Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Your mother? In here?”

Wriothesley is looking at him suspiciously. In any case, anyone would be suspicious of such reasoning. The premise isn’t at all suspicious in the play because there was nothing to use as comparison for the characters inside the story but this is someone’s dream. The girl’s voice comes into Neuvillette’s head again, calming him to not fret and walking steps back since the owner of the dream is suspicious only because of the unnatural reason, it seems Wriothesley’s head hasn’t perceived their encounter as an oddity.

Neville took a step back in head, calming his head and following along just how the story goes, “I only know my mother is a Fontainian.” The follow up caused the dark-haired teenager to raise an eyebrow, “You don’t know what your mother looks like?”

A shaking head was received as a response. The other sighs. How come he escapes from the other siblings only to find another child who… doesn’t even have a blanket to go through the cold nights. The way he dresses doesn’t look like he was abandoned too, rather he may have come from a well off family with stitched nicely white shirts and mid quality cloth as his shorts. He asked whether this Neville person even had any Mora to buy some supplies but only another head shake came.

“What’s—” Neville spoke first this time, “How should I call you?”

Wriothesley… He visibly looks upset and physically can’t hide his expression on his eyes. His eyes rolled to the side, seeking false privacy to discuss how he should respond with himself and his shoulder tenses. After some chatter from the adults near them finally comes to an end, Wriothesley finally looks back at the unknown child, “I don’t have one.”

A painful emotion stung Neuvillette’s chest. The information from Miss Chevreuse was true, then. No one could possibly remember who Wriothesley is when the person himself never plans to give himself a name to remember. He was planning to be a lingering figure far in the background in memories. Neville plays around his fingers, seemingly lost into jumbled words without coherent sentences, unable to form a good response to the answer. And it comes through the dark-haired young teenager’s eyes. He understands his answer is not something anyone prepares a response to, even a fully grown adult would have difficulties.

“But you can call me whatever you like.” He says.

That’s another burden to think through. Neuvillette couldn’t possibly use the name ‘Wriothesley’ because this name will come at later times. But the person is waiting for him, but he couldn’t also use that name or something that would cause a disruption in the future memories. Out of rare instances that can cause the Iudex to panic within, he quickly decides a nickname for the Wriothesley in front of him.

“Big brother Cerberus...”

Huh?

Even Nahida accidentally exhales a genuine ‘huh’ in response to the nickname. She straight away asked what the name came from. When she was told it was Wriothesley’s constellation, she understood the reasoning, mumbling to herself that the man could not know his constellation shape and name unless discussing it with professionals such as astrologists or senior scholars from Akademiya’s Rtawahist or the easier way is reading articles from them.

Meanwhile Wriothesley stood there. Frozen and bamboozled. Dog-looking boy, Dark-haired boy, skimpy dirty boy, he had been called with all those names, even his younger siblings called him ‘big brother’ for sure but never the name ‘Cerberus’. But he already told this Neville person can call him however he likes, so he has to accept it. There’s something bothering him, though. Neville sure looks younger but somewhere, he feels Neville is way older than he looks.

“I won’t babysit you, nor I’ll promise to protect you, but you can stay here when it’s night. This is my corner to sleep.”

He said that as if when the night comes and the warmth of the sun says their farewell for the day, he watches Neville in the corner, covering himself poorly by tucking his shirt closer to his skin, seeking any hint of warmth to the building’s walls.

Neuvillette is not a shy person with the freezing cold of the deep sea. He prefers the cold temperature in the Fortress of Meropide rather than the scorching hot sun of the overworld. However, the cold he is feeling right now is not the same as the sea. It’s also not as similar as the snow in Dragonspine. He can adjust to the freezing Snezhnaya or Dragonspine but this one… It’s very different. The bone-chilling, stabbing his skins all over. The warm yellow or orange lights coming from other houses in the corner of his eyes. Perhaps it’s different because of different reasons, it’s not only coming from the objective fact of low temperature… Knowing perfectly well other people sleep comfortably under warm lights…

This is the cold Wriothesley remembers after all.

“Neville.”

It took an uncharacteristically long two seconds for Neuvillette to unfreeze his head from the cold and remember he is called Neville here. Big brother Cerberus is lying there, on top of a thin blanket to protect him from the cold ground and under the same thin blanket to protect him from the cold air. Making a space enough to almost fit another person, using one hand he lifted the blanket, “Your energy will get spent before you find your mother if you keep sleeping like that.”

