:: The Joust of Riley's 17th Year ::

[eblouissant]

It was the first time that Riley had been on the field, he'd trained hard for this. Very hard, all around him the area of people watched from their stands and seats. His armor gleamed pristine, the visor over his head, the jousting javelin tucked firmly underneath his arm.

Riding astride on his stallion, he galloped toward the ready line as the Games Crier spoke out his name. "Sir Cyril of House Valiase and his opponent Sir Germaine Moreau, please take your positions." and then Riley was in place, his heart thundering in his ears even while all around him the stadium turned as silent save for a few coughs here and there. The horn was blown and then he dug his heels in, pressed himself forward and started.

Grounding himself into the saddle, his eyes never leaving his opponent. Pounding hoofs the only thing to break the silence. That moment of fear, the way his stomach hit his throat and made him choke, so close so close. Held Breath. And then the sound of armor where he prepared for anything. No thinking, nothing-- head empty.

A clatter behind him as he charged forth. He had expected weightlessness, pain, but nothing as he made it to the end and he turned his horse around to see the attendants on the field rushing to Sir Germaine's side to help him from where he had stopped. Already they were assisting him off his horse, medics and his page. And then the crier called out.

"The Winner, Sir Cyril of House Valiase!" and the crowd went almost wild. Somewhere in the stands, he knew that his father was smiling approvingly, but his eyes did not search for his father. But a pair of eyes that he knew quite well, sitting in the royal box. There he could see them there, clapping along with the crowds-- his father not too far away from King Etienne itself.

A polite smile at his father and his King. And then his eyes searched out his best friend Guillaume with a far more shy smile; he was handed a rose by his page and there was a moment where he tried to figure out what to do with it.. he knew what to do, give it to a young lady of the court as was the proper procedure. A look at best friend, fleeting before he cantered his horse up to one of the young ladies of the Court and he handed her the rose.

--

Parties were like this, the celebrations were massive and with no expense spared. Now Riley could have found much more useful things to spend money on than a fountain of champagne and one of matching chocolate side by side-- but he did not make the rules nor did he hold the purse strings, so he held a glass of wine and watched the dancing.

He'd already done the required dancing with the young lady he'd given the rose to, also had been grilled on his mother on if she would make a suitable 'wife' for him. He did not care either way, if they arranged it then they did, it was not uncommon for parents to arrange matches for their children though he'd heard Guillaume state that his father the King was attempting to change that, to make Olympia more accepting. Trying to bridge the gap between Sylvia and Olympia, attempting to give women more rights.. everything that most Lords balked at (including Riley's father).

It felt like a fairy tale that was told, a fairy tale where magic existed and where women could be knights, where a marriage was only dictated by love. it was such a beautiful fairy tale, but Riley heard his father speak in contempt of such things, and Riley was not sure of the country was ready for that yet.

Comments

[giveanything]

Guillaume was probably entirely too anxious for someone who was not personally participating in the joust. But that was what made it all the more nerve-wracking; Riley was out there, and while jousting was not intended to be particularly dangerous, his best friend could wind up hurt in this. And! It was Riley's first time on the field, and Guillaume knew that the young knight had put so much work into training and preparing. He wanted it to go well, wanted Riley to succeed in everything he wanted.

So when Sir Cyril of House Valiase knocked his opponent from the saddle -- and looked like some dashing legend come to life while doing it, well, no one was cheering louder or more fervently than the dark haired young man seated by the king. When Riley met his gaze, he'd find Guillaume beaming brightly, joy and pride near glowing from him.

He tried not to let that visibly dim when he watched Riley hand that rose to the young woman. He tried not to pay an ounce of attention to the stirring of that felt heavy and cold in his chest, and instead forced his smile all the brighter. Riley was a wonderful person, kind and intelligent and noble. Whatever young lady had his attention and his heart would be lucky, and Guillaume knew that Riley deserved the world, even if that world included, well, not him.

Not that it could include him, in Olympia. His father was remarkably open minded, and Liam thought it was about time that Olympia stepped into the light on many of the issues his father was trying to change. But change was neither easily nor quickly effected.

So Guillaume swallowed down his own unnamed feelings, the ones he was afraid to speak even in the silence of his own thoughts. He'd gotten almost decent at doing it. Sort of.

