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Aranessa isn’t sure what she’s expecting when she knocks on the door to Julien’s room. Her dearest friend and loyal companion. Her steadfast and stoic knight. Her last remaining reminder of home and the places they have already been forced to flee.
A shoulder to cry on.
What she isn’t expecting is what she gets; a red-faced, dishevelled version of a man who she knows very well.
She’s come here for a reason, she knows that, but-
Her eyes flicker to the rumpled bedsheets, and the half drunk bottle of wine on the side, and she locks gaze with Julien with a soft “Oh.”
“My lady,” Julien dips his head, with less than his usual grace, and she feels pity flaring in the back of her throat at the amount of gravel in his tone.
“Julien,” she starts. “Are you- may I come in?”
“I would not deny you anything,” he demurs, but yes, his speech is slurred gentle at the edges. Common isn’t his first tongue, as he’s never bothered to hide, but normally it lilts pleasingly out of his poised lips. She’s never heard his accent so thick.
“I wish I’d had a chance at the baths,” Aranessa smiles slightly. It probably sounds wistful, which it is, but it’s also a calculated press at how Julien has spent the last few hours. She steps inside, as offered, and pauses behind him.
“Do you not plan on taking one tonight?” Julien asks, closing the door and turning to face her. He almost stumbles as she is closer than he was clearly expecting, but stays on his feet. Ever the cat.
“I’m afraid I’m not sure that’s quite on the cards for us today.” The bed is invitingly soft in appearance, and Aranessa gives into the lure enough to step away from her friend and perch on the edge of it.
“Has something happened, my lady?”
“What hasn’t, my dear sir,” she sighs.
There’s a moment of silence, and she flicks her eyes up to take in Julien’s expression; tight and lost and tremulous. “Sit,”
“It wouldn’t be proper,” Julien tries to refuse, but Aranessa pins him in place with a sharp glance.
“Let us not sit here and squabble about what is proper. You are a worthy protector and saviour, Julien, and if I seek to invite you to sit besides me, then I shall.”
It’s not a scolding, but she knows her tone is harsh. Unexpectedly, it cracks Julien’s façade long enough for a wry smile to peek out of the edges of his mouth and she feels her lips curl up too in response.
“Very well,” he acquiesces.
The bed creaks as he sits on it too, just far enough away that they won’t accidentally touch, because her friend is a gentleman and does not want the suggestion of anything further between them.
“There are many questions that I must ask of you, my loyal companion, but all seem to pale under the shadow of this…” she pauses, turning to face him fully, and reaches out a slow hand to lie gently on his wrist. “Are you alright?”
“What? Of course I am,” Julien scoffs, and tries to pull away, but she doesn’t let him. After a second, he deflates too, puffing air out of his chest and looking down. “My lady…we do not have time to not be alright,”
“We have a few minutes,” Aranessa smiles, though it is almost painful to do so. “I wish that the world were just and that we could simply face our troubles and not worry about these things, but I am a realist too, my friend. And so I’ll ask you again, just for these few scarce minutes, are you alright?”
Julien doesn’t give a glib answer this time, and even though his eyes are lowered, there is still nothing but hurt sitting in the lines of his face. “How can I be? And yet, how can I not be?”
“Your father…I am so sorry. He was a good man. He didn’t deserve that,”
“There was a time, many of them, when I would’ve disagreed,” Julien all but whispers. “I wasn’t a good son,”
“Of course you were,”
“I was not a good son,” he insists, and his hands curl into fists. “If I were good, then we would not have been divided by the world and spent our lives in argument. I cannot be a good son, because we did,”
“Oh Julien,” Aranessa sighs. How like him, to have built his emotions on a puzzle of logic, and yet remain wholly self-centred in his efforts to do so. “You loved each other,”
“Perhaps I loved him.”
“And he loved you. He was proud of you, even when you fought,” Aranessa pushes, and curls her hand fully around his shaking arm. “He didn’t deserve to die. But he would be so glad to know that you lived,”
“And how am I supposed to live with that!” Julien explodes, pushing her arm away and whirling off the bed. His eyes flash in anger, but she bites back any fear at the sight of tell-tale red sitting just above the lash line. “Was I not his protector too, as he had oft been mine as a child? He wasn’t supposed to die, he was supposed to see me become better than him!”
“He was still your protector. He was proud. He was.” Aranessa quietly insists and stands up, stepping closer and grabbing hold of his arm once more. Their faces are barely inches away, and she can see that Julien’s teeth are digging into his lip where it is wobbling furiously with the tremors that shake all the way through his body.
“I’m sorry he’s dead,” she smiles sadly, and finally winds her arms around his frame, pulling him close with all the strength she has. He doesn’t resist her grasp, arms hanging limply by his side, and Aranessa keeps one hand firmly on the small of his back, and uses the other to caress the back of his head where it is forced against her shoulder. The height difference is a little uncomfortable, but with the day they’ve had, it really means nothing.
Julien slowly brings his arms up to hold her in return, pressing gingerly and then beginning to cling on as her cloth of her neck becomes sodden with salt water, shudders breaking through his wiry frame like waves on a beach. Like falling off a tightrope.
“It’s going to be okay,” she promises softly, nonsensically, and sways in place quietly. He sobs into her arms like they’ve never done before, and she remembers with a pang all of the nights spent talking about their hopes and fears. She had confided her fears of leading her house, her newfound responsibilities, her desire to live up to her family, and he in turn had told her that he knew well what it felt like to never feel enough. The difference between them was that his parents were still alive to bring and bar him from his duties in turn, whereas she had the freedom and leash of being alone. Different steps along the same path.
“I spent our last days together in a fight,” Julien whispers hoarsely, and she holds back her wince.
“He knew you loved him anyway,”
“I’ll never understand what he wanted me to be,”
Aranessa stays quiet for that one, tightening her grip and allowing his tears to gradually fade into exhaustion. She doesn’t have answers for his questions, even though he never fails to answer hers.
Eventually, Julien coughs and steps away, wiping his face roughly with the edges of his sleeves. “I’m sorry, my lady. That was…unbecoming of me,”
“Would you begrudge me comfort in hard times?” Aranessa demands, and he looks taken aback.
“Of course not,”
“Then why do you imagine I begrudge you the same? I am glad, Julien, of any help I can offer you now, as you have always been a help and a comfort to me. It is not hardship,” she says simply.
“Perhaps I will believe that in time,” he murmurs.
He looks a little shellshocked, and his eyes are still dazed and red. There is wine spilt on the edges of his cuffs too, and she is reminded of the half-empty bottle on the nearby table. Biting her lip for a moment, Aranessa decided to walk over and grab it, and brings it up to her lips for a long swig.
She turns back to him, and smiles.
“Now, I had questions of our lord Einfasen…”