Vacillation (1x1 Mamoru and Avery)

Dealing with personal matters, alone in his room. That didn't add up to any pleasant thoughts. Edmund made note to phrase it better. Perhaps, 'Overwhelmed by his engagement with Lady Geneva?' No, that still sounded a bit off. And illness would only be a reflection of poor hospitality on Johannsen's part. Edmund would think of something if anyone asked. Pretext and equivocation were something he like to think himself good at.

"Would you like me to escort you?" he asked, following Oliver out and noting his sluggish cadence. Edmund wanted to help, wanted to be of assistance or succor. Use me, acknowledge me, rely on me. But... perhaps correspondence with the estate, his obligated work, would be enough. "Would you like me to come and tell you when we're about to depart? Perhaps a half hour prior to it?"
 
"Yes, you can escort me. A reminder of when we are about to depart would be appreciated as well," Oliver replied, looking back at Edmund. God, did he look worse for wear. There was no way he could hide the swelling, redness and fresh bruising now blooming upon his face. When they return to his own estate, there was no doubt that it would be a topic of interest to the entire staff. Anything they would say would be a statement of disappointment. Of course Edmund ended up bruised and beaten from a simple trip.

Oliver then left the room, walking slow enough that it wouldn't be much of a struggle for Edmund to keep pace. He didn't know what exactly he'd do first when he'd get to his room. Pack his things back up? Fall asleep? Simply lay upon his bed, staring at the ceiling? Anything sounded better than trying to deal with any more people right now. Of all things to have exhausted him so easily, it had to be personal matters. He would've thought that something like multiple balls and social gatherings back to back would've done that, or a days filling of just listening to the requests and toils of the peasant people who chose to visit him at court. He didn't know if it was just normal or disappointing that it was personal matters to do this to him.
 
The staff who took pride in their job, their nation, or the Van Haver family would be disappointed with Edmund's conduct and resulting broken nose. But, Edmund felt, that an immoderate amount would share a laugh about it. Their resident bastard had received a beating, one long overdue, one they wished they could have given themselves. The staff wouldn't toast and drink to Edmund's death as they had Oswald's, but he was certain they'd at least clap when it came.

Furtively, Edmund glanced over their shoulders, and gave the remainder of the hall a cursory look. Not a soul but them. Everyone else was likely mingling, letting breakfast settle, or saying their goodbyes for early departure. Tentative at first with circumspect, then bold once he found his nerve, Edmund slipped his hand in Oliver's, lacing their fingers.

"I'll have everything in order for your return." He assured. "You'll be planning your own wedding soon enough. News of it will please Johannsen, I'm sure. Like the happiness and hospitality of his daughter's wedding were contagious. The advent of a matrimonial fever." Edmund jest lightly. His face felt warm, and throbbing, and was probably swelling to all hell. He'd try to treat it before they left if he found time. Oliver's room would be coming up soon. Edmund would have to leave, they'd part. And he didn't know what to say if anything at all.
 
The feel of Edmund's hand in his own was something he wasn't expecting, but he didn't move away from. Though, if it comforted him any, he couldn't say. He felt... numb, right now. Even the presence of Edmund by his side, holding his hand, didn't have its usual effect. He knew he still loved Edmund, to some degree. His anger, once boiling over and bubbling with heat was now completely dissipated and it left him deflated and simply just tired.

"I have no doubts you'll do what you must. Just try not to get into anymore trouble. Please," Oliver looked at him, tired and desperate. "Our lives have been too much of a shit storm as of late. Let there be a calm before we deal with another storm."

Oliver's room was just around the corner. He felt a bit terrible for just hermiting away for a large portion of his trip to Johanssen's estate, but it felt nice to do so. Giving in to his selfish desires was wonderful and nice, and what made this short trip worth something. He was able to better control and handle any suspicion of homosexuality by the choice of having a marriage, at least. If he did anything worthwhile, it would perhaps be that.
 
"I will try." Edmund promised. And try he would, though there wasn't certainty that he could avoid contention. It followed him like a shadow, and people had a way of stepping on it. Theo even dared to stand in it, defiant and brazen. He'd have to keep it close and in check. All lifted skirts and light feet. Best not to ripple the water.