Despite the way his thoughts seemed to have found their way into an unfortunate gloom spiral, Guillaume was all smiles as he finally found his way to Riley's side, after the feasting and the dancing and the celebration were well under way. "Congratulations on your victories today, Sir Cyril." His lips formed the name while trying to hide an amused smirk at the formality. "On and off the field." He said the last with a subtle gesture of his head inclining in the direction of the lady that Riley had danced with, who was casting shy glances his way in between tittering with a group of friends.

[eblouissant]

A solemn smile, though those clear grey eyes perhaps danced a bit more then it had any right to do so-- he masked it with a sip of his own wine. "It always feels so very wrong when you call be Cyril, your Highness." there, if they were doing things just because they were proper? Well he launched it right back at the Prince even as he inclined his head and gave a soft bow.

They were not being watched, he was after all the closest friend of Prince Guillaume and there was nothing of note about their association though he did look in the direction that the charming Prince pointed toward, at the young lady whom he had given the rose to. He flushed and shook his head. "No, it is not like that.. I mean I only did what was expected."

And then he covered his mouth with his hand, trying to compose himself from the blush. "It is nothing, I would not be proclaiming a wedding announcement or anything; merely tradition and tradition is important." for the Joust, the winner always gave a flower to a fair lady. "Do not tease me so, Liam.." the nickname he'd given to the Prince, whispered quietly.

[giveanything]

"Feels even wronger to say it," Guillaume agreed with an exaggerated wrinkling of his nose at being called your Highness by his... his Riley. All right, yes, he deserved that for starting it with the Cyril-ing, but still. He waved his hand at the bow too. Bah. Okay okay, point proven, Riley.

Still, he tried not to look too pleased by the way that Riley dismissed the idea of the pretty girl that he'd gifted that rose to and then danced with, while Guillaume had tried his damnedest not to watch the whole affair and imagine himself in the young lady's place. Not a productive exercise at all.

"Tradition is overrated," Liam muttered. He had liked that nickname since the moment he'd first heard Riley use it. It sounded simple and intimate, and he liked both those things. "But fine. I'll stop teasing you, even if you're blushing redder than that rose was."

[eblouissant]

There was his Liam, full of charm and aplomb-- the people loved him and with good reason. He was everything that a prince should be, and Patrice? Well Patrice was still learning how not to chase them all over the place because he wanted to be include-- though Riley never minded it, he did after all have younger brothers of his own.

"I do not really like dancing if I am being honest." he said this with gravity, though he knew Liam enjoyed it. "Mostly dancing is what happens when my mother commands me to do something." he looked toward the sparkling floor, the way that their fathers were talking back and forth held in their own little meeting. A friendship much like his and Liams (even though that was perhaps a dreadful bout of macabre forshadowing). "It is much more fun to observe people quietly from a safe distance."

"For example, I think that with the way that Sir Moreau is looking at Lady Anora, and with the way that she's been fussing over his arm all evening-- there will be a engagement very soon." so he did not feel too bad for flooring Sir Moreau at the joust, though he'd been quick to offer his hand in sportsmanship.

[giveanything]

Patrice was a gremlin, but Liam obviously loved the little pest anyway -- even if he'd been known to purposefully ditch him in favor of having time alone with Riley. That was normal brotherly things though.

"You may not like it, but it loves you. You look like something out of a storybook out there. The handsome, gallant knight. Fearsome in battle but full of gentle grace on the dancefloor. It's a wonder half the women don't fully swoon as you pass." A huff of amused breath. "Hells, it's a wonder I don't." Lies. He totally swooned.

But he turned his attention to watching Sir Moreau as Riley pointed out. "Think so? Well, good for Sir Moreau. I always liked weddings."

[eblouissant]

And Riley never minded it when Patrice came along, always was patient with the little gremlin, as Liam called him, thought that he was precious in a very inquisitive way. But sometimes he did like it when little boy didn't follow them-- when it was merely best friend time. And Liam was his best friend, prized above all others. Their bond was close, hell-- when they had turned twelve they'd performed a blood bond, and that meant something.

It was unbreakable.

Or so Riley thought that nothing could break it.

Why did the thought of Liam looking at him feel him with some sort of flutter-- he'd never really noticed girls, aside from Lady Liana whom he knew that his father one day wished for him to marry. And that was not notice so much as a friendship-- he did not feel anything for her, and he was rather confident that she did not either.

