Chapter Text
"I remember you," called the teen sitting in the lobby of the Opera Epiclese.
The Chief Justice slowed to a halt, resting a portion of his weight on his cane. On a couch to his right lounged a young, dark-haired boy— no doubt the star of that day's trial. Being flanked by two fully grown members of the garde made him seem smaller than he actually was. He had his arms crossed and his shoulders curled inwards, as if that would somehow mask the anxiety in his blue eyes.
"Have we met before?" Neuvillette inquired without ire. As a consummate professional, he wouldn't pass judgment until the evidence was presented. The boy was innocent until the Oratrice declared him guilty, and thus should be treated with the respect any citizen of Fontaine deserved.
"Sorta." The boy wiped his nose on his sleeve. "You regularly visit the café on the loop, yeah? You order distilled water and a croissant. Same thing every time."
The tilt of one pale eyebrow was the only marker of surprise Neuvillette allowed to appear on his face. It wasn't a security risk for the boy to know his café order, but it was an uncomfortable feeling, knowing he'd been observed unawares. "Indeed. How did you know that?"
"You never eat the croissant," the boy continued, dodging the question with all the grace of a blubberbeast. "You tear it apart to make it look like you've eaten some, but then you just leave the chunks on the plate."
The faintest hint of a frown materialized at the corners of Neuvillette's mouth. Where was this going? A feeble attempt at blackmail?
"Yes, that is true. And?"
"I wanted to say thanks. Croissants aren't all that filling, but they're pretty tasty."
It took Neuvillette a moment to transition from looking at the boy, to really seeing him.
He wasn't small, but he was thin— all gangly limbs and protruding elbows, like he was at the tail end of a particularly potent growth spurt. The hollows of his cheeks were sunken and tinted purple, sallow skin clinging to the darkened blood vessels beneath. His knuckles were bony, and the tendons in his hands were overly pronounced.
Neuvillette had read the file for this case. Nowhere within had it mentioned the defendant was a malnourished child.
Approaching the couch took only three of his long strides. The gardes on either side stiffened and moved to interpose defensively, but Neuvillette waved them off with a dismissive hand. The notion that this scrawny human could hurt him was laughable.
"What are you called?" he asked.
"Name's Wriothesley," the boy answered, leaning away warily from the sudden proximity.
"I am Neuvillette. I will be presiding over your trial today."
"You're the Chief Justice?" Wriothesley paused, turning over the new information in his head. "I guess that makes sense."
"Oh? How so?"
"I dunno." Observant eyes beneath a deepset browline roved over him— a full sweep from head to toe. "You've always seemed… foppish. Pretty hair, fancy dress. Being someone high and mighty suits you."
Neuvillette barely contained a startled laugh. It was hard to reconcile this skinny, petulant creature with the graphic descriptions of violence he'd seen in the case file that morning. In an unusual display of impulsivity, he crooked a finger at one garde and said, "Lady Furina always keeps a tray of snacks next to her seat. I would like you to fetch it for me."
The man opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again— likely because he valued his job. As he scurried away, Neuvillette turned his attention back to the couch. He hadn't yet mastered the full spectrum of human emotion, so the look in the child's icy eyes was indecipherable.
"You know I'm a murderer, right?" Wriothesley asked.
Neuvillette furrowed his brow. Did the boy not understand the implications of such a declaration? "I know you're on trial for several deaths, but nothing has been proven—"
"No, I did it. I killed them." Wriothesley's voice was matter-of-fact and untouched by guilt, and Neuvillette wondered if he was speaking to a little psychopath after all.
"It seems foolish to confess to the man responsible for deciding your sentence, no?"
"We're in the land of justice. If I committed the crime, I deserve to serve the time. We can just skip the pageantry."
It was fortunate that the garde reappeared then with the tray of frilly cakes and finger sandwiches, because Neuvillette needed a moment to process. He had never met a criminal who was both proud of his actions and happy to accept the matching punishment. "I'm afraid we must still see your trial to completion,” he said slowly. “However, we do not starve criminals here in Fontaine, so you may eat while we wait for the… 'pageantry' to commence."
Wriothesley's eyes narrowed in suspicion, even as his mouth parted in obvious longing at the sight of Furina's exotic spread of expensive patisseries.
