheeks less pudgy and hair long enough to reach past his waist. He’d truly grown in his slumber, no longer a mirage to muse over but a real boy turned to man, waiting so sweetly for the worst of his knights to come to his aid.

His prince would never admit it out loud but he would stifle a laugh each time he insisted Louis was good. He knew better, but senselessly insisted anyways. It only made his cold heart swell and break all the worse.

He brought a hand to his face, nervous fingertips gently grazing the apple of his cheek, and down the slope of his face to his jaw.

“Hi,” he whispered, a little incredulous and a little overwhelmed. “I tried my best, Will. For you.”

He then took a step back and closed his eyes, his focus tremendous as he recited the enchantments he’d worked and bled just to find. A great light emanated above the prince’s heart, something angry red, fighting against him as he proceeded with each step in the process. White, yellow and blue fought red, black and purple, the effort growing so hard he began to huff and grunt and scream into the curse’s source.

In the end, he collapsed, a great blinding light refracting all around in lieu of a soundless explosion. The impact reverberated across the Sactum, vibrations rattling the earth and shoving him roughly against the stone wall. He panted, hands pushing his hair back and wiping the sweat from his brow as his wild eyes scanned his surroundings.

The prince’s body was intact, seemingly free from the harm the shockwaves could have caused. He brushed his overgrown bangs away from his forehead, caressed his cheek reverently as he scrutinised him for any signs of waking up. The vines that danced around him were nowhere to be seen, so why…

The protesting outside was louder, and a quick glance revealed a mob of angry, desperate Eldas either cussing him out or begging for the prince's life.

His chest deflated as he looked back down to the sleeping prince, chest rising and falling like nothing had happened. Like Louis had done nothing at all.

His breathing became shallow and frantic, walking a couple steps back as he took in the magnitude of his failure. Did he miss a script? A spell? Did he conjure it wrong? Did he skip a step? Was his preparation wrong? Did he not exact enough force?

The barrier at the entrance was starting to crack. He glanced at it with a haunted look as he felt every last shred of hope fall from beneath his feet. He gripped the polished marble of the altar and rested his forehead on Will’s beating heart. Still alive, so close to returning to him, just one last unknown yet to be resolved.

Crack, after crack, squeaking like glass as pressure fissured the surface. He needed to leave or he’d be bludgeoned, beaten and burried. His life had been forfeit since his youth, but the prince… The prince had been his last hope.

“The things I’ve endured for you despite all your father did to me,” he mused. “How absolutely pitiful of me,” he muttered with a trembling voice. Anger, he felt. Mourning what could have been.

It wasn’t a good life, the one he lived, but while Will was present, he felt like he could live. Truly live. He felt like he could smile even when there was nothing to beat, nobody to best. With the prince, he needn’t deserve happiness. He could just have it free of charge.

Wasn’t that a beautifully utopian thought? To have something so precious without having slaved away to earn it?

He stood up and breathed in deeply, the fire in his heart faded to cinders and ash. He traced the skin of Will's arm, soft and silky to the touch, down to his hand, and slipped his fingers through his. When he looked back at his face he could hear the first bits of the barrier crumbling to the ground, slowly chipping away from the labour of his pursuers. The beating of his heart echoed in his ears, pulsing and deafened to the growing commotion just a few metres away from him. He smiled bitterly, free of ego. It was so unlike himself, and yet he’d never felt more firmly present in the moment as he did then.

It was a goodbye. It was a see you soon. It was everything he’d ever wanted to tell his prince while he still lived.

He leaned down and pressed his lips to Will’s, sighing in relief as the prince’s softness met his salted skin. He deserved more. Deserved better. But this was the height of Louis’s every effort for five years counting. He hoped Will understood and felt every inch of his longing and love.

He couldn’t help but linger, revelling in that moment of catharsis as the barrier shattered completely and hands began to pull him in every direction. He fought as best as he could, sneaking glances at the prince to ensure his safety as his hair got pulled and knees dug into his ribs. Vitriol like no other was thrown his way, insults he hadn’t heard in years resurfaced and shot like razor-sharp blades into his stomach.

And then, a miracle.

“Louis?”

A jovial voice he'd recognise anymore. Hoarse and weak, a little confused and stunned. He turned around and locked eyes with Will’s grey-blue irises, his pretty silver hair falling in rivulettes down his shoulders. The utter elation he felt came first, but as the Eldas around him seized their attacks to gaze at their prince in stupefaction, he felt pride like no other.

He did what no one could.

He did what no one would.

“My prince. So good of you to join us,” he spoke with confidence, like no time had passed and his hardships were merely a dream. “Has your nap proven sufficient?”

Will looked down to his open palms, then down his body and around him. His brows were furrowed deeply, a pout he missed dearly painted on his lips.

“My prince, are you alright?”

“Your Highness, you must refrain from speaking to this viper!”

“Louis Guiabern has–”

“My good people,” Will spoke up, a forced smile on his pretty mouth. “Please, keep calm. I’m all right.”