But Liam however, there was something-- a soft buzz of awareness whenever the Prince entered the room, he heard the buzz and then he would look up and see Liam had entered the sphere of his existence. Riley had a feeling that no matter where Liam was, he'd feel it-- and it was comforting in a way. "It would be very uncomfortable to make people swoon just by myself walking around so it is a good thing it does not happen, even doubly awkward if you were to do it because.. well then I would have to pick you up off the floor and right you."

[giveanything]

Liam was just self aware enough to know that he was crushing very hard on his closest friend. He was also smart enough to know it was a hopeless thing anyway. Riley had always been so good, and the idea of two men loving one another and marrying wasn't exactly the sort of thing that was allowed -- especially for a royal and a noble.

Didn't stop him from the occasional frequent fantasy, daydream about a wedding where it was Riley standing at an altar with him, looking at him with those clear gray eyes like he loved him. It was a sweet, impossible, ridiculous thought. Guillaume understood this rationally, but hearts were irrational things.

"Oh? That a fact? Sweep me right up in your strong knightly arms? Hmm?" Liam's eyes, dark as aged whiskey, were positively alight at this. He lifted one hand up, pressing the back of his wrist to his forehead in a dramatic little display, wavering on his feet. "I... I might be feeling a swoon coming on right now, Sir Cyril. I do hope there's some handsome knight who will catch me before I strike the cold, hard ground."

TRUST FALL TIME. SURPRISE RILEY.

[eblouissant]

Wait, what... was His Royal Highness going to start a scene right here and now? Wait wait wait-- he glanced around to see if anyone was looking but he only had a quick one before he had to think on his feet and thrust his arms out to hopefully steady him.

There was no cumbersome armor; his sea fog blue doublet and his sage green cloak managed to bring out the blonde handsomeness of his features; A face that still had a bit of softness as childhood gave way to adulthood-- still he was strong and his arms would keep him from hitting the ground.

"Has anyone told you how dramatic you are?" And yet Riley still smiled which meant that the Knight was not upset by a long shot. "You will recieve a scolding if you do not have a care." He reached up to straighten the other man's cravat and that was an effort to be helpful and polite.

[giveanything]

Guillaume was not disappointed by Riley's sense of morality, that even though he was being a dramatic little shit, Riley still caught him and steadied him. So Liam leaned into those arms, though at least stopped the most dramatic part of his descent in his faux-swoon.

"I think someone or other has mentioned it a time or two." He was dramatic when he wanted to be, a playful streak that life had not yet damaged beyond repair in him. Trying to pretend he wasn't enjoying the feeling of those strong arms. Allowing himself to be steadied, he eventually settled back to his own two feet.

When Riley straightened the lace cravat around his neck, Liam realized the flaw in his plan when he felt the heat of a blush start rising in his cheeks. Oh. Right, he'd played himself a bit too. Looking aside, he summoned his best attempt at a laugh. "Oh heavens, not a scolding." Clearly not something Guillaume worried about at all. "Maybe I'm just destined to be a scoundrel."

[eblouissant]

Male friendship; straightening the cravat was not unseemly, considering that Guillaume was the Prince and he was but a loyal retainer-- the House of Valiase was noble in their own right but they had also been one step from the throne, their families so wedded together that it was impossible to separate them. If there had been a young lady in either family, a wedding would have been unavoidable.

But sadly, such was not the case.

Riley stepped back, his fingers still feeling the lace while he cast a look toward Liam, into those warm brown eyes that were so easy to get lost in; there was that quiver again-- coupled with the way that his heart beat at the mere sight of the Prince.

"I do not think you have it in you to be a scoundral, I see how you love your people, and the people love you-- also I think that if that were the case and you were a rake, I would have to pull you out of a tavern or a brothal, which I have not mind you."

[giveanything]

Guillaume did care deeply about his people, about the good of the kingdom. He'd seen his father rule, had seen how hard he worked to be a good leader, and well, maybe he'd internalized some of that as the right thing to do. What else was the point of wealth and title if it were not to do some good for those who who'd not acquired privilege by nothing more than the happenstance of their birth? He was young enough to still have his idealism.

He watched Riley step back, expression softening into the smile that being around the other boy always brought to his face. Riley was warm and sweet, the gentle sunshine of spring when the world first began to thaw, and everything in Liam wanted to bloom when caught in that glow.