Neuvillette chuckled at that, then nudged the silver tray forward with the head of his cane. "Come now. If I wanted to be rid of you, I would not need to use a method as crass as poison."
That seemed to be all the convincing the boy needed, because he descended upon the snacks with the ferocity of a rabid rift hound.
Neuvillette pulled back and adjusted his gloves. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Wriothesley. I hope you receive the justice you deserve today."
A curious sparkle was visible in the boy's hungry eyes. Through a mouthful of cake and bread, he mumbled something that sounded a lot like, "Thanks, chief."
TEN YEARS LATER
"I remember you," laughed the stranger who poked his head into the Iudex's office at the Palais Mermonia.
Neuvillette looked up from the document he was reading. This must be his four o'clock appointment: the new warden of the Fortress of Meropide. The blue eyes and rumpled black hair seemed familiar, but he couldn't place the massive, muscled man. Such a distinctive figure surely would've made an impression. So he simply asked, "Have we met before?"
The warden stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. "I'm hurt. Have I really changed that much, chief?" he asked with a grin.
The delivery of the line struck a chord. As years of dust shook free from his memories, Neuvillette stood halfway to his feet in astonishment. "Wriothesley?"
"The one and only." The boy— no, the man— stretched his arms out to either side and sketched a bow like an actor at curtain call.
The alterations were so dramatic that it almost defied belief. But perhaps it was common for humans to change so drastically when they reached adulthood? Neuvillette swore he remembered an allegory about it. Something about an ugly duck.
Or was that a children's bedtime story? He had trouble keeping such human frivolity straight in his head. "My apologies. I must admit, you are nearly unrecognizable."
"I'll take that as a compliment. I was one hell of a beanpole."
"Goodness, yes. What in the world did they feed you down there? Growth serum?"
"Nah. Just prison rations and knuckle sandwiches."
"Come here. Let me look at you."
Wriothesley obeyed, halting a few feet from the desk. Neuvillette emerged from behind it and walked a deliberate circle around him.
Gone was the gangly, starved teen he had fed teacakes. In his place was a tall, confident, and downright bulky young man. Broad shoulders, a sharp jaw, and well-defined legs, with a stalwart stance that implied sureness of self. The boy ten years ago had curled defensively inwards, but this man projected his energy outwards, as if daring the world to take a swing.
The glow of pride that warmed Neuvillette's chest did not surprise him. Here stood living proof that Fontaine's justice system was doing good work.
Although, he was less pleased to see the scars that were slashed across the other man's body like angry words on a page. Had Wriothesley tried to fight every inmate in the entire fortress? Hopefully the new warden knew how to settle conflict with his words, not just his fists.
As Neuvillette finished his circuit, he noted Wriothesley's cheeks were flushed. "Is it too warm in here?" he asked politely. "I could open a window."
Wriothesley cleared his throat and looked at the ceiling. "Nope, all good."
"Very well. I am delighted to see that you have been thriving all these years. If I remember correctly, your sentence was set to end several days ago. How did the fortress find itself under new management?"
"Let's just say the previous guy is pursuing retirement," Wriothesley said with a smirk.
Neuvillette frowned. Although Wriothesley's trial had revealed that his actions were understandable— though not pardonable— it was worth remembering that he had killed before. "Is he still alive?"
Cool blue eyes blinked at him from beneath bushy black eyebrows. "Of course he is. I challenged him to a duel, fair and square, but he never showed up. So I'm taking up the mantle of his duties."
"And the guards allowed that?"
"What can I say? I think they agreed with me that it was time to put someone with fresh ideas in charge."
"Hm." This news wasn't particularly upsetting. Neuvillette hadn't been fond of the previous administrator, having found him to be a coward beneath a thin veneer of arrogance.
As for Wriothesley… well, something about him seemed trustworthy. Though their brief encounters weren't much to go by, the ideals he portrayed were admirable: straightforward honesty and a strong sense of justice.
"Well then, Wriothesley. I look forward to a beneficial partnership with you."
Wriothesley's face warmed with a pink flush again, and Neuvillette decided he really ought to get the air conditioning in his office examined.
FIVE YEARS LATER
"I remember you," Neuvillette teased as he held out a hand for the newly minted duke to shake.
