"You came all this way, and I am in for a sleepless night," Walter offered. All this way included - into his bedroom, unnoticed by the servants, looking slick in black not-mourning dress that outlined the waist and broadened the shoulders. Besides, now that he knew that Laric went where Laric wanted, it felt safer to know just where the man was. "But do what feels right. I would prefer that we see each other in the morning, when I can... look the part, if you are here for lord Thornley. You're staying for a few days, right? Like old days." He tried to keep the tone casual. Hope seeped in, though. An excuse for leisure in these dark hallways didn't come often.

He didn't go for wine, opting to fill a goblet with plain water. Drank it, head tilting back, in slow deliberate gulps, stopping in the middle just to catch his breath. Left the goblet by a thin-necked metal decanter, to turn attention fully on Laric.
"If you are going to your room for the night, then it is customary to wish a good night to the one you're parting," his voice was worn, but there was an effort to keep the warmth in, too. Invite some contact, though he presumed much less than what was desired, to soothe the roughened edges. Lust wasn't love, of course. But it could grow to be a passion.
If only either of them were delicate about it.
 
In the way you see fit.
Walter smiled faintly, and nodded.
"May your worries melt away as candles quench and the sun dawns, Laric. Be welcome in my home. Good night," Walter echoed. The way he spoke, the cadence of it, felt... a little odd, though certainly Walter himself was peculiar on occasion.

He fell into the bed when the door shut, didn't bother with a blanket until his body started cooling once again on the edge of sleep. Running a mild fever, maybe, or maybe just overloaded from everything that's happened. Morning would come, the thought slithered slowly through his fading mind. Morning would come, and he'd see what Laric was about. Right now, everything hurt, and he was dead tired, and worried about Percy, and...
And then he was out cold.

*

Anthea was the one to find Laric in the library.
"Lord Delirien?" She called softly. "We did not find you here earlier, my apologies. Your things have been moved to the room, you may have noticed. Would you need a fire overnight? Should a maid come wake you in the morning?"
 
The head maid smiled.
"Well, let me at least get you some warm blankets. The rain may have died down for now, but I trust my husband when he says there will be a storm by morning time. Ah, I see you've reunited with your dear friend. She's been excellent as the addition to the household, although, of course, the dogs and horses would scarcely compare... I hope you'll forgive my indiscretion." A chuckle. "What would you like for breakfast, my lord? Where would you like it served for you?"
A question, a subtly query. His earlier disappearance did not go unnoticed, of course. And so, it would seem, she was asking more than what was implied. At least one poor child in this place could perhaps have a try at being happy.
 
"We the servants of Thornhall manor pride ourselves in proper conduct and hospitality. It truly is no trouble, Lord Delirien. The cat's name?" Anthea glanced to the tabby that seemed to be making herself comfortable at the corner of the bed. "Hm, I think some maids called her Dusty." A pause to the doubt, she did not pry further, and stepped out to deliver just what was promised - quilted woolen blankets to put on once the room cooled down. "I will leave you be. Have a peaceful night."

Morning came with thundercracks and lightning, pelting the outside fiercely. The tabby would have scratched the heavy door to exit some time at night, vocal about her need for either food or litter.
Then, came a polite knock. Not repeating, nor insistent, seemingly holding a pause to hear any word from the other side.
 
Walter was on the other side of the opened door. Less pale, but with darkness to his eyelids that belayed the man was speaking the truth, as ever, and didn't get much sleep at all. He was well-groomed, clean-shaven and clad in a muted blue doublet atop a grey shirt.

"Good morn," he offered, an easy expression about his features even though the lines on his forehead ran deeper. "It's still a little while before the maids would call us both downstairs. Did you happen upon rest before the storm broke out?"

Eyes wandered over to the bed. Laric never seemed to sleep when he was to be found around. Attention then lingered on Laric's face, the quiet study, another question or two lingering but never passing out his lips.

"I brought hot wine with fruit and spices, and your door turned out to be just at the top of the stairs, so... Would you like to share?"
A lidded jug held by the gloved hand, two metal-framed half-rounded glasses in the other. He saluted with the former, to indicate it.
 
Walter shrugged, idly. As he passed, the scent of soap root mingled with the sage, fading fragrance of flowers from the clothes.
"I've looked better," he huffed, glancing aside, and handed Laric the glasses as he entered. "I've been awake since dawn. They've been the first I've visited, them and the healer. Pulling through. If I took that rest stop on the way back..." He stopped himself, shook his head. Offered a faint smile. "It was not a good road. We'll need to reinforce patrols for Bremen, more people are fleeing into nothingness from the marsh baron wars. But- ah. I think they'll both be fine. A small cause for a little morning drinking."
He'd been head first in the affairs, and it would seem this early in the morning was late enough for him to constitute day drinking.

And so, he looked about, spotted the fireplace, glanced at the desk by the window, and pulled up the chair from it. Landed sideways, elbow resting on the chair's back, one leg very uncouthly swung over the other to rest the ankle over the knee. He was in low-cut deerskin shoes instead of riding boots, no intention to go out under pelting rain unless he had to, it would seem.
"But now that I'm free to rest, I figured... we could talk. Not about my state affairs, mind." He'd pour the mulled wine if Laric held out the glasses, first. "About last night. About that night, too. And... well. Where we'd like to go from here, I guess."
 