When they reached Oliver's room, Edmund didn't know how to part. He still wanted to reconcile, assuaging his guilt in process. But Oliver seemed too drained and distant to do so. It would have to wait. Edmund hoped his physical pain and obligations would be distraction enough, because they'd have to be. Drinking before midday and provoking Theo into bludgeoning him would have compromised his promise of eschewing trouble. How confining.

"I'll be on my way, I suppose." Edmund paused a moment too long, telegraphing his reluctance, before slowly letting go of Oliver's hand. Heavy as lead, smooth as satin. "Take care of yourself." He meant it. It was hard not to dally, to linger with Oliver just a little more, but he didn't. Without looking back, Edmund left. There were things to be tended to, and it wasn't their weathered relationship.

* * *

"What on earth happened to you?" and "Y' look like hell, mate." were all Edmund heard in greeting as he went about putting things in order. It wasn't until he left that prat with a pigeon penchant at the mail post that Edmund actually saw the extent of Theo's damage. The bridge of his nose had swollen to a softer definition and there was bruising beneath both eyes, not just the right. He looked like a bloodhound, a raccoon, or like he hadn't slept in years. The color would likely only deepen within the next twenty-four hours. Edmund's only luck was that his nasal bones still seemed in place. Though it was hard to tell when palpating the area stung sharply.

A particularly sympathetic staffer offered to treat it. Reluctantly, Edmund complied. What medicine they provided took the edge off, and gradually tamed his hangover. He offered what money he was carrying in recompense, much to the staffer's delight. Overall, things were looking up. And without further conflict or delay, Edmund saw everything to completion.

After notifying Oliver, giving some rather exaggerated farewells, and loading the luggage, they were able to say the wedding was behind them. The event of it, at least. Its effects were yet to be addressed. Oliver and Geneva's wedding was the most prominent of them, followed closely by Edmund's lack of faith in their relationship, and just how deep Oliver's and Edmund's relationship went. It was a morass of psychology for them to wade through. And though Edmund wanted to be free of its weight, he couldn't say he was ready to open up again, and not completely.

Prepared this time for what had been otherwise unpredictable when they first set sail for the wedding, Edmund had made sure to procure tea with nausea alleviating properties. This would hopefully obviate any seasickness. A pot of it was prepared alongside a cup and saucer on a tray. Edmund carried it from the galley to Oliver's cramped quarters where it was then wedged onto one of the bedside tables.

"Are you feeling any better?" He asked, not specifying whether he meant in comparison to that morning, or to their trip to the wedding.
 
The time alone Oliver was granted, given the chance to be as recluse as he desired was extremely wonderful. He was able to sleep off most of his exhaustion, enough so that when time came to say his lavish farewells and board the boat, and most importantly, put on a show of love and affection to Lady Geneva, it wasn't as terrible as it could have been. He had more energy now to be back to his normal self, at least, most of his normal self. His eyes were still lined with the fatigue he felt, and occasionally it was difficult to ground himself in conversations with others. But he was better.

The waning and rocking of the boat still made his stomach churn, ache and twist uncomfortably, more than he had felt the first time. By the time Edmund had returned to their small, shared cabin below the deck, he was curled up in a tight fetal position, resembling a ball-like object than himself. His eyes were tightly shut and he let out a soft whine in reply to Edmund's entrance into the cabin.

"Physically? I feel like I need to take the largest shit and also vomit my insides. Mentally? Better." Oliver didn't care for his vulgarity. At this point, if the two of them knew anything of their relationship for certain, it was that vulgarity was no longer an issue. "Did you bring tea?" He asked after a short moment, daring to open his eyes.
 
If he were honest, Edmund could think only to describe Oliver as looking rather pathetic in his current state. There were things even royalty couldn't wear with grace. Illness was one such thing. And Edmund couldn't really blame Oliver. Out of public eye, it was exhausting to maintain a stoic facade in the face of pain. Wallowing, and sharing, had a way of softening misery. Or so Edmund believed.

"Yes." Edmund answered, pouring a cup full. "I brought tea. You're lucky I remembered and was able to locate some before departure." Though he gave more credence to bucolic blends and home remedies, he supposed whatever amalgam of herbs the local apothecary provided would do fine. It couldn't make it worse, right? If Oliver's description was anything to go by, then it really couldn't get much worse in terms of nausea.