“...Unless you mind sleeping with a guy?”

No, he doesn’t mind, as long as it’s Wriothesley. Neville gets up from the corner, approaching the makeshift bed with a trembling body. When he tucked himself under the blanket, the other’s hand pulled the blanket so it covered the two of them. When they realized, their position made it that they face each other.  Wriothesley quickly asks whether Neville wants to change places since he doesn’t want to sleep facing the wall and back facing the streets as he deemed it a beg to get mauled and have his items stolen.

“I’m alright like this…” Neuvillette wants to use this chance to mesmerize himself to how Wriothesley looks at this time.

Of course, this Wriothesley looks very young. There were already some faint scars on him but not as apparent as the one Neuvillette first saw when meeting him after becoming the head administrator for the Fortress of Meropide. A question arises, will he find the origin of the Duke’s permanent scars in this dream? He watches, and watches, gluing every millimeters of detail into his mind.

“It’s warm like this, right?” Big brother Cerberus asked.

“Yes. I hope you feel the same way.” Neville replies. There’s no further voice coming after it.

When he woke up again, the Archon said it’s normal for some scenes to feel as if skipped simply because of how abstract dreams work. He is already standing and seeing Wriothesley packing things up and tucking it back into the corner. He walks to Neville and says he will come back near sunset.

“If you go searching for your mother and never come back, it’s also fine. We have our own business. I’ll be here for some time so you can come here again whenever . ”

Then where will you go after some time ends? —Neuvillette took a breath to swallow back that question. He knows the answer, yet that question comes faster than the reality he has to witness later. Wriothesley then left Neville alone in the streets, roaming with people with their own plan in their head, and he is not an exception to it.

The Archon offers for Neuvillette to enter the mode where he can only witness and not be seen by others including Wriothesley’s dream himself and he accepts the offer. There is nothing much for Neuvillette to do. The downstairs that should head to the other side of the Court is not there, the simple explanation being because Wriothesley doesn't have any memories on that side of the world.

As far as the dreams go, Wriothesley does meet a lot of people in this part of his life. He approached some older men to learn how to lockpick and pick up other talents used to crafting other things. Neuvillette had always seen Wriothesley as a person quick to learn and picking up capabilities easier than most people. His fast adaptation from a prisoner to the head administrator is worthy of high praise from anyone including the Iudex.

It’s impossible to tell how many days, weeks or months have passed because of the dreams skipping and not going from the past to the present at an orderly pace. The Archon also can’t know for sure due to the one remembering the details is only the owner. He is also currently in the mode of only observing from afar.

This one… It’s raining…

Neuvillette walks along the pouring rain streets in the dream, searching for the owner of the dream somewhere, to witness more. Steps and steps, he finally found him but the scenery made me stay still. Giving silent questions to the Archon on how this could happen. Under the rain, a cold night, a Melusine officer approaches the dark-haired figure, carrying nothing but clothes on his back. Neuvillette knows it’s Wriothesley still, yet the one appearing here seems weeks younger.

“Dreams don’t work in a single line, I’m afraid. I believe… Something triggers him to play this part…”

Those skinny arms, received the hot soup from the Melusine, smiling as always as they are always happy to do any kind act of kindness. No, from Sigewinne’s letter and story, he might’ve known this scene. His short Neville legs chases after the Melusine officer, only to almost fall out of the dream as there’s not even a centimeter of ground past this. Wriothesley has never tried to remember or imagine beyond his eye gaze on this night.

Neuvillette knows. He knows .

Neuvillette existed in this scene— but Wriothesley never knows.

It comes back to night, and it is with the more mature Wriothesley. The dreams skipped yet again, implying even for Wriothesley’s heart, those memories are not worth to be replayed again before his death. Neville came back and they are already resting on the blanket that only gets thinner as time passes. Tonight, they have the privilege of getting some small warmth from the candle Wriothesley found in the trash. They are bewitched by the swaying light fire. When you have nothing, even a small fire is enough as a source to pass time.

“You don’t seem like you came from a poor place of living, Neville. Why? ” Even without the last part, Neuvillette knows the remainder of it. Because when he watches the play, the exact question also appears in his head when the character ‘ Neville’ was asked by the talking cat.

