For the past few days, poor Kåre had been busy scouring Freyr's home for anything that could cheer him up. He'd read over a dozen books over the course of a week and had made every remedy he could think of. From herbal tea to salads and everything in between. Ever since Freyr had returned home on that fateful day, he had slowly stopped with his routine. Food portions became smaller and smaller until he wasn't eating at all. Eventually, he had locked himself in his room and asked Kåre to simply leave him be. Extremely concerned, Kåre made every attempt to at least get his Master to eat, but he would refuse, sometimes agressively so. After almost a week, Kåre reached his breaking point. He needed to look for help.
The Seraph was well-aware of Nayu culture and Freyr's general mistrust of others. He knew he needed to be careful on who he conferred with. Planning his next move for a day, Kåre settled on the only person Freyr had ever spoken fondly of. Armiel von Farsi. Several times during dinner, Kåre recalled his Master speaking about Armiel. Whethed it was an off-hand remark or simply speaking positive things about him. Though, recently, he seemed a little upset whenever he came up in conversation. Still, the fact Freyr had once spoken positively about him showed some sort of connection. It was the only shot he had... Getting dressed, he grabbed the house keys along with his choker with his Master's emblem. If he was going outside, he needed prevent any interruptions. Especially from nosy guards. With that, he went out in search of the alchemist, hoping that he could perhaps help his ailing Master. If not... well, he didn't want to dwell on something that had yet to transpire.
It would be difficult for Kåre to find him, yet it's not impossible. Easily being found at Milton's Room and Board, Armiel is caught mostly unawares by the Seraphim. He was walking back from work. He carries a bag low, it hitting and bouncing off his hips every few steps before he turn to faces the Seraphim. The Alchemist has a cold face, one tha seemingly stares through the angel who bumped into him. He says nothing, but his brow drops as he looks sternly at the tall man.
The taller Seraphim pants, exhausted from his extensive search across most of the capital. This Nayu's description matched Armiel's, though he still wasn't certain. Kåre took a deep breath and hoped that he wasn't making a mistake. The last thing he wanted was to be in trouble with the guards, and get his Master in trouble too.
"Mr. Von Farsi?" He asked, putting his hands together in front of him and giving the Nayu an appropriate bow. "My name is Kåre, I... I am..." Kåre wasn't sure how to really describe himself. Throughout the last few months, Freyr had insisted that he was a servant and not a slave. Though, his previous training said otherwise. "I am Master Freyr's servant." Raising his eyes he looked at Armiel. "And... and I need your help."
"And why would his servant need my aid, and not the man himself? I understand sending a messenger, but you either misspoke, or our culture has gotten to you, fallen Angel."
He's sounding rough, and squeezes his bag tighter at hearing that name, clear discomfort for anyone perceptive. He shifts the weight on his legs, and then moves to cross his arms.
"This had better be well worth it. Discuss this with me, on the porch."
He sits down at the first bench and table he sees, and rests his head back. His eyes reveal bags, and his platinum blond hair rests messily behind him.
To hear him say this was like music to Kåre ears. A bit of relief washes over him and the Seraph nods as he follows Armiel up into the porch. Though, he feels that Armiel hasn't fully considered his plight yet, in fact, it appeared something had made him uncomfortable. Still, Kåre felt it would be wrong and out of place to assume how Mr. Von Farsi felt about anything. It simply wasn't his place to know about such things. Lowering his gaze a bit, he takes a deep breath before he even began to explain the situation.
"A few days ago, my Master left for the palace with some business with the King. He... He returned the next day, looking a little worse for wear than usual. At first, I did not really worry about it. Every time he returns from the higher districts he is always very... melancholic and Master has always told me to not be concerned for him. That... he's all right." There was a small pause as Kåre began to fiddle with his fingers. "Unlike other times, he became progressively worse. First, he stopped visiting his garden. Then... his food portions became smaller and smaller. At one point, he stopped eating altogether." Poor Kåre sniffled, tears now running down his eyes. "Now he's confined himself to his room. He has been in there for almost four days. When I asked if I should call for a doctor, he refused." Wiping his tears away, he did his best to continue. "Mr. Von Farsi... I... I wasn't sure who else to turn to. My Master trusts no one and... and I don't know how to help him. I fear... I fear he's sick or... or worse. Please... please... you must help him." That last bit was almost like a desperate cry. It was in a trembling voice and right after he began to cry. His face turned red and his eyes were now filled with tears. Like a dam that had been slowly overflowing for so long had finally burst.
"Business? That's what they calling whoring now? I was unaware the profession changed to be more erudite."
Cold enough to be bitter, but not cold enough to see legitimate plight in the boy, Armiel grumbles and looks for a handkerchief. He places it in the right palm of Kåre.
"While I'm no doctor, I have.... a type of understanding for the parts of men and their functions. Has he been hit in the head as of late?"
Armiel uses professionalism to hide his heart, it's beats having easily doubled as the Alchemist leans in. His hands and fingers interlocked, he rests his chin just above his finger bridge.
"Anything else? And those tears are unsightly, even for a servant. Clean yourself before addressing me, Seraph. They took your freedom, I understand this, but it would be a manner of your life and death if they've managed to ensure your dignity as well."
Kåre ignored the blunt remark on Freyr's... well, promiscuity. He was well aware of it, and he would rather ignore the issue. When he was offered a handkerchief, Kåre took it without protest. He sniffled and wiped his eyes, trying to compose himself. When asked if Freyr had struck his head recently, Kåre shook his head. He wasn't really aware of any injuries, much less to his head. Even as he tried to compose himself, the tears kept coming. It took Armiel to basically order him to stop for him to really put some effort in. "Y-yes sir." He said, wiping his eyes a little better. Now, he stood up straight and he felt that intense feeling of sadness slowly fade away. "There's... there's more. His night terrors have intensified. I'm not entirely sure he is getting enough sleep. Before I left today, he... he also had a bit of a fever."