Edmund extended the cup to Oliver, the contents slowly pitching to and fro as the boat caught a small wave. "Try not to spill it." he advised. The tea was pungent and subtly yellow. Edmund wondered if that had anything to do with the immoderate amount of ginger that was used. In hindsight, he should have cut it with milk, but fat chance that was going to happen now.
 
Oliver had to force himself to uncurl from his tight, fetal position. Perhaps it was a placebo effect that made him feel like squishing and compacting himself into a tight fetal position really did help somewhat alleviate his symptoms, but he didn't know for sure. What he was sure of, was the fact that he was not enjoying this stupid ship ride, and never again, unless absolutely necessary by means of death, war, or what have you, will he ever board a boat again. Whatever would be waiting on the other side of the sea, it had better be worth it.

Oliver slowly grasped onto the cup and held onto it firmly, trying hard not to drop it or sway along with the waves and spill the drink everywhere. "Thank you," he mumbled, before blowing upon the steaming tea and then taking a few cautious sips. It was hot enough to scald his tongue, but with short enough sips it was manageable. "Are you going to stay with me?" he asked, in between sips. It would certainly be nice to have another's company during his time of absolute and total suffering.
 
"I can if you like." Edmund offered, welcoming himself to sit on the bed's edge, half-turned towards Oliver. "I can't imagine anyone in the crew feeling deprived if my face not show for awhile." And since there was little for him to do, other than see directly to Oliver, it wasn't any stretch of his obligation to mill about and share Oliver's company.

Their trip to Johannsen's, little over a day ago, felt so far back. He'd affectionately bruised Oliver's neck then, and they had shared an intimacy Edmund hadn't felt with anyone other. Now Edmund had bruise-black bags under his eyes and a palpable distance yawned between them, one that had developed through the morning hours. The way things had fractured in their hands, threatening to fall apart, Edmund felt physically aged from it. Or was that feeling engendered by all his aches? Things had a way of bleeding together.
 
"Please do," From the fast and plentiful sips he was taking of the tea, he was already halfway done with it. His body was now more preoccupied with digesting the tea than wanting to churn and contort any more, at least in a more painful way. He was slowly getting better with his sea sickness.

"Should we talk.." Oliver began after a tentative silence had built between them. He swallowed more sips of tea, brows curving inwards. "Should we talk about us?" He finally finished, bringing the tea cup down and away from his face. It was cooling down, nearing room temperature. It felt necessary for them to talk about what they were. Simply just accepting that they would continue this without defining what this was wasn't going to help them for the long term, if they even wanted it to be long term. There was so many questions, amiguous understandings and no clear answers. They needed to settle things.
 
"No lead up, just cut right to the matter, eh?" Edmund sighed, looking aside to gather his thoughts, compose himself. The topic was inevitable. Eschewing it would only lead to their relationship gradually, but inexorably, deteriorating. Things couldn't persist as they were, and yet Edmund couldn't help feeling reluctant, wanting to hoard all his feelings to himself, keep every vulnerability locked away to fume and fester. Because the times prior, when he'd tried to express his trouble, had been met with less than compassion. His tone and manner were partially to blame, but not fully.

"Where would you like to begin exactly?" Edmund finally managed to ask. He shifted his position to face Oliver. Meeting his gaze was so difficult, like steeling one's self before expected pain. It felt like Oliver could read him too easily, find every foible with ease and cut past the exterior. Just knowing what they were about to discus left Edmund feeling vulnerable, and nervous.
 
"I know you're not one for sugar coating or beating around the bush," He retorted, though there was no real need to. One of his fingers traced around the rim of the teacup, the tea getting cooler and cooler by the second. He was now no longer thirsting and needing for it, so if he didn't finish it, he didn't mind. His stomach was quelled, and there was more important things to focus on than chugging down the rest of some stupid tea.

"I'm... not sure," he replied, sighing, deflating slightly. Where should they begin? He looked down at the tea. "...Maybe we should start with talking about what we are. More than just servant and king... But then where does that leave us? Intimacy because we both need it and not each other, or romance because we feel something for each other... I don't know."
 
There wasn't an easy place to start, no gradual entry, no warming to the waters. Just right in the deep end. Would either dare to touch the bottom? Some people were brave enough to wear their heart on their sleeve, and not all took it breaking with grace. Edmund didn't consider himself particularly circumspect, or even afraid of pain, but opening up was a psychological game of chess. He had to measure the risk, the give, and the take. No answer would come forwardly, but rather toe the line of yes or no, this or that. He'd try, at the very least, to be honest.