They were in public, and Guillaume knew too well that eyes were always on him given his title. But somehow he couldn't quite help himself, setting a hand atop the one of Riley's fussing with his cravat.

"Maybe what I'm interested in isn't out there in some tavern. Or brothel." It wasn't, of course. It was standing directly in front of him. "Maybe I'm just waiting for a handsome knight to gift me a flower."

[eblouissant]

Oh.

There was something about the warmth of the Prince's hand that caused something inside of him to burst into a cavalcade of colours, all beautiful spring and grass-- of something beyond the intricacies of court life. That wayward lock of hair fell in Riley's eyes and his mouth formed that very same 'oh'. Riley did not have the same concept of right or wrong that the others did, which perhaps made him prime to act as Liam's advisor when the time came for him to step into the role.

Oh, he knew that things were frowned upon in public, but also that there were many people who engaged in such things in secret. Much as he had observed the bloomings of love between Sir Moreau and Lady Anora, so too did he notice other things; and he did not frown on them like his father would have.

Love, after all, was love. If you had the pleasure to feel it, it was a gift no matter what form it took. He was not talking about assignations, but honest and true love like you read in fairy tales.

"I am afraid I do not have a flower on me.: he said this quietly, not pulling back. Not really, that was a good sign of course, that he not flinch at such a conversation. "If I did, I would waste no time in offering it to a caring and noble Prince deserving of such things." because Liam deserved far more than flowers, he deserved the world and all that it entailed and thus it was never anything but a pleasure to serve the charming and handsome Prince.

In this moment, every single demisexual part of him started to bring into focus the exact way that he felt when Liam chose him to keep him company.

[giveanything]

Gods above and devils below, Riley was impossibly beautiful, the way that blond hair framed handsome features -- slowly losing some of that childhood softness as he stood on the edge of adulthood -- those eyes like a hazy summer sky, the way those lips formed that silent reaction. Liam wanted to kiss him. Liam had wanted to kiss him for a while now.

His heart was hammering away in his chest, as if he'd thrown himself off some high place and was in the midst of freefall. Maybe he wase. He'd been perhaps subtle enough that there could be some dismissing it as playing if Riley had recoiled, but that was not what had happened. They were still standing close, his hand still atop Riley's.

So here was Liam looking hopeful, in a held-breath way. Slowly a smile broke over his features, starting in his eyes and finding its way to his lips. "Would you really?" Soft and with maybe the hint of breathlessness in his voice. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to take that hand more securely in his and pull him onto the dancefloor. But neither of those were things he could do, not here and not now.

"Will you meet me later tonight? In the gardens? Our favorite spot?" The little secluded place that kept them out of the eyes of most everyone else, where they'd done everything from sparring with swords to poring over their lessons together or simply just existing in each others' presence, reading or watching the clouds. Or the stars.

[giveanything]

Guillaume had been living in a dream. He hadn't realized it at the time, but then, you never really did, did you? That was the way of dreams. While you were in the midst of them, they were the entirety of your reality. And oh he'd loved the dream.

It had been a year since that night, since he'd taken that leap and told Riley his feelings, since his brave knight had somehow returned those feelings. Liam had learned, in all its warmth and glow, what love was like. It hadn't taken much convincing for his father to agree that it made perfect sense for Sir Cyril to be the personal protector of the crown prince. They'd always spent so much time together, but this meant even more -- in official capacities. It also meant all the more opportunity for nights spent wrapped up in each other's arms. It meant stolen kisses and quick, eager, desperate touches in secluded spots. It meant lingering glances that spoke volumes of silent promises.

Life was as near to perfect as Liam imagined it could be. He'd even begun broaching the subject of change to his father, of opening Olympia up to all the things it had so long resisted -- to magic, to allowing women to be as much as they wished, to acknowledging that love was not so narrow as to only exist in a single shape.

Then everything had been ripped away in one single, terrible day.

Their summer home had always been a refuge, a less strict sort of decorum than what was required in the palace. It was a place even his father could let some of the weight slip off his shoulders. Their guards were down. They had never seen it coming.

Liam had been trying not to be sulky about the fact that Riley had needed to stay back in the city an extra day, though Patrice had already rolled his eyes at how often his older brother had sighed, muttering something about codependent friends, and Liam had threatened to throw his baby brother right into the lake, and it had devolved into playful squabbling from there.