Moving his head side to side, he stands up and begins to walk away. At the door to enter his quarters, he turns his head to face the boy.
"Come, boy, I need you to carry my tools if I'm to help him. I should have barely enough supplies.... you mentioned a garden, boy?"
'I can't believe I'm doing this. He's clearly not into me, if he makes a fool of me like that at a royal ball, spurning me in such a way. Yet, I still meander back to him.' Armiel grits his teeth as he pulverized a few leaves, a stem, and some pollen. He already worked a double shift, and now he's doing this for free.
For just a moment, Kåre thought Armiel was about to change his mind and walk off. As he stood, he anxiously watched, about to open his mouth and practically beg him to reconsider. But then, the Nayu urged him to follow, allowing him to enter into what the Seraph assumed were his quarters. He told him Kåre was to carry his tools and the Seraph eagerly nodded. If that's what it took, then he'd do it.
"Yes, sir." Kåre replied, confirming what he had said earlier about Freyr having a garden in his home. "My Master keeps a wide variery of plants at home. He takes care of them daily. Most of them are decorative flowers or cooking ingredients. But, I believe he has some healing herbs and uh... and poisons too." Kåre explained, unprompted, though he believed the information would be useful to Armiel. Hopefully, it raised his Master's chances of getting better.
"Okay, boy, we'll need...."
Wordlessly, Armiel empties the bag and drops the dirty smock on the ground. He looks at a collection of bottles, tinctures, and raw ingredients. He lightly sticks out his tongue, it tapping the corners of his mouth.
"Fold that first, servant, then take these items into the bag the smock came out of. I can make this and not cause a mess requiring it. Afterward, lead me to the home."
Bottle after bottle is dropped into the bag, followed by a few, 'Nevermind young man! I need that one back.' After about ten long minutes, Armiel yawns and shoos the boy off after getting his belongings in order.
"Lead the way. . . ." Armiel gestures the air with his hands in a circular motion, as he tries to get a name out of the servant.
Kåre made sure to pay attention. By his body language, he was certain any sort of resistance, contradiction or even a simple reminder of what it was Kåre had practically begged him to do would likely result in him changing his mind. Showing his capability as a servant, he carefully followed Armiel's instructions to the letter. He folded the smock as he would any of Frey's clothes, though he had to put significant effort in ignoring his own urge to clean it. Afterward, he filled the bag with the items, though he became increasingly confused by Armiel wanting some of them back. Kåre was used to clear and concise instructions and wasn't really used to people changing their minds halfway through. With each passing moment, Kåre grew increasingly anxious. the longer they spent here, the higher the chance that things could get worse. However, after what felt like forever, Armiel motioned for him to head outside and Kåre quickly made his way out, bag in hand.
On their way out, Armiel asked for him to lead the way, though he trailed off as if... Kåre quickly caught on. "Kåre, sir." The Seraph said politely, gesturing with his hand for Armiel to follow.
Freyr's home was located near the more wealthy upper districts. Though, compared to the more wealthy looking apartments, the door to his home was... well, it looked like the door had been built into the underground cave itself. Kåre shot a cautious glance at Armiel and reached for the keys in his pocket. Opening the door, he stood aside and allowed Armiel to enter first. The home's entryway was rather small though its decor compensated for its size. A large rounded carpet covered most of the tiled floor and the ceiling held a beautiful chandelier that illuminated the room. Right across from the door was a large portrait depicting a Nayu man and woman. The woman, who was in her late 50s glared in the door's direction with eyes, her pale face marked further with rep lipstic and a beautiful red dress. The man, standing by her right side was much taller, with blue eyes and a suit. Both of them wore a pin on their clothes depicting a drop of blood, the sigil of the Dolofon. The realistic painting depicted the two individuals in intricate detail. To anyone who knew Freyr, the two of them shared many similiarities with the assassin. Most likely, this couple were his parents.
As soon as Armiel entered, Kåre closed the door, locking it. Stepping forward, he went over to the hallway on the right. "The Master's bed chamber is this way." He said, his voice a little shaky.
"Well, Kåre, I can't assure results, yet I do assure effort."
Taking off his shoes, he inspects the way Kåre takes him. Enjoying the artwork, and the smells of Freyr's own home. How pitiful his rented room was compared to this manor! Evident to the seraph, each step closer makes him more nervous. He halts a few times, before stopping outside the door. He reaches for the handkerchief he gave to Kåre, and saw that it wasn't been return. Keeping an robotic, still face, he turns to the boy.
"Boy... Er, apologies. Kåre, you have an item of mine, do you not? I need it back."
Armiel's reassurance was of little comfort, but it was something at least. Walking through the hallway, Armiel could feel the scent of fresh flowers and the faintest smell of herbs too. It got stronger as they passed a door leading to it on their way to Freyr's room. As they approached, Armiel stopped and asked for what Kåre realized was his handkerchief. With all the preparations and the stress of this whole situation, Kåre had completely forgotten about.
"Oh! I... I..." He quickly reachef for his coat pocket with his free hand and fished for it, handing it over. "I'm so sorry sir. It-It won't happen again." Kåre bowed with his head, his voice a little panicked. Had he screwed things up?
Taking the item, Armiel wipes off the excessive sweat from his brow, and places it where it belongs on his coat pocket. He's showing nervousness through his physiology alone. His stares are daggers, and it's almost as if this man never blinks.
"It's okay, boy. We all make mistakes sometimes. Try not to obses over it."
Curling his hands back, Armiel daintly knocks upon the door, figuring if Freyr was awake, he'd hear the brief exchange had outside his door.
"Handsome, it's Armiel. Your serving boy told me you requested to see me. May I enter?"