“But Your Highness–”

“You heard your prince,” Louis spoke, dignified and proud despite the growing bruises on his once pristine skin.

As people left and called for the Old Hermitess to come to their aid, Louis and the prince held each other’s gaze with an intensity like never before. Will regarded him with gravity, but regardless of Louis’s pounding, bleeding heart, he couldn’t help but stand his ground with the arrogance of a young army general and personal Kingsguard. Old habits died hard; he was never one to wear his heart on his sleeve.

They stayed in silence until Gruidae appeared. His prince smiled and hugged his grandmother dearly, spoke softly with her as healers inspected him and guards reinforced the perimeter. He stood against the farthest wall, forced to stay put. He had no plans to move either way.

Their healers inspected Will, used several incantations to inspect his body and aura, his magla and blood. All seemed well, a curse fully cleansed from his soul.

They interrogated Louis after ushering the prince away, much to both of their chagrin. The prince needed sustenance, it was insisted, but the very thought of ripping Will away from him again felt like loss.

He promised to see him later, though. He hoped he meant it, as he spelled out every single detail of his plan and magic script to his captors. 

Hours later he’s moved to the living quarters of the Sanctum, into a comfortable room covered in foliage and soft looking linen. At the centre of it was his prince, standing idly like he’d been pacing in the room.

Louis remained immobile where the guards left him as they shuffled on their way out. Strange, he thought, that they’d trust a traitor with their liege.

“The healers went through your spells. They find it unlikely you could have cast the curse if this was the method you chose to dispel it.”

Louis turned his nose.

“What is that supposed to mean?” The words came out harsher than he intended. Will only laughed, though, leaning back to sit on his bed.

“Calm down, you big grouch, nobody’s insulting your spellcasting here.” His voice was melodious. Playful. Louis clasped his hands behind his back so he wouldn't catch him fidgeting. “What I am saying though, is that you apparently went through a pretty round-about way to untie all the kinks in the curse. Like you didn’t know its true nature and were working with the few mechanics you knew instead.”

Louis nodded.

“Are you alright, though, Your Highness?”

Will smiled bashfully.

“Yeah.” He pressed his smiling lips together and looked down to the hands in his lap. “I felt it, you know?”

Blistering heat crept up his neck.

“Felt what?”

He looked up at him with kind, hopeful eyes, and Louis stepped closer, curiously. He noticed then he’d braided his hair in the time they’d been apart. It looked pretty on him. 

“Your kiss,” he grinned. He looked so happy. It was almost too much. Louis swallowed a lump in his throat.

“So you did. How so… If I may ask.”

Will stood up again and bridged the gap between them. Barefoot and barely scraping past adulthood, Louis towered over him in thick-heeled boots and imposing leather armour. His mere stature threatened to swallow his prince whole.

“It was like I could hear your soul singing. Sorrowful and dejected. You gave up on yourself, but… You didn’t give up on me. Not really.” Louis’s eyes widened, feeling raw and exposed to any vultures who might smell blood in the air.

But it was just the two of them. Only him and the only one who truly mattered.

“I sound terribly untrustworthy, then,” he stated, not as coldly as he wished to project. “Surely you’d rather a knight with a little more self-respect.”

Will scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“As if you don’t have enough ego to pass around.”

Louis bit the inside of his cheek, as to refrain from laughing.

He missed this.

“Yet another reason you might wish for a better soldier.”

Will shook his head, the stars in his eyes shining bright as he reached his small hands to the cream leather of his heavy armour. He steeled himself visibly, so clear in the tension building in his shoulders, a young man so incapable of not bearing his heart to all who had eyes to see.

“You went through so much for me, Louis.” His brow furrowed. “Please, just– Be honest with me.”

Louis remained quiet, his hands growing limp at his sides.

“I know how you feel,” he continued, insistent. “I felt it when you kissed me.”

Slowly, he reached for Will’s shoulders, palms splayed carefully as he dragged them up his neck, resting at the base of his jaw.

His prince hadn’t the slightest idea what peril and tribulation he went through to bring him back to life. The sleepless nights, the fear of losing the only reason he even kept moving forward. The loneliness in never allowing himself another connection, the anger in progressive failure. 

So much duty. So much sacrifice. All for one boy to smile at him again, as he did in their shared youth.

“Do you oppose it?” He asked, bracing himself for the worst. his hands felt clammy and his veins jolted with every beat of his heart.

“Of course not, you idiot,” was the reply he got. So incredibly Will and so terribly euphoric.

His fingers dug into Will’s jaw possessively as he leaned down to kiss him again, a second first kiss on equal footing, and even more satisfying than the first. Will’s arms circled his neck, his body melting into Louis’s as their lips met and tasted each other eagerly. His prince was his.

And he was his prince’s. He always had been, in name and in heart. But now, spell-free and in his precious hold, he was, too, in spirit and soul.

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Thank you so much for reading! Please consider sharing and checking out my other works! 💗💗💗