He looked at Laric, who seemed more tense than ever. 'Not sure if there was anything to discuss' carried a particularly bitter sting, but it was not the blond's fault. Some ghosts took a while to let go. He brought the glass to his lips, the smooth glass and the wrapping sweetness of honey and oranges, cherries and apples, the scent of cloves and shards of cinnamon bark. Though it was heated for long enough to lose the potency of intoxication, the sweet mix made up for it, warmed the soul a little.

"Worthy," he mouthed without a sound. A sad smirk twitched the corners of the mouth.
Then, he listened to the final question. Took a moment to think, really think about it, eyes wandering at the level of Laric's ribs but no higher, tracking the mantlepiece's carved oak leaves before returning to the other man's face.
He rose. Though still shorter than Laric, this brought them much closer to eye level. Did not approach, opting to step sideways and lean to the side of the fireplace.

"I remember what you said, that night. You said you wanted me. And that can be many things. Starting with two lonely men finding comfort and pleasure in each other's bodies, now and then." Eyes wondered from Laric's eyes to the mouth, the clasps that held the black surcoat together. Returned to the face. "That sort of connection doesn't need to involve knowing one another. It doesn't need to involve trust, or safety, or deeper affections, it doesn't have to have that gentler space where masks and walls come down. A carnal delight is not all I want, but I have decided to make peace if that is all there is, that night at the campfire. If there is more than that simple need, however..."
He watched the folded arms, the guarded posture.


Brought the glass to his lips again, seeking solace not in the alcohol but the velvety notes of honey wrapping his tongue. And then, continued.
"They say to love is to know. You don't need to prove yourself to me, sweet. You are a lord. You have nothing to prove to anyone. But to love is to know, isn't it?"

He stepped closer. Eye contact was a struggle, but he persevered in keeping it. This was important.
"I want to know you." The voice dropped lower.
"And showing yourself, as you've wiled away from it so aptly, must be very frightening. But we can't be in love with a thought or a dream, Laric. I want to know you, and I want you to know me back. If it is all of me that you want, I think it must be so. And, something in me finds it rather tragic, you know," he shifted the glass into his gloved digits, to trace the outside of Laric's fingers with his own, his gaze dropping away from the other's face for a long moment,
"that you don't seem to think yourself worthy of affection. What do I want... I want you to battle the dread inside that strips you of sleep when I am near. I will be there to help, if you are kind, and patient, in how you close the distance."

Another draw from the glass, the violet eyes returning to meet the green ones over the rim.
"I want a courtship of equals, sweet tomcat. One where permissions are granted, not assumed. One where respect is given, not taken. I want to let the image of a boy I once knew be added to the man I am getting to know. I want to know what things make you happy, and I want you to find enough trust in yourself to be brave and tell me about them, so I could delight you. I want us to feel safe in each other's arms, and grow enough trust to not worry about affections fading with the sunrise. I want to write poetry about the matters of heart, and travel together to distant places. I want to compete in earnest, and to the best of ability, and find things I could get better in, and new things that I could learn." His gaze flicked sideways, towards the door, as he held the glass at his chest in thought.

"A tall order, I know. But it could start with small things." A knock on the door, a gentle goodnight, a treat in the morning, a walk together. "What do you think?"
 
That would have been his last appeal. Walter was not going to apologize for asking to respect his space. Doubly so when he's been combat-jumpy, tense, hurting and trying to hide and rest. He knew what he desired, he knew the alarm the very unapologetic manner Laric still presented - caused him. Perhaps, he was wrong. Perhaps, Laric thought that once they've slept together, no permission nor consideration was required to do whatever Laric liked. And if Laric were to hold the line despite the olive branches extended last night, and this morning - then it was better to abandon the idea before it bore and bitter fruit.
"I have no expectation of you, or of this to work, necessarily, but you don't reap if you don't sow. A try is all there ever can be."

He was old, Walter thought. He no longer wished for a whirlwind romance to tear at his heart like a storm and burn him like a wildfire. He just wanted steady, safe. Someone that would not hurt him. He had enough things that would, even before accounting for people.
Laric's behavior - was hurting him. What hope was elevated at the pit inside Walter's chest was slowly draining away.
Just a night. Laric did not own him, no promises were made nor oaths sworn, not then and not now.
He was not going to be chasing someone who did everything to push him away, again.

Another draw of mulled wine, steeped with alchemical precision, citrus and cinnamon on the tongue. Almost perfect. A notion that a pinch of salt could be tossed to balance the flavor sparked within. Next time, perhaps - the winters were long.
Walter's posture, than had begun to close when Laric acted distant, started to close, as well.
"But this isn't going to work if I'm the only one stepping forward or making decisions in an attempt to consider both of us, I am not gifted with mind-reading," Walter mentioned quietly. "You act like you've been spurned. I don't think I have been unreasonable. If you don't think there is anything to be said further, I'll bury this effort as a vainglorious attempt to reach you, and leave you be. I think... I think I'm still a bit tired after early rousing and this... soliloquy, and might return to bed. Enjoy the wine, I made it myself."

Half a step back. He bid his bid, and said his bit, and made his offerings. There was no indication of acceptance. He was bracing to leave and take his glass along. The servants would call down for breakfast in half an hour or so.
 
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