Kåre was starting to grow fond of Armiel. His demeanor and politness were rather reassuring. Is this why his Master was so fond of him? The Seraph didn't have much time to mull over it as he saw Armiel turn to the door to knock. Kåre could feel his heart beat fast in his chest. That anxiety began to build up more and more. The other Nayu called for his Master and the two of them stood there, waiting. First, thry heard nothing, but then the faintest rufle broke the silence. Bare feet on the stone ground slowly made their way to the door and the lock was turned, unlocking it. Freyr, who was on the other side then walked off back to his bed, sitting by its side.
When the door was opened, both Kåre and Armiel were greeted with a pitch dark room, though both Armiel and Freyr would have been able to see fairly well in the darkness. Kåre however, would have been surrounded by darkness. The assassin himself looked worse for wear. He was staring blankly at the floor, his hair was ragged and long, and he wore an old bath robe that hadn't been washed in several days. In a way, he barely seemed there. Like Kåre had mentioned, Freyr looked paler than usual.
"Oh, sweetie... Okay, well... permit me a...."
Snapping and gesturing to Kåre, Armiel holds his breath and starts to dig for his bag. Thrashing the bottles around, he realizes he doesn't have quite what he needs.
"Boy. Garden. Something that smells nice, the air in here may get us ill as well. Place garlands of it in each corner, and the center of the room. I will affix some to Freyr, and it will instantly start working it's slight benefits. Also, I do believe he wants some privacy as I mend him?"
A question to Freyr and orders to Kåre. Armiel looks for a chair, and exhales loudly. "May I sit, your tiredness? After the malaria is dispelled, of course. I haven't a censer, yet I know a trick that may aid us yet."
When he was told what he needed to do, Kåre did not hesitate. He paid attention to what was said and immediately set off to get it. It would take some time to find them, but he had seen his Master in the garden enough times to at least find his favorite flowers, plus something more aromatic. The question regarding whether Freyr wanted privacy or not went unanswered, though the assassin did briefly glance at him when he spoke. When Kåre left, a deafening silence enveloped the room. That soon broken when Freyr murmured something. It was but a mere whisper that Armiel wouldn't have been able to make out. The assassin cleared his throat slightly and spoke again.
"I can tell you are real..." Freyr said out of the blue. Those empty eyes slowly moving up to meet Armiel's in the darkness. "But I can still hear things. And see him too."
Slowly, he laid back down on the bed, curling up while covering his face with his hands.
"Okay handsome, how about we start by doing this. Low light, my night sight isn't... that well defined."
Looking for a way to bring light to the room, Armiel holds his breath and walks around, looking for a lantern.
Armiel is able to conveniently find a pair of matches sitting on a dresser with a mirror. The box was right below a lamp, most likely used as light for applying makeup. He was then able to hear Freyr moving around in his bed, digging himself further in the covers.
"Please... keep it dim." He begged, grabbing a pillow to wrapp his hands around.
It was then that Kåre arrived with the scented plants. His arrival seemed to spook Freyr who hid beneath the covers even further.
"Mr. Von Farsi, I... I brought what you told me. Where should I put them?" Kåre asked as he stood ob the doorway, unable to see much other than pitch darkness beyond. "And, could I turn on a lamp?"
Armiel lights the small light with the two matches from the book, struggling at doing so. It's pale enough everyone can figure it out, and after doing so he walks back to Kåre and inhales loudly.
"Okay, boy, what we will do is…" Taking the items from his hand, he fishes around his bag and recover his mortar and pestle, and grinds the flowers down. While working he looks up to the servant.
"Young man, fetch me water. Some for drinking and some for adding to the powder. It'll activate my mix."
"Yes, sir. I'll get some from the spring." Kåre replied, glancing worridley at his Master who was stirring about in his bed. Taking a deep breath, he turned walking off to fetch some fresh water.
Peaking over the covers, Freyr whimpered upon seeing a blurry figure in the light. "There he is..." He said, glancing over to Armiel who had his back turned. Those red eyes of his then went over to the small light sources, in his mind seeing a clear shadowy figure just standing there.
While waiting the caretakers return, Armiel ensured there was enough.... potency to his mix. He payed no mind to Freyr, yet. He tapped his foot to the ground, and slowly took stock of all his foods and laid them out near the door jamb. Knowing your items is half the battle.
As Freyr wimpered and stirred about in the bed, Armiel would have been able to hear the sound of a cart down the hall. Squeaking wheels with the sound of claterring wood announced the servant's arrival. Entering the dimly lit room, Kåre brought two full jars of water and even some fresh lemons in a separate container.
"I brought water as you asked, Mr. Von Farsi. Along with some lemons... I uh, I thought that would help." Kåre was doing his best to keep himself together, but the sight of his Master hiding beneath covers like some... it was, pathetic and deeply disturbing for him.
"You're a good boy, Kåre. Now go and leave us, but stay in earshot young man."
"Oh, and...." Armiel smiles and takes a lemon, and squeezes it into the mixture, then fills the bowl with a quarter cup of water, and flecks droplets of it about the room, and runs his fingers on his upper lip, to protect him from the bad air. He instructs Kåre he will also fall ill if he enters the room and does not do this!
"Now, handsome, why don't you sit up for me, and talk to me about a few things. I'm sure there's. . . . A lot of things you want to talk about."
Armiel totally fails to keep composure at the end of his curt sentence, seriously struggling to deliver it in a way that rocks the neutrality he is known for. Any one can tell even his heart runs fast, now.
"Yes, sir." Kåre replied as he turned, only to look back as Armiel explained how to protect himself from the bad air. When he did, he took a look at his Master, who had poked his head out to see the two of them talk. He took a deep breath and tried to compose himself. He'll get better, Kåre reassured himself. Mr. Von Farsi was here and he would fix everything. Fiddling with his fingers he walked out, closing the door slightly behind him. The moment Kåre left, an eerie silence enveloped the room, broken only by Armiel's voice.