The attack had come from outside and inside at the same time. They hadn't stood a chance. There were some who were loyal to the royal family, but the assault had been too well planned, and those forces divided. Liam had barely had enough time to understand what was going on before it was already too late. The only thing he'd managed to do was to shove Patrice at Sir Dumas, one of the few people he knew even in this moment was someone they could trust.

His father was dead by the time the fire started. He'd lost track of where Sir Dumas and Patrice had wound up, and was just desperately hoping they'd made it out. Liam was trapped by flames and smoke, and beyond that armed men who seemed intent on ending the Etienne bloodline. Maybe it would be better to burn. All he could think of was Riley. He wished he could have seen Riley one more time, could have heard his lover's voice.

It was a different voice that drew him from his thoughts. The man -- the monster, the creature, he didn't really know -- had told him what this was, had told him that Lord Valiase had made sure that this would be the end of the ruling bloodline, that anyone loyal to them would be killed or cast out, and there was nothing to be done. Nothing at all. But Guillaume had a choice, in this moment, a choice to live in exchange for serving him. A demon. The one who had started this entire plot, planted the seeds.

Guillaume told him to go to hell. Not a very effective curse to lob at a demon, in retrospect. That was when the real leverage was presented, a glimpse of Sir Dumas and Patrice. If Guillaume came with him, agreed to belong to him and do as he said, the demon would spare Patrice's life. The rest of the world would believe that both princes had died with their father, but Patrice would have a chance at a life, somewhere far away from here. Liam had agreed. Of course Liam had agreed. A pact was forged, and Liam knew it had cost him his soul.

And somehow, the worst moment still hadn't come. That moment arrived in the following days. His new master brought him back to the capitol, cloaked and masked and silenced, to witness a public execution of a traitor to the new crown. Liam watched Riley die, screaming his throat raw even though no sound made it past his lips.

Nothing mattered after that. Everyone he'd loved, everything he'd known, every dream he'd had in his life was gone, so much ash. There was a merciful numbness that set in, and life became a blur. But his patron had plans for him, and Liam didn't have it in him to resist -- not sure he could anymore, not really, not with the magic of the pact he'd been bound in.

The first time he was sent to kill someone, he discovered that there was indeed some unbroken parts left in him, because another piece shattered in that moment. And the next and the next. This was his life now. Silent and consigned to the shadows, a faceless, nameless specter who was more weapon than person now.

Weeks blurred to months to years, and Liam lived as his own ghost, ever the threat of what would happen to poor, defenseless Patrice if he disobeyed, if he resisted. So he didn't, save for the quiet internal struggle to try to resist the magical noose that was around him to find some weak point in it, to find a chance to run. He didn't even know where, only that if he didn't run soon, there really wouldn't be any of him left.

Maybe that was for the best anyway. Maybe he should just...

But still that flicker of something in him, that spark that desperately wanted to survive.

So when the moment came, he took it. And he ran.

[eblouissant]

Riley had not been happy to be drawn away from his lover and his Prince. They had very rarely been apart in that year together that they'd had, sharing secret smiles and moments of such tenderness-- learning more about each other such as what made the other sigh-- the way that if Liam had wanted to shut him up, just placing his palm over his chest and lightly stroking could make Riley into a mess of a human being-- the sigh when Riley rubbed Liam's feet after a long day of court functions.

Together they were endeavoring to build a life that they could both be proud of.

But his father had need of him for some sort of task and so he was obedient, of course he was obedient and would not dare flout his father's orders, that was not being a good son.

It was that second evening when he'd heard it, he'd been keeping some accounts and was also looking over some land ledgers, practice it was since one day everything would go to him. His father was talking with someone and it was quiet hushed tones, he had not meant to be eavesdrop but then the mention of King Etienne made him draw closer. He heard the plan, to be initiated at midnight-- the utter destruction of the Etienne Line and the pact to install Lord Valiase on the throne.

Cold fear, but also resolve; quickly as possible he left the house, got his horse ready and then flew toward Neveah as fast as his horse could carry him, changing horses if needed and arrived at the Summer House in the darkest hour before dawn. Everything was smoldering and ruins, the beautiful gardens a wreck of debris, and no sign of anything or anyone.

He fell to his knees as he knew it was too late, he had not been there to protect his King, his Prince.. and dawning realization that this was his father's doing. And that he could not go back, because if he did it would be mean that he condoned this-- he was not duplicitous and he could never lie, but as his heart broke came the resolve to make his father pay for this.