"Intimacy isn't something I'd consider a necessity." Edmund began, somewhat reticent. "I've gotten by without it most of my life." If not all of it. With the exception of Oliver, he'd never felt close to anyone. There was always distance, knowledge that the affection was transient and superficial. Even among family. Edmund had never given himself fully to anyone, and made damn sure not to show weakness beyond what were his physical limitations. But with Oliver... he didn't want to be the first to confess.
 
It wasn't clear currently if Edmund was willing to open up. It constantly seemed like it was better for him to set his emotions aside and merely accept every beck and call and request Oliver had to ask and have it be fulfilled as by his duty's requirements. If they wanted to develope this relationship into something palpable, something definable, Edmund would have to learn that he has autonomy and that Oliver didn't want him to hide anything when he wasn't hiding anything much at all.

"Then what's the necessity? If not simple, base intimacy, what, then?" Oliver asked gently, trying to push Edmund into the right direction, to get him to open up and just say things that weren't vague and most left to Oliver's interpretation or imagination. He wanted definitive answers.
 
It wasn't effective. Any question beyond yes or no was easy enough to sidestep, wriggle free of and counter. He was willing to debate semantics if it came down to it. "You think there's necessity in this?" Edmund asked in reply. "You couldn't live without me?" It was a jest, and half rhetorical. The mocking chuckle that followed it was at himself. From an outside perspective, he imagined they must have looked a little pathetic. Neither seemed willing to meet in the middle, instead, urging one another to come to them.

"Do you think this is just a case of lonely people grasping for intimacy, to fill a social need?" He asked. "Couldn't you do better than me if that's what it is?" Because Oliver could. It wouldn't be an arduous task by any measure to find someone more congenial, selfless, and civil than Edmund. Lady Geneva was evidence enough to prove that.
 
Oliver sighed heavily, finishing off the rest of his tea with a long drink of it, setting the empty cup down on the bed. It didn't matter if it fell over, and he was bored with playing with its rim. He looked back at Edmund, his mouth a thin line. "I want to know what you want, Edmund. I can answer your questions, sure, but I want to know what you want. From this, from me, whatever."

His head was slowly starting the throbbing. The past few days where not anything like he'd experienced before. Never before did he have such an emotional turmoil, not only with himself but with other people. He'd never had been so personally involved with another, and now he had to do so with Geneva, with Edmund... It was a lot to take in and handle all at once.
 
That Oliver dismissed his questions, rigged and provoking as they may have been, was vexing. Edmund had wanted control of the conversation's direction. He wanted to feel-out where there was solid ground to support his more onerous and undignified emotions. Forcing the spotlight onto his desires wasn't going to do that.

"I thought we were trying to figure out what we are, not what I want." Edmund reminded. "And we already played that game before when we were discussing my promotion and own private quarters. All it resulted in was a circular debate." It hadn't mattered how many times Oliver asked what he should do or what Edmund wanted. It always came back to Oliver making the final decision, because Oliver actually had the power and means to do things. Edmund, at best, could only deny Oliver. He couldn't change the world around them.

"It doesn't matter anyways." Edmund sighed, laying back on the bed to stare at the paneling above. "I don't know what I want. I don't even know what I have. All I know is what I don't want. So, why don't we turn this back to you? What do you want, Oliver?"
 
"It's hard for me to figure out if what I want is worth it if everything ends up dictated by myself entirely. I don't care if we're servant and king, I don't want to force you into a relationship you're not even sure you want." Oliver frowned, going silent for a moment. Now he was left with the question to answer. And just like the end decision of if this will continue or not was dependant upon himself, the decision that will lead him to that answer lies dependant on Edmund. He wanted something mutual between them, not something entirely and only for his own gain.

"I want a stable relationship with trust and no secrets between us. It feels like that isn't working too well." Oliver finally responded. It was short and sweet, but it was entirely what he wanted. He merely asked for honesty as the most important thing. He wasn't a stranger to the distance royal couples have, which leads to incompatibility and mistresses and what have you. And although he'd have that to some degree, he didn't want it for the one relationship he had ultimate control over, at least to a degree higher than before.
 