Freyr pathetically crawled out from his hiding place among the covers. With some effort, he sat by the side of the bed, joining Armiel, though he kept his distance and for good reason. Hygene hadn't exactly been his mind for quite a while, and if his mattered hair didn't give it away, the smell might. Trembling hands came together in his lap, and reddened tired eyes met Armiel's. "Talk abour that night, you mean..." It was the first thing of sense Freyr had said since the last time they met. The assassin had a sudden moment of clarity, one he was holding on by a thin string. Was it the new smell permeating the room? Or, Armiel's presence? He wasn't sure... "I... I don't know. He was so... I..." The Nayu lowered his gaze in shame. "I could not resist. I couldn't say no. It felt wrong and so good at the same time." Freyr sniffled, covering his face with his hands as he spontaneously began to cry. "I don't know..." He said, his voice muffled under his hands.
"Well why don't, we can... we are gonna discuss this later, how abouts? You seem really beat up over it, Handsome, and even though I'm still disgraced from the ordeal, bringing it.... crashing to you isn't gentlemanly.
Here, adorable, why don't you try taking this aroma, and lightly dabbing it on the wrist like a cologne?"
Freyr disagreed with his re-assessment. Deep down, he knew he had done something wrong, but he couldn't exactly place what it was. He felt so low and pathetic. The voice of his parents echoed inside his head. They repeatedly berated him and degrade him. Calling him names and urging him on by simply telling him not to die. As if to make things worse, he could feel those piercing eyes behind his back. Judging him for what he had done. Perhaps he deserved this fate, yet here was Armiel sitting by his side and offering him... something? Hesitantly, he turned toward the other Nayu and inched closer. Pale, dehydrated fingers reached to it, taking just a little and following the alchemists instructions. The aroma was a welcome change to the rather unpleasant smell of accumulating sweat and body odor.
Sniffling, Freyr cleaned up his tears and did his best to compose himself. This was the first time in many days where he felt somewhat in control. Armiel's presence coupled with his intervention was a strange form of a wake-up call. He was smart enough to realize it wasn't forgiveness, but a small part of him welcomed the alchemist with open arms.
"I..." Tears started to flow again as Freyr managed to somewhat let go of his own repressed emotions. "I... I am grateful. For this." Was all he managed to say.
"Hush hush, adorable. We needn't use words, when gestures will help. Boy! Prepare a large glass of lemon water, and the favorite snack of your. . . . Employer!"
Armiel claps twice, and then tells Freyr to shush, and moves a little bit closer to him. Armiel offers a hug, his long brown square cut shirt smelling of a slurry of things none considered pleasant, getting buried in the lemon and lavender aroma.
"No words, not yet."
"It's impolite to stare, young man. Or perhaps there's something on my face?"
Paying no mind to the servant, Armiel begins twirling a coil of Freyr's hair in his left hand, while his right arm returns the embrace.
Stay like this, as long as you need. Doctor's orders, your Adorableness.
Noticing he had been staring, Kåre looked away, noticing he had likely overstayed his welcome.
"S-sorry sir. I... I should get going." Taking one last look at his Master, Kåre once again left the two alone, heading for the kitchen to prepare Freyr's favorite meal.
Back in the bedroom, Freyr clinged to Armiel like his life depended on it. He was strong, showcasing his peak physical condition. It was fitting, giving his job description. Over the next few minutes, Freyr cried and just... let go. He had never experienced something like this. Having someone to cling to without fearing for his life or his reputation. Well, he had only experienced this only once before, with Pan who he knew genuinely loved him. He wondered if... Backing away a bit, Freyr took a deep breath and stood up. Turning to Armiel, he looked a bit better. The first thing he did was walk over to a table close to the doorway and picked up another set of matches to turn on the lamps around the room, finally illuminating Freyr bedchambers completely. Returning to Armiel, he sat back down by his side.
"I should probably take a bath and change into something more... suitable." Turning to meet Armiel's gaze, he did his best to keep eye contact but found it too... uncomfortable. "And, after, I owe you some answers."
"Yes you should. May I give your servant my room key so he may fetch me some real finery? This is no means of dress for a true gentleman."
When Freyr mentions giving answers, Armiel's legs tense, and he forced them to unravel and calm out.
"If you wish to deliver those answers in a letter, you can. It bothers me not how I get them handsome. Just that I do. If not, I fear my physician would be right, and my demeanor would truly kill me from this heart pain."
"You may." Says Freyr, glancing toward the half-closed door leading into the hallway. It was strange to think that for a moment, he wished his life would end. That things had turned for the worse in such a way where he couldn't continue, even if his own reputation were harmed in the process. Now, he had hope, even if it was just a little. Armiel's seemingly genuine desire to help was oddly refreshing. Of course, he had his reservations, but, Kåre had gone out of his way to bring him here. The least he could do was accept his help while it was provided. A more cynical part of him believed Armiel was looking for something but he had yet to figure out what. For now, he welcomed the pleasant company.
The assassin shook his head when Armiel gave him a chance to use more impersonal means to deliver the answers he owed. "No. I... I owe you at least an explanation. Something... something proper. Part of me is skeptical. Everyone in this place has an agenda with everything they do and I am still growing used to your kindness." Freyr sighed as he slowly made his way to the bathroom door. "Before I go in, I..." He paused, those pale cheeks of his growing a slight shade of red. "Would you mind staying the night? There is a guest room on the other side of the house that you can use. And, while Kåre is here I... I would like if you could stay. Even if it is for a night."
"My kindness isn't free. I do accept payment for it. My terms are it being payed back to me in kind."
'STAY THE NIGHT!?' Armiel's little heart worked over time, and he squeezed the bed sheets tightly. All he has to do is say yes. That is an activity grownups do, and a kindly gesture in return to his.
"Freyr, I.... Handsome, you put me in a rough spot. . . How could I answer... With anything but yes to that?"
Closing his eyes and smiling, he ignored how fast his emotions moved, and how much he wanted to flee. His face also goes cherry red and flush, and he places both his hands on his lap.