Heinous people must be punished, and his father was as heinous as they came; this meant that he would have to bide his time and get revenge, to take him out and then.. then maybe he could rest and find Liam's arms in the next life. His fingers clenched around the pendant he'd been given as he spoke this with gritted teeth and hard grey eyes.

There were still joys in life, but they never truly touched him directly.

Riley did not know if his father was looking for him but it was best to keep a low profile all the same, so then he would do just that-- he joined a traveling caravan and hid there, it was a caravan of magic.. though it was hidden behind play magic, slight of hand and other such things. Despite the fact that there was no magic, it always amused Riley that the Lords and Ladies flocked to the Caravan all the same, to enjoy the feats, to get their fortunes read.

So many years later and he was finally back at the Capital of Faori. Though he was keeping a very low profile, the hood and the cloak, the whole nine yards. He did not know if his father was looking for him and best to escape notice but that did not stop him from walking the streets in the evening with his hood, keeping his ears open for signs of dissent, or any of the families that King Etienne and trusted other than his father.

Someone to rally behind, to dispose of his father and put on the throne-- to ensure a future, the future that Liam had wanted for the country.

But oh, the loss of hope was palpable; the regime was strict but decadent and it appeared his father trusted no one.

[giveanything]

Liam clutched amulet around his neck. This, this right here was the only reason he'd been brave enough to finally try to run. Since the moment he'd pacted with the demon, he'd understood and known just how real and how powerful magic could be. He had use of it now, in his role as assassin, as weapon that could be aimed and unleashed. So it had stood to reason that he'd need something magic to aid in his escape. Not a simple thing to come by in this country.

It had taken years, but he had it now, the simple looking amulet that he'd been assured would mask him from any attempts to find him, shield his mind and even if it couldn't sever the pact binding him to the demon, it could at least blur the connection so he wouldn't be immediately found.

Well, that was if he could get out of the city. Out of the country. Perhaps if he could get to Sylvia. Olympia was an isolated place, even if his father had begun to try to change that. All of that was lost by now, undone by King Valiase, but Liam remembered his studies, remembered what he'd learned of the Kirklands, that they were an honorable family, that they ruled Sylvia fairly. So maybe.... maybe there.

He was, as he had been for years now, cloaked and masked. It hardly mattered anymore, he thought. Guillaume had been dead for so long, no one would ever expect to see him. And Liam was not the same man. He'd been eighteen then, dark eyes bright with hope, young and strong and so naive. Now the man beneath hood and mask was pale, kept from the sun, dark circles under dark eyes that more often than not didn't even seem capable of reflecting the light around him never mind containing their own. He was thin, nearly gaunt, currently sporting a few days worth of stubble.

He'd left in a rush, barely taking time to gather up the few personal possessions he cared for, ones he'd kept secret and hidden. First and foremost was the leatherbound book. The book was less crucial than what was inside it, carefully pressed flowers -- peonies and forget-me-nots, tangible proof that it had been real. He'd been happy. He'd been loved and had been so deeply in love in return. It had been real and it had been his.

Evening had fallen, and Liam was stealing through the streets, trying to stay beneath notice. The carnival in town, that had been the last piece he'd needed. It was a distraction and, with any luck, it would be his way out. If he could just hide in the caravan, tuck himself away in the chaos and activity, if he could just get out of Faori... he could figure out what to do from there.

Surely no one would notice the cloaked figure in all black skulking around the outskirts of where the carnival was set up, far from the attraction of the show where the sounds of music and excitement could be heard. One of the wagons, certainly, would have enough room for one man to hide away. Surely.

Surely he wouldn't be noticed by the other hooded figure trying to stay low profile in this city, by this traveling show.

[eblouissant]

His father may not have been at the carnival, but he knew that people who had known of his father would be there and so it was important to keep a very low profile. The low light of the carnival, the people milling about and laughing, the acrobats-- he could see Eden doing some stunts with a hoop which caused people to clap with delight.

There was no sign of threats from what he could determine.

Riley had kept to the shadows too with the hood drawn up, making a very slow circuit around. That is when he saw the other hooded figure, unlike the rest. His fingers gripped the pommel of his sword and then he very carefully and very slowly started to creep sideways much like a crab would, taking a very circuitous route. Anyone who did not reveal their faces were under some type of suspicious though Riley supposed in retrospect that the same could be said for him.