Wriothesley offered him an easy smile, and his returning grip was solid and warm. "Have we met before?" he joked back, mirroring their usual call and response.
"Are you quite sure you don't want a proper ceremony to mark this occasion?" Neuvillette detached from the handshake to grab the signed paperwork off his desk. "It’s not every day that one becomes titled."
"Nah. Pomp and circumstance isn't really my style, chief."
"I am aware. I remember your disdain for pageantry," Neuvillette said with a lilting laugh.
"Oh? I'm surprised you've kept space in your head for that knobby twig of a kid." Wriothesley ran a scarred hand self-consciously through his hair, which was now tempered with a hefty dose of iron gray.
Wasn't the early appearance of gray hairs linked to increased stress in humans? Unexpected concern rose in Neuvillette's chest. "I hope things have been well?"
"Oh, sure. The changes I've been making are settling pretty cleanly. I don't want to toot my own horn, but I think the fortress is becoming a place for rehabilitation, instead of only punishment."
"That is excellent. This title has been well-earned, and I'm glad I recommended it."
Wriothesley's eyes sparkled at the praise, and Neuvillette's stomach did an odd little backflip. He brushed it off as thirst. He hadn't had anything to drink since breakfast.
As the documents exchanged hands, his gaze snagged on an icy glimmer over the duke's shoulder. "Congratulations," he said politely as that now familiar glow of pride returned. "You have found something you wish to do at last, I see."
Wriothesley said nothing in response, but his answering smile held a secret that Neuvillette wished he would share.
A FEW MONTHS LATER
"And you are sure he's not in any mortal peril, Sigewinne?"
"Yes, monsieur." The tiny Melusine had to jog to keep up with Neuvillette's long strides as they hurried towards the infirmary. "Head injuries bleed a lot, but he's stable, I promise. Unfortunately, it seems his memories have been affected."
"To what extent?"
"I won't lie to you," she said, her serious face presenting a striking contrast to her bright, candylike colors. "It didn't seem good. His personality is intact, but he didn't even know his name, or where he was."
"That is terrible news." Knowing his worries must be evident on his face, Neuvillette hastily explained, "He was doing such good work for the fortress. It would be a shame if all that went to waste."
"Well, it isn't necessarily permanent,” Sigewinne reassured him. “Patients with amnesia often recover. I'm hoping seeing you will speed up the process."
"Me? Why?"
She gave him a look he didn't know how to interpret. Exasperation, perhaps?
His next step brought his cane down with more force than usual. The clang echoed off the metallic walls of the fortress around them. "Why?" he asked again, gentle but insistent.
She let out a little huff of a sigh. "You've known him longer than anyone, and you've witnessed many of the pivotal moments in his life. I thought your face might unlock something, that's all."
"Ah. That makes sense." Neuvillette nodded in approval. "Very sensible of you, Sigewinne." They were finally approaching the infirmary door. He walked through without hesitation, his desire to help far outweighing any trepidation.
Wriothesley reclined on one of the beds, sound asleep. Wrapped around his head was a crown of bandages, stark white save for a rusty blot of crimson staining the side. Upon seeing this, Neuvillette's steps faltered for the first time. "Should— should I come back later?" he whispered down to Sigewinne. "I don't want to disturb his rest."
"No, it's okay," she said cheerily. "I need to change his wrappings anyways. Stand next to me as I wake him up."
Muted uneasiness gnawed at the edges of Neuvillette's thoughts as he followed her down to the infirmary floor. His fingers absentmindedly worried the buttons on his gloves while she patted the injured man on the arm.
"Your Grace?" she murmured. "There's someone here to see you."
Clouded blue eyes fluttered open, and Wriothesley groggily leaned away from Sigewinne as he regained consciousness. It became immediately evident that there was a vital piece of his puzzle missing. That vibrant, borderline cocky sense of self that Neuvillette had become so accustomed to was gone. Its absence hung over Wriothesley's slumped shoulders like a heavy shroud.
Then his gaze passed over Sigewinne's shoulder, and his face lit up with a dazzling smile. "I remember you," he exclaimed, sitting up so suddenly that he swayed in place, threatening to topple back down.
The rush of relief that rippled over Neuvillette was shockingly potent. Sigewinne's plan must have worked. Without thinking, he answered the familiar phrase the same way he always had: "Have we met before?"