Freyr frowned when Armiel said that his kindness wasn't free. He knew it. This was all some big fantady. He'd been taken for a fool... His expression relaxed when he finished his thought, however. Pay him back in kindness? Freyr took a deep breath and exhaled. "Your... your terms are acceptable." He said, sounding a little excited. At least Armiel didn't want someone killed or sex. Freyr was done with the latter one for a while. And, much to Freyr's relief, Armiel accepted to stay. For the first time since they met, Armiel was able to see the tiniest hint of a smile in the assassin's face.
When he turned to open the door, Freyr miscalculated the distance and bumped into the wooden door with a rather loud thud. Cursing under his breath, he quickly reached for the handle and opened it.
"I-I'm all right." Freyr said, looking over his shoulder to glance at Armiel. Finally going inside, he left the door half opened as he turned on the lamp inside, along with some candles.
Within a few minutes, he did away with the dirty bathrobe and prepared himself a warm scented bath. The assassin wasted no time and slowly submerged himself in the water. His body seemed relieved to feel water for the first time in about two weeks. The warm water eased the ache in his stomach and his muscles relaxed one by one. He really needed this, didn't he?
Armiel goes about sterilizing the room the best he can, spreading the good scent. Being asexual, he doesn't really look at Freyr despite the invitation to be easily able to peep at him.
Humming, he does about the room and makes it smell just right, and then squeezes the tart lemons left on that cart into his mouth, and scrunching his face from the tart taste. He smiles, and hums idly. Eventually he goes to the door, and taps it three times with his knuckles, softly and slowly.
"Beauty, I'm going to the garden. I wish to see it, and bask in it's serenity. Is this acceptable, Pretty?"
In the bath, Freyr had just sat there thinking about his night with the King. The chain around his neck, the harsh thrusting, that feeling of basking in pure pleasure while at the same time knowing he was doing something terrible. Sighing, he picked up some water and cleaned his face. Freyr was smart enough to realize his own condition. In a way, he was grateful that he realized just how bad things were right now. Looking at his pale and thin complexion, he slowly sank into the water. Soon, he rose, hearing Armiel's voice.
"Yes, go ahead." He said, but not before calling out to him again. There was something else in his mind. "Um, Armiel. Would you join me for dinner soon?"
"Why, I'd be delighted too! I sadly haven't my cutlery and Kåre has left for fetching my proper attire. Do forgive me for not being a proper gentleman, Elegance!"
Armiel hopes that subtle shift to more formality doesn't over do it and kill it. Freyr seems to appreciate him being less combed and uptight as other nobles, but too much would be bad, right?
Armiel was an anomaly, in Freyr's opinion. At least, to someone who was used to selfish Nayu and people who only wanted sex or work out of him. He complimented him almost constantly, calling him pretty and elegance? He had never heard anyone refer to him like that before. That aside, the most important thing was that he had gone out of his way to help him, despite what had happened. Even when he had his reservations, he still held out hope. Hope that seemed to grow the more he spoke with him.
"Thank you." He muttered, before raising his gaze to look at Armiel through the half-opened door. "And, it's all right. It... it's not important, really."
"If you speak it so. I'm off to the garden."
Walking away much faster and more nervous, Armiel leaves. His feet thump on the ground, the heavy marbled floor meeting his footfalls as he walks away. He doesn't even know where it is, and frankly, doesn't care. He just walks around the home at this point, seeing the sights and scents. How do rich people live with all these. . . Things?
They have furniture, space, fancy floors, and. . . . Statues? Pottery! It's all a whirl, and Armiel loves seeing it all. Eventually, he gives up and heads to the kitchen and looks for a snack. That's probably enough time for Freyr to finish up, and unassuming enough he won't mind too much.
Something that was prolific inside the house were markings and carvings on the walls. To anyone who knew basic masonry, they would have noticed right away that this whole house had been carved into the walls of a cave which had been turned into a manor. Around the home, there was the everpresent smell of a combination of sweet smelling flowers and fresh water.
As he makes his way to the kitchen, he crosses through the dining room which has already been prepared for two. Inside the kitchen, Armiel smells the distint aroma of cooking rice. To the side, he is able to see where Kåre had left off. A large knife sat beside sliced fish, and a set of leaves. All of this sat on a center table, in front of the slow cooking rice. The kitchen itself was fairly large, with enough ameneties to make things as simple as a fried egg to an oven for bread. The table in the middle was also covered with books, which were neatly stacked on top of each other. They had titles such as "101 Lassa Recipes" and "Traveler Henry's Cooking Tips" to "A Chef's Primer" among other similar sounding titles.
"He buys books for his serving boy? And teaches him lettercraft... Huh. Maybe he's nicer to him than it let's on? Or is this bred from practicality?"
Armiel ponders briefly, before deciding he's made enough steps through the home, and that Freyr is most likely finished. Equally likely is that the boy returns with his clothing, soon. Armiel decides to gamble on Kåre's arrival, and heads toward the front door, hoping to see him. Tapping his foot, he waits while his mind slowed down it's frenetic, breakneck pace.
"Why THIS boy. Why A boy. I've been to brothels, dragging my brother out, and out of wonderment. Nothing, I felt nothing other than out of place. But here, some lithe homosexual with horns and my heart erupts? There's no denying it, but accepting it is far from easy as well. Wonderful."
He stares at the door, lost in his mind before closing his eyes and smiling. Better self image, better thoughts. That's what he needs. It's only his time with Madame Jintro in that lab that made him so dour. Not him wanting to hold Freyr's hand, or maybe a kiss, or long times spent alone.
Upon his revelation, he blushes lightly.