His necklace was tucked just underneath his tunic and his chain mail.. clothing all black because.. well, wasn't he still mourning after all this time. And he he was discreetly watching the figure, this was his job and if he had to take care of them, he would.

[giveanything]

Liam, for all his being on edge, did not notice that he had attracted any attention, did not notice the stealthy approach of the other man. Maybe it was being so close to his goal, the adrenaline and quiet terror of needing to escape. Either way, he was too preoccupied with his search.

Finally, he located a wagon that seemed to be mostly packed. The caravan would be leaving tomorrow from what he understood. With any luck, this wagon would be mostly left alone, already prepped for heading to the next town.

He just needed to get inside. A gloved hand reached to try the door. Locked. Fuck. Lock picking was not his strongest skill, but what choice did he have? A quick glance around, and he risked a spell, a soft murmur before a glow of light bloomed beside him, just enough to let him see what he was doing -- though it managed to cast his features in further shadow given how his hood was drawn -- as he started at the lock.

[eblouissant]

Indeed, the hooded figure was being trailed as Riley found himself quickly and stealthily on the prowl, his heartbeat quickened-- perhaps with the resolve that nothing should befall this caravan that had become as a family to him.

The flare of something.. magic-- not a unknown thing to him, there were quite a few magic users in the Lhant Caravan and he'd grown used to the familarity of it. Quite handy too though he held not a single spark within him and that was fine.

Around the corner he ducked and peeked, watching the figure undo the padlock. It was quiet but now was his chance, and he seized it.

The tip of a sword, at the small of the back and a hoarse low voice said quietly. "Step away from the Caravan." The voice may not be recognizeable as it was hissed out, quiet because he didn't want to cause alarm to the Caravan or the Patrons.

[giveanything]

Liam felt the pressure of a blade at his back and went immediately still. His mind raced even faster than his heart, terror so intense it had him feeling like he might forget how to breathe. He was so close, so close to escape, and he was going to wind up taken back and he couldn't...

He couldn't go back. He couldn't.

He was so tired of hurting people, but he was a cornered animal in this moment. He straightened slowly as if intending to do exactly what the holder of the blade had bade him do, but then all at once he was in motion, fast and decisive. The source of light was brought around, hoping to disorient and perhaps momentarily blind his assailant, even as his other hand lifted, the start of a dim otherworldly glow in a sickly green curling around his fingers, energy ready to be released at point blank range on this man.

It was the light that did it though, the new angle of it casting illumination beneath the hood of the taller figure, over familiar features that Liam would never, could never, forget. The eldritch blast immediately flared out, and he stared, wide-eyed, at a ghost. Beneath his own hood, only his eyes were really visible, a mask covering the lower part of his face, but the dark eyes peering at Riley were wild and wide and somewhere between confused and terrified.

Oh gods he was losing his mind. The light flickered as his mind tried to make sense of what was going on, and he staggered backwards before stumbling and falling. The small leather book went tumbling from his belt then, pages fluttering open and spilling a number of the delicate pressed flowers out onto the ground. A distraught cry slipped free before he could stop it. His flowers.

[eblouissant]

He did not know what had just happened, he certainly did not see anything in the whispy green because he'd been too busy raising his forearm to his face to block whatever he thought was coming. An offensive spell, though he trusted his ability to recover if needed. The fumbling of the other person, somehow he managed to stumble against his sword and knock it out of hand-- he made a lunge for sword as the figure tries to chase after a.. probably spellbook.

Once he had his sword in hand, he spoke still in that hushed hoarse voice. "Leave quietly and without a fuss, and I will let you walk away." A strange sort of mercy, but Riley had always been kind, always been merciful.

He did not pull his hood back, it may have been a trick of the light and some unbidden longing but he was all business in this moment and careful to keep his identity hidden in a city that his father ruled. Better still to keep to the shadows until the next time.

The jawline just revealed by the hood was far more sharp, and it looked like there was golden stubble as well, but the mouth-- did indeed bear similarities, and it looked like a certain mouth that Liam had kissed many a times.

[giveanything]

Liam had made it to the scattered flowers, gathering them up as carefully as if he expected them to crumble at his touch. With shaking hands and perhaps strange reverence, he tucked them back into the pages of the book carefully, closing it and then holding it tightly to his chest. He forced himself to breathe and to try to comprehend what had just happened.