But the banter earned him neither a laugh nor a smile. Instead, Wriothesley flinched back as though he’d been slapped, and Sigewinne made a small noise of distress in the back of her throat.
"Wait— no, no!" Neuvillette paled with chagrin as he realized his mistake. "I am so sorry. You used to greet me that way frequently. I thought your memories had returned."
"Oh." The confused betrayal faded from Wriothesley's face— which was good, because it was making Neuvillette feel sick to his stomach. "So we do know each other?"
"Yes, of course."
"I thought so." That white slash of a smile returned, though it was more tentative than before. "It would take more than a bump to the head to make me forget your face."
Sigewinne attempted to conceal what was obviously a giggle with a fake cough. Both men gave her a curious look, and she excused herself, claiming she needed to fetch more bandages from the storeroom.
Wriothesley began wringing the frayed edge of his blanket between his hands. "Sorry for any gaps in my memory. I don't mean any offense."
"There's nothing to forgive," Neuvillette said in encouragement as he sat down on the bed by Wriothesley's hips. "Take your time. I am happy to answer any questions you might have."
There was a long pause as Wriothesley scanned him— a maneuver so comfortingly similar to his old self. He must have seen something that emboldened him, because eventually he asked, "What are we?"
"Pardon?"
"To each other, I mean. Husbands? Or maybe partners?" Neuvillette's shock must've been obvious, because disappointment flooded Wriothesley's face. "Oh. Just lovers, then?"
"We— you and I, we're…" Coherency had abandoned Neuvillette. Amnesia was one thing, but could a head wound impart false memories? After a moment, he managed to stammer, "What gave you that impression?"
"Seeing you brings to mind a lot of vivid imagery. I must've thought about you… all the time…" Wriothesley trailed off, and his face grew red as he processed Neuvillette's flabbergasted expression. "No? You're sure?"
"I— I am flattered, Wriothesley, but I'm afraid not."
"Well, shit." Wriothesley raised his palms to his eyes and pressed down in small circles, as if he could somehow rub the last minute from existence. "If you'll excuse me, I need to go jump off the balcony again, chief."
Hearing the familiar nickname, Neuvillette's heart gave a little squeeze. No one else called him that. No one else had the guts enough to try. Clearly there was some memory there, even if it was completely scrambled. Wriothesley must be mixing up their relationship with that of some other amorous acquaintance—
Wait.
"Again? What do you mean, again?" Neuvillette demanded.
Wriothesley peered out from behind the shelter of his hands. "Did the nurse not tell you? Apparently I jumped off the second floor. She says I'm lucky to have walked away with only a dented skull."
"You… tried to… kill yourself?" That couldn't possibly be right. Neuvillette's imagination conjured images that burned him like acid sloshing through the arteries in his brain.
"I dunno. I don't remember." Wriothesley shrugged. "Was that in character for me?"
"No!" Neuvillette leapt to his feet, agitation twisting his face. "You are— you have always been a fighter. Your strength of character is... it was unmatched. You never would have—"
"Woah, okay!" Wriothesley held out his hands in placation, but he looked strangely pleased. "Maybe I just tripped, but it's nice to see you care so much. Are you sure we weren't an item?"
Neuvillette graced him with a withering look. “You certainly seem like the man I knew,” he remarked dryly. “He never took anything seriously either.”
Wriothesley grinned. “I'll take your word for it.” Then his mask cracked, and the vulnerability beneath was revealed as he added, “I wish I could remember myself.”
Neuvillette's lips parted, but no words came out. He was unsure of what to say.
Unsure of what Wriothesley needed from him.
Reassurances that all would be well? Encouragement to keep his spirits up? Both felt like hollow offerings to lay before a man who had lost everything that made him who he was.
Their gazes met and held. The ghost of a sparkle began to shine in Wriothesley's eyes as the spiderwebbed stress lines in their corners relaxed.
He had lost everything, except—
As Sigewinne skipped back into the room humming a merry tune, Neuvillette cleared his throat and looked up at the labyrinth of metal pipes woven across the ceiling. Had the fortress's craftsmanship always been so fascinating?
“Any luck?” she asked as she motioned for her patient to lean down so she could reach his head.
“He remembers very little, and what is there seems fragmented.”