The door rattles then, the sound of a key entering its lock and turning. With Armiel staring at the door, he would have been able to see the complex doors that had been installed on the set of double doors. Someone had spent a lot of money to keep people out. It was fitting, particularly for someone of Freyr's line of work. The door opened, and in came the angel, dragging with him Armiel's outfit. Of course, he is careful that it doesn't hit the floor, and he had taken a hanger or two to ensure it survived the journey without any wrinkles. He had even gone through the trouble of putting inside a protective covering of sorts. Something he used to protect Freyr's suits and outfits from dust and anything coming the outside.
"Mr. Von Farsi..." He said, sounding a little surprised to see him standing there. "I uh... I brought you your clothes." Kare added with a smile.
"Yes, boy, exactly as ordered. Escort me to a guest room, where I may change and posit my clothing to you, young man. Bang up job with the. . . . Bag? With whatever that is, boy. Clever thinking."
Armiel cocks a dry grin of encouragement. That's about all he can give right now, especially after being in such deep thought.
"Thank you, sir. But, it was my Master's idea." He says with a smile, before gesturing with an open palm toward the hallway opposite to where they had gone before. Kare almost has a stride to his walk. The Seraph seems... happy. Inside that head of his there is hope. Hope for a future where his Master is less gloomy and sad. Seeing how this other Nayu appeared to brighten his mood gave the angel hope that things would turn out well. Kare moved like he knows where he is going. The boy knows the home like the back of his hand, and he carries himself with confidence, like any servant should. Stopping at a door, he grabs his keys and opens it letting Armiel into a decently sized room. It was, of course, smaller than Freyr's bedroom but large enough to accommodate any guest in a comfortable manner.
"Here we are, sir." He says, neatly laying down Armiel's outfit on top of the bed. As he did, Kare realized the rice was likely ready by now. "Um, sir, may I go? I believe dinner is almost ready."
"After I change, so you may collect my clothes. Afterward, yes, yes you may." Shutting the door, Armiel hums as he disrobes, and collects the clothing the servant got from his home. He puts his legs down in the pants and reaches and feels the pockets. He frowns, not having found the key to his room. He opens the door shirtless and asks the servant. "Boy, do you still have my house key? If so, do return it to me. I get rather nervous over losing it." Reaching from the door frame, the lithe Alchemist extends his small arm, his palm up trying to reclaim the item he asked for. While waiting to receive it, he hums slightly and patiently. 'After this, I shall be presentable! I hope I... don't come off as too poor. Would he care? What does he like me for? I know not why, it's like his understanding of emotions are only logical and not humane. Poor man, I don't know if he even knows how to have those deeper thoughts.' thinking leads to impatience, and he says, more sternly to the hallway. "Boy! My item."
Kare wasn't one to hesitate when asked for things. He has been specifically and painstakingly trained not to. But, sometimes, he could get distracted. For most of his life outside the training camp, he had exclusively only served Freyr. And, while he was a demanding master, there was a certain ebb and flow to things. In comes Armiel and Kare's entire routine had been disrupted. He had done his best to adapt to this new master, but it was certainly more difficult than he had originally thought. Finding himself lost in his own thoughts he had completely zoned out, only to be abruptly interrupted by Armiel, who was now demanding he give something over. Fearing potential repercussions, he did a quick brain search and at first came up empty. He started to tremble. What is that he could want? That was when it hit him... Fiddling with his coat's pocket, he produced a key Armiel had given him to retrieve his clothes. "Here it is, sir. I-I apologize for my hesitation." He said, as he handed over the item with a trembling hand.
"Boy, why are you shaking like a struck dog. Have I startled you?"
Opening the door, top less, Armiel stares at Kåre almost concerned. He does still place his shirt over himself and buttoning himself, and places his keys on his left rear pocket.
"If I caused you harm, tell me. It wouldn't be kindly of someone practicing to harm another, wouldn't it? Now with me dressed, Kåre, I will go to Freyr."
With a smile, he closes his eyes and lightly pats Kåre's shoulder.
"You're a good kid. Go along in your duties, yes?"
Kåre swore Armiel was almost like his master. Suprisingly kind yet fairly demanding. Even then, he didn't want to feel like he was abusing their goodwill, much less that of a visitor. When asked if he had been startled Kåre shook his head, moving his hands down and holding them together to hide the uncontrollable trembling.
"Y-you haven't sir." Kåre reassured him, giving him a smile and a slight bow. "It... it happens from time to time. I'm all right." He explained, hoping Armiel would simply let it slide. Thankfully he did and the moment he was allowed to go on with his duties, he felt relieved.
"Thank you, sir." He said, giving him a bow before stepping aside to keep out of Armiel's way. Hopefully, he wouldn't mind having his clothes washed. Maybe that was too much. Once he left, Kåre intended to quickly tidy up and head to check on the food. He still had a bit to do before he could serve the pair.
The pair didn't have to wait too long after meeting in the dining room for their food. Kåre had perfectly cooked Freyr's favorite food, which were simple rice rolls with raw fish and vegetables inside of them, with a side of cooked rice and sliced smoked fish. After not eating for so long. Freyr made sure to eat slowly and had several servings before he was full. When they were finished, Freyr dismissed Kåre, ordering him to take the rest of the night off and rest. Kåre happily accepted, cleaning up after the two and heading to his own room. By the time the pair had reached Freyr's bedroom, the Seraph had already slipped into bed, falling asleep almost instantly. The poor angel was exhausted and knowing his master was in good hands, he had no trouble falling asleep.
When Armiel and Freyr reached the bedroom door, Freyr reached for the neck of his black dress shirt, loosening it up a bit. "Would you..." He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. "Would you like to join me?" Freyr hoped Armiel wouldn't take this as some form of invitation for sex. After what had happened, his libido was at an all-time low. He simply wasn't in the mood.
"Join you, in bed? Handsome, I don't know how to inform you of this in a.... constructive way, but I have no interest in sex, really."
Sort of missing the point, and sort of enforcing it, Armiel sputters out the reply. He scoffs a few times, and rolls his toes along the base of the floor in nervousness, keeping rolling the toes as an anxious tell.