What he'd saw.

He made no attempt to rise from where he knelt on the ground, clutching his book. It couldn't be his Riley. He'd seen him die. He'd seen him executed for the sin of being loyal to the former king. To Liam. Riley was gone, and that was Liam's fault. He hadn't been able to save him, and his own heart had died that day too.

"Please..." he started, his own voice a strained whisper, not trusting himself to look up. That glimpse of a face that he longed to see was too much. He couldn't risk seeing some other trick of the light tempting him with ghosts and impossible visions. He didn't think his sanity would survive it, so he kept his head down. "I have nowhere else to go. He'll find me, and I... I can't go back. I just need to get out of the city without being seen. I can't pay much, but whatever I have you can take."

[eblouissant]

Riley had not known at the time that his father had 'executed' him in public, until much later; it had suited his purpose to be a ghost as he had felt like one, still felt like one to this day-- barely living except in hope of instilling someone on the throne who was much better, who would actually do some good in this world.

Like the Etienne's would've wanted.

Like Liam would've wanted.

At the jumbled words that bespoke fear, there was something in Riley's demeanor that changed; it became a little bit less imposing, intimidating. At his core, Riley was a soft-hearted individual and he could not help but be moved in his own way-- the jaw unclenched and his shoulders untensed, he knelt down beside the other man, wanting to provide some sort of succor. Riley did not pull the hood back, he did not trust himself to because there were too many eyes and Faori was not a safe place for him or his presence, who knew who could be watching.

"Our next stop is Lashanett, if that will get you out of harms way-- I mean, everybody works in the Caravan but if you're not opposed to making pancakes in the morning or tending horses then passage can be arranged." and Riley was one hundred percent confident that the Impersario would not care either way, he had other people to worry about the day to day of the Caravan.

The tone was still whispered and hoarse, but the words.. the words, those words would feel familiar like a warm blanket.

[giveanything]

"Anywhere but here..." Liam began, nodding at that. Lashanett would be good. He could continue on from there. Harm's way was everywhere, he imagined, but it was still better than here. Another hurried nod in agreement. He could work. "I can make pancakes. I used to be good at it." A lifetime ago, in the quieter kitchen of his family's summer home where he felt less like he was in the way, the staff would cede the kitchen to the young prince's whims, and he'd learned to cook breakfast for Patrice and for Riley, with his adorable sweet tooth and--

Riley.

His mind was still playing tricks on him, because now even that voice -- tone and words more than anything, given the still whispered sound. The light he'd cast had dimmed, but he hadn't banished it yet, and he shut his eyes for a moment to take a breath, to steady himself as he lifted his head. He opened his eyes and forced himself to look at this other man, hooded and in shadow, to assure himself that he was indeed just imagining things, that the overwhelming rush of emotions and adrenaline were messing with him.

Except, that's not what he saw, instead even with the years that had woven themselves in between them, all he could see was, "Riley?" His voice broke on the name, tentative and halfway between fear and agonizing hope.

[eblouissant]

A shadowed moment, the tendrils of humanity and something else that tipped into him-- a nostalgia, a sadness of something that he could never go back to; something that he was very much still not over. He wore black because he was still mourning his love and imagined he would always mourn Liam in some way or fashion-- but then he heard a strangled voice, raspy and he his own brows knit together as he looked into those eyes.

Really looked into them.

And he saw dark eyes, there were no light in these eyes-- not like he remembered, but his heart made a beeline to his throat and constricted almost painfully. He nearly choked with it, those were Liam's eyes though also different; he could tell it with clarity that these were not the Liam of what felt like forever ago.

"L.. Liam?" his voice further lowered into a whisper though it had grown frantic, he glanced first to one side and then to the other, and once he ascertained that all was quiet, he pushed his hood back a little bit and revealing in that dim light even clearer-- the features of the young Knight Valiase. Except not so young anymore, a face tinged with experience but also shadows just underneath those eyes, he'd lost all of his 'on the brink of manhood' softness, except for those eyes which had turned as soft as a misty morning in their greyness. "How..? You're..."

Dead, Liam was dead-- he'd heard the news, had attended the funeral in secret. Four portraits sat upon dias, and one of them had been Liam's. Ashen remains had been found, he'd heard the reports.