“Well, that's still more than yesterday,” she chirped, unwilling to let anything hamper her upbeat attitude. “Yesterday he thought my name was Bunny, and he was convinced we were in a giant mech's stomach.”
Wriothesley winced as she gently unstuck the bindings from his blood-matted hair. “You don't need to tell him all that, miss.”
“Miss? See, that's definitely an improvement over Bunny. I could get used to that.” Small fingers combed through the black strands with expert precision to get a better look at the scalp beneath. “This is healing nicely. You've already scabbed over, but let's give you a rinse and I'll wrap you back up just in case. Monsieur Neuvillette, could I trouble you for some fresh water?”
“Of course. Do you have a bowl?”
Sigewinne poked her finger to her cheek with a twinkle in her eye. “I do… but I don't want to get his wound wet, just his hair. Could you do that directly?”
An unusual request, but not a troublesome one. “If that’s what you need, my dear. Wriothesley, come here.”
Wriothesley didn't move. He wore an odd, puckered expression on his face— mouth twisted, nose scrunched. Was he frightened? Receiving such a devastating injury must have been a traumatic experience. Neuvillette softened his voice. “Come. I won't hurt you. My control of Hydro is incredibly precise.”
Those words broke whatever errant thought was holding Wriothesley prisoner. He inched across the bed until his back was facing the edge.
After removing both gloves and placing them neatly on the blanket, Neuvillette dipped gracefully into that deep, natural well inside him that supplied him with power. As cool water spread across his fingers and palms like a second skin, he gingerly pressed into Wriothesley's hair and began to wash out the dried clumps of blood.
“Please do let me know if you experience any pain,” he said, his cadence no different than that he used for everyday conversation.
“Will do,” came the strangled reply.
Neuvillette was accustomed to the feel of his own hair— silky and fine, like long lines of gossamer— but the dark locks beneath his fingertips were much thicker. Not just in density, but the individual strands as well. That wasn't to say it was coarse or rough. Aside from the flecks of coppery red that were coming loose in the water, Wriothesley's hair was extraordinarily soft. Pleasant to touch.
Wriothesley held still throughout the washing process, but as the last of the mess was rinsed away, he let out a faint, contented sigh.
Sigewinne was at her desk, back turned, fiddling with a handful of corked bottles. So although Wriothesley's hair was now completely clean… Neuvillette indulged for just a moment longer and continued to comb his fingers through it.
“Wriothesley?”
"Hm?"
“What is the earliest thing you can remember?”
There was a long pause. Neuvillette hoped it was only because the man was thinking, and not due to another faux pas on his part.
Finally, Wriothesley said, “The taste of your croissants.”
Neuvillette's fingers twitched, then his hands fell away to his sides. “Sigewinne,” he called calmly, “we're finished.” His voice was much steadier than the beat of his heart, which was leaping against his ribs in a bid to escape.
Sigewinne skipped back over, unaware of the bizarre behavior of the organ in his chest. Wriothesley shook his head like a wet dog, spraying them both with water. Stopping the droplets from landing on his overcoat was well within the scope of Neuvillette's abilities, but he was too distracted to notice.
Sigewinne reached up and began to rewrap Wriothesley's injury. “We need to decide what we're going to do with you,” she said as her deft hands unspooled the roll of bandages.
“Can't I just stay here?” Wriothesley's voice sounded subdued, but Neuvillette couldn't see his face.
She clicked her tongue. “I'm not sure that's a good idea. You'll be healed in a few days— at least, your body will be. But I'm worried that in your current state, you might become a target down here in the fortress.”
“Oh. Do I… do I have any family who could take me?”
“No,” said Neuvillette kindly, hating that he had to be the one to break this news. “You are an orphan. I'm sorry.”
Wriothesley's broad shoulders slumped in defeat.
Seeing that, Neuvillette made up his mind. “No matter. I'm going to take you back with me to the Palais Mermonia. My suite has an extra bedroom for guests; you may occupy it until your memories return.”
When Wriothesley turned to look over his shoulder, the ice in his eyes was warm— a thing of contradictions. “You don't have to do that. I don't want to impose.”
“Nonsense. It's no trouble at all. Consider it a favor repaid.”
“Favor? What favor?”
Neuvillette gave him a radiant smile. “Why, the favor of your good company all these years, of course.”