Freyr was disappointed, but not for the reasons he expected to be. He knew for some time that his reputation preceded him, but, he hadn't realize it was to the scope where everyone knew. Then again, Armiel had been witness to the moments before his night with the King. Still, it came as a surprise that Armiel wouldn't be interested in such a thing. Throughout his life, he had never met a Nayu who wasn't at the very least mildly sexually interested in him. At the same time, he felt relieved that he wasn't. It was further proof that Armiel may well be one of the only genuine Nayu he had ever met.
"It's all right. I... I'm not really in the mood anyway. I would just..." A cold hand reached over to take Armiel's, but Freyr seemed to stop himself. The slightest bit of nervousness showing in his face. "Your company will be more than enough for me. I'm not..." There was a pause and Freyr sighed. "I apologize. I'm not used to this..." The assassin gestured awkwardly with his hand. "...this thing."
Armiel didn't need, or even use, his words. It was time for the call to action. He finished the reach and grabbed Freyr's delicate hands. After a few short moments Armiel did speak.
"Darling, you make it sound as if I am accompanied to this myself. I, handsome, am not."
Reaching down, he kisses Freyr's petite little hand on the top of it. Just under his knuckles, he placed his lips for a kiss. He closed his eyes and smiled. His nervousness was shared and equal, yet it didn't stop him. He hoped his face wasn't any more red than it was last time! Yet knowing it was he pushed on as he reopened his eyes. Staring directly into his boyfriend's eyes, he lowered the hands gently.
"How about we, why don't.... Freyr. Adorable, how about we get some rest, yes?"
People had done that before. Taken his hand, gave it a kiss. But like many things in his life, it felt empty and forced. Like it was a means to an end. Something someone would do as simple foreplay or to show what they wanted. With Armiel, however, it felt like a gesture of... sonething. Freyr couldn't place the word. While his thoughts raced, he stared blankly at Armiel, almost like he couldn't believe what was happening. But, he was quick to compose himself.
Armiel proposing that they get some rest was perhaps the best thing he had heard all day. With a simple nod, he turned and opened the door to the familiar bedroom, gesturing for Armiel to follow. This time, it looked and smelled much better than when Armiel had arrived. During dinner, Kåre had come around and tidied the place up. Fresh bed covers has been placed on the bed, lamps lit, and a pleasant perfume made the air breathable for once. Freyr was the first to enter, taking his black dress jacket off.
"I will join you shortly. Should probably change into something more comfortable." He said, heading over to a door in the other side of the room. Opening it, it turned out to he a walk-in closet, filled with all sorts of outfits and shoes to match.
"Well, handsome, my finery stops here. I come see that I'm... most unlikely to fit in your attire, and I have no night clothings. Maybe I could wear not more than what the God has graced me with to bed tonight?"
Armiel half joked, half didn't. No one would want to sleep in a buttoned down shirt and long pants. Yet, this was his only real offer aside maybe his small clothes? The concept made Armiel's stomach lurch.
When Armiel took the robe, Freyr walked over to a cabinet near Armiel which also had a mirror on it. Searching around, Freyr pulled out a cigarette rolling machine along with some matches, tobacco and paper. Even as he prepared a cigarette for himself, he couldn't help but look over to Armiel through the mirror as he changed. Shaking his head, he went to focus on his cigarette. That wasn't what he was interested in. He's different. Freyr tried to reassure himself. But after all these years, it was hard to just... believe that.
The brief silence was interrupted by a question. "I... I didn't. We are about the same size, so I assumed..." Clearing his throat, he sighed and rolled up a cigarette with the mere pull of a small lever. Once done, he put it up to his mouth and grabbed a match, only to stop himself. Did he really need this right now? "I didn't... I just thought..." Freyr motioned awkwardly with his hand, taking a deep breath and deciding that perhaps he did need the tobacco after all. After some attempts at lighting one or two matches, he seemingly gave up and slammed the tiny box against the table below him. "Shit..." He cursed under his breath, feeling a strange surge of anger. Not at Armiel, of course, but rather at how things had turned out and how confused he was.
Entering the closet for just a moment, he took off his jacket and placed it in a hanger. As he was about to do the same for his shirt, he heard Armiel speak. He couldn't tell if he was joking or not, but just in case, he searched for something he could wear. Though, he wasn't against the idea of the two... well, he didn't want to give Armiel the wrong idea. As he searched, it was starting to dawn on him that Armiel wasn't the domineering type. In fact, he seemed as nervous about this whole thing as he was. Grabbing a robe from among the countless outfits, he emerged from the closet, shirtless.
"I'll let you decide. But, I got you this. Should help stave off the cold if it... It gets chilly in here at times." Freyr presented Armiel with a long robe made in cotton and dyed a beautiful green. It looked expensive and the flowers embroidened in it suggested it had likely been custom made.
Armiel gently walks over and behind Freyr, and wraps his arms around his waist.
"No no, Sweetness. It does great harm for a man to enter the bed in a bout of furor or dolor. Why don't we focus on happier things, such as. . . ."
Armiel, in his nervousness, rests his head on Freyr's left shoulder.
"Perhaps, such as how a smile so small can be so sweet? Or, maybe, perhaps. . . Ah, it seems the words escape me now at this time. How tragic, it would be to have them fail at this time."
Armiel approaching didn't catch him by surprise. After all, he could see him in the mirror, and the assassin had sharpened senses that made sneaking up on him extremely difficult. Instead, what caught him off-guard was feeling Armiel's arms on bare skin. Tight, but not too much for it to be uncomfortable. It was... just enough where he felt... warm. On Armiel's end, he would have beem able to feel the countless scars on Freyr's body. Old cuts, gashes, burns and other wounds that would be forever emblazoned on Freyr's otherwise smooth skin. He was almost ice cold too.
Armiel's words helped him cool down a little. His arms were warm and comforting, and the way he tried to cheer him up in his usual strange way of speaking had an off effect on Freyr.