"Don't worry about forcing it." Edmund chuckled darkly. "I don't think that's the kind of relationship you can force." Could any relationship beyond titles really be forced? He sighed before asking himself almost absently, "How does one trust?" The times Edmund had put faith in others were when the situation was beyond his control. Only then, when he had no recourse other than trust, did he do so.

"That Fairdale woman," Edmund began in monologue, "She's in the same situation as I, but it all comes so easily to her. She's never had a reason to lie, to hide. She's lived outside penury. Weakness never compromised her livelihood. She didn't live in a place where caring meant you risked losing something." He made to rub his face and grimaced upon touching his bruise. Too lost in thought, he'd forgotten.

Edmund sighed sullenly. It was as good a time as any. "You want to know a secret?" he asked rhetorically. "After your father died, the sympathy and interested I showed you was affected. I was using your mourning and stress to my advantage. I was trying to worm my way into your good graces to garner favors. It was all a dissemblance. But... much like how you said you favor me because I treat you like a human, the way you treated me in turn, with kindness, and actual want of my company... at some point it stopped being a lie."

There was that swelling in his chest again, that prelude to suffocation. But Edmund could do little to assuage it, and even less to stop the words that kept pouring out.

"This morning, when I asked about your parents, I had wanted to tell you about mine." He explained. "My father used to be a dock worker. He was injured one day and became crippled. Our family went from impecunious to destitute. He couldn't find work, so my mother turned to prostitution to make ends meet. I watched that eat away at their marriage until one night my father didn't come home. My sister and I would have to hide from then on whenever johns came. And they became worse and worse. Once my mother was assaulted, I tried to step in and ended up with a concussion. They even threatened to rape my sister. Eventually, my mother would contract syphilis. What money my sister and I brought in wasn't enough. We were watching her slowly die, and then one day, like my father, I didn't come home either."

"Geneva isn't a john, you're not a prostitute, and we're not married. But it still kills me to think about, because what if it puts distance between us like it did my parents?" He felt gutted, the pulp and pink of himself on display. Fragile. Vulnerable. "I'm not a good person," Edmund confessed, looking to Oliver. "Not even to you. And you deserve so much better. But I want us to be together. I want to make this work." So why hold back. "... I think I'm in love with you."

Edmund hoped one couldn't regret being honest, but internally, he braced himself for rejection.
 
Everything that Edmund said was... a lot. It was a lot to process in his sluggish, overworked and fatigued brain, affected by the stress of the past few days and the sea sickness that felt like was rearing its ugly head back into gear again. Or it could've been something else. A fluttery feeling in his stomach that made him feel happily nervous in a peculiar way. It was not a stabbing, aching pain but simply a fluttering. Oliver looked down at the tea cup, brows curving inward as he though over every single thing that was just said to him.

The fact that Edmund originally had plans to take advantage of him... sort of explained a lot. Edmund wasn't a stranger to trouble, and his interesting inventory stashed at all times in his pocket further illustrated his less than moral intentions, at least months ago. It didn't make Oliver feel very trusting of Edmund -- it wasn't like just because the two were getting romantically involved that he didn't have the power to seduce Oliver into subordination, like a snake charmer and its alluring melody to a snake. Edmund had the power to take advantage. Oliver hoped that these words weren't all fabricated lies to do such a thing, but then again ....

Would someone lie about loving another just for their own gain? Would political, monetary, or general influencial and all holding power be worth faking every kiss, touch, embrace and word? Oliver had faith that Edmund was better than that. That a troubled past and a mind set originally on unmoral deeds didn't predict a future that still followed a path towards selfish, narcissistic desires. Oliver's fingers found the rim of the tea cup once more, circling around it, clockwise and counterclockwise.

Oliver had to say something. He couldn't go completely silent after Edmund proclaimed his love to him, practically. His mouth formed a thin line and he looked up at Edmund, at a loss of words at the sudden tender honesty and openness he just displayed to him.

"... I don't know what to say, I..." Oliver began, looking down once again to recollect before lifting his head once more. "It's... It feels so wonderful that you trust me enough to say all of this. It's all I wanted, Edmund." He reached forward and grabbed both of his hands, and kissed the backs of both of them gingerly. "I want this. I want this, I want you, I want everything. Knowing that you want it too... it makes me crave it even more." Oliver broke out into a large, cheesy grin, kissing the backs of his hands even more. Perhaps those fluttery feelings were elation, joy, happiness. A sign of good, and no harm.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top