"A smile?" What Freyr thought was his inner voice, instead came out of his mouth. "I suppose." Looking up at his reflection, he thought about what the alchemist had said just a moment ago and did his best smile at his own reflection. The corners of his mouth trembled and he barely got a smile out. It looked... forced.
Sighing, his hands go down to the table again, grabbing the cigarette and putting up to his mouth.
"I'm not sure how you've done it. But..." Freyr's eyes met Armiel's reflection. "I can't... pretend around you. It doesn't feel right."
He admitted, thinking about how such a thing was even possible.
"Because it isn't. What gentleman lies to another for petty gains? Imagine the same gentleman lying to their heart. What a sorry sight that would be."
Letting go, Armiel goes back to what he was doing, and gets his clothes set and hung proper, before standing near the vanity and lightly patting at his neck and chin. He needs to shave. It's not much, hell its barely any stubble, but it bothers him so.
Armiel's words resonated inside Freyr's head. Even as he left, he stood there, smoking his cigarette with a dull ache in his chest. Sighing, he left for his closet, emerging soon after with a robe of his own with nothing underneath. It was how he usually slept anyway. Approaching the bed, cigarette still in hand he sat by the bedside.
Taking a deep breath, he glanced over to Armiel who was still standing nearby.
"I should have told you before but... I tend to have nightmares and night terrors from time to time." That was an understatement. They basically described every time he closed his eyes for only a few hours.
"And I'm supposed to think less of you for it? The pain in your voice, my Delilah, is showing. Even fruits in a garden of the Gods would inevitably bruise, no?"
Walking back to Freyr, he rests his head on his shoulder, and pecs a light kiss on Freyr's cheek.
"It would be..... odd if there wasn't some catch, and if that's all I'm oft to deal with then I'm winning. Wouldn't you say?"
Armiel lets go, and walks back to the bed, and sits at it's edge. He pats the blanket, feeling it's quality and texture. He turns his head and enjoys the feeling and color. Is the standard for his life? It's so plush, like it's just a veneer hiding over a deeper darkness.
Freyr's weary eyes follow Armiel's form as he walks over. He takes one last big inhale from his cigarette, taking most of the tobacco within in one go. As he sits, he sighs, smoke emanating from his mouth and nose. Armiel's words echo inside his head, but he says nothing. Whatever pessimistic response he had, Freyr kept to himself. While Freyr wasn't entirely surprised by Armiel resting his head on his shoulder, the kiss did catch him off-guard. The moment Armiel's lips made contact with his smooth skin, the assassin tensed up. As he stood up again, Freyr glanced over to him, bringing a cold hand to his cheek which was starting to warm up. What was this feeling? Shaking his head, Freyr stood one more time, getting rid of the cigarette on a nearby ash tray before finally deciding it was time to sleep. Or, at least attempt to.
Walking over, Freyr picked his corner opposite from Armiel and tucked himself in. "Earlier..." Freyr said, turning from staring at the ceiling to Armiel. "You called me 'Delilah'. Come to think of it... you always refer to me with these..." His gaze wandered around the room for a moment. "I... it feels nice when you call me that." The faintest smile crossed the assassin's lips. Though, the anxiety he felt before going to sleep was still prevalent in his face. The expectation of the terrible images to follow were vivid in his head from the previous night still and he wasn't looking forward to making a fool of himself in front of Armiel.
"Just because your job is rough doesn't mean your handling as a person needs to be equal. I can look beyond your past, Pretty thing. Can you do the same for me?"
Armiel posits a question about himself, for a change. He leaves it to Freyr to answer, as he gets under the covers himself, too.
"Goodnight, Freyr."
Gripping the covers to steady himself and relieve that all too familiar tension, he takes a deep shaky breathe and exhales. Glancing at the ceiling, his eyes move across the carved rock and slowly he turns his head to look at Armiel. He wondered if Armiel was in the same position as he. Carrying the baggage of a past he was eager to forget. Freyr began to wonder if this was some form of opportunity to redeem himself. An opportunity to escape. Perhaps not, but it was a shot at something that felt better and he was wise enough to accept.
"Yes." He told Armiel, his hands finally relaxing as they let go of the covers. In the middle of it, he was reminded of something the two had seemingly forgotten. "I still owe you an explanation." Freyr added, sighing as he brought a hand up to his face, running it across his hair. "For what happened."
"Why don't we do that tomorrow, to a hearty meal and an inquisitive misty morning?"
Armiel does his best to shush the twink, and shimmies over to get close to Freyr. He slowly goes to hold him, resting his hands on the man's hips, gently tugging and urging him closer.
"Is that okay, my nervous beauty?"
Freyr turns his head to look at Armiel and opens his mouth to say something, but chooses not to. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Armiel coming closer. One of his arms reaches around and comes to rest on his hips. Freyr shivers and tenses up, but moves along as Armiel pulls him in.
"Y-yes..." Freyr stammers, but keeps going, even as his body stubbornly refuses to. "Let me..." The assassin tries to get more comfortable, turning on his side instead of his back, giving Armiel more room to hold him. Taking a deep breath, Freyr tried his best to relax.
"Could you-?" He swallows as the war within him to reject Armiel and embrace him rage on, even as exhaustion begins to take hold. "-hold me?" The Nayu's body shivered as he uttered those words. It was something he had always thought about, but never said out loud. He had never felt comfortable being cuddled, especially after sex. He never really understood it, especially when he saw things as mere business and nothing more. But this was different.
"Could I hold something so small and delicate in my arms, and love it so? You tell me, White Rose of mine, could I handle a charge so dire?"
Armiel sounds almost like a young boy, eager, but also like a stern actor in the middle of his soliloquy. He answers by grabbing the small assassin, and bringing him closer. His hands are calloused, yet his moves are delicate and caring. He leans to peck Freyr's cheek once more, before putting his head back down and sleeping himself.