The same answer came forward. Neuvillette was fascinated by the nature of the answer in the play that he remembers vividly, “I want to let my mother know I am well .”

The play was highly praised, the majority came from the people who knew they came from an orphanage and had yet to know their real parents. Indeed, the author is also an orphan, the relatability came as natural as the existence of water. At the end, the character ‘Neville’ didn’t return to his mother’s side, this alone received many criticisms as to why the character had to search for his mother in the first place.

The remembrance of the play was cut short by the exhales from the other side. Smiling but also finding the reason to be… Frankly. He doesn’t know how to reply. But Neville’s eyes were glistening in love witnessing Big brother Cerberus’ first small smile he saw. He closes his eyes, before rambling through the night alone with the weird kid he met and had shared warmth in the coldest nights.

“I wish every child who never knew their real parents can do the same as you, Neville. To search for their birth parents.”

“But.”

“Before that, they’d have to be like you.” This was one sentence where the person stays silent for a whole minute. Gazing softly at the dancing candle light. It lights up a flame in his cold heart.

“They have to be free first.”

“It’s time for me to go.”

That alone manages to make Neville look up to the one saying it. It can’t be. Is it the day already? But there’s no indication that the day has come. If anything, for Neuvillette, the days here have nothing different than the other typical days. The sun is still in the place, people come and go, children running around playing tag or hide and seek. But Big brother Cerberus is there, packing his things and giving it to Neville, “The blankets may be not as good as before but they'll stay for several times of use.”

The human raised as an angel figure could only stare down  in silence. For some reason, somewhere, he was wishing at naught the day would come much later and he could witness the dream owner walk around much longer. Was it a selfish want? It may be. Because of how small Wriothesley’s world is in these memories. The only other memories outside of the Court was when he fished or found berries or some Bulle Fruits as means to fill the stomach in order to survive and gain enough strength.

Neville holds the coarse blankets tightly on his arms, already losing all of its softness.

“Will you come back?” Neville asked. He knows, but he wants to know what goes in Wriothesley's mind on this fateful day.

The one asked, didn’t smile, his lips nor his eyes had any positive emotions within, yet, it also isn’t filled with empty darkness. It was wrath but also determination. Not a mere simple determination, his gaze … he knows what he wants to do, no matter the cost. His expression changes a little when he answers the question, a bitter smile, “Maybe not.”

Wriothesley… Were you ready to die with your sins or is it because you feel you already complete your reason for existing?

“Big brother Cerberus,” Neville stops the young man from leaving for the last time after saying his goodbye. Deep down, Neuvillette wonders if this question is even allowed in this dream. He couldn’t understand how the human dream works, but will there be any more chances to ask? To ask a question that was the root of his actions since the beginning, “Have I made you happy?”

That is not a question any young man should ask, isn’t it? Perhaps to their parents when they achieved some accomplishments, surely not to a homeless stranger they met. But he can’t leave without answering. He had already intended to leave everything behind without a trace and a question yearning for a voiceless answer.

“I don’t know about happiness, but,” A pat on Neville’s shoulder, “Some nights aren’t as cold as I imagined when we share the night together.”

“I hope you can find your mother.” That was the last sentence Neuvillette heard before Wriothesley turned around, never stole even a millisecond glance back and the scenery melted away into a darkness, including the blankets that were supposed to be in his possession.

A deafening silence. In the corner of Neuvillette’s side, a wooden door appeared from drops of water like a very short rain. An unfamiliar door he never saw but he knows it’s similar to the designs Fleuve Cendre he once saw in the past. The young Archon’s voice comes again, expressing her guilt and apologizing for not being able to make the Iudex able to appear and interact with dreams that are about to come. It’s like this part of dreams and memories is something the owner will protect more than his happiness and life to not have even the Archon able to interfere with it.

Neuvillette understands. He should know what comes if he opens this door or walks past through it. How could he not know? He reads the document off the official work hour because Sedene was running to give the report. The Iudex has never been responsible for determining the trial schedules, so it was out of usual pace a trial requires immediate attention from the Iudex. It’s even moved to be done the first thing in the morning, due to the officers feeling the person is a violent one and wish they could get rid of him soon.

He is not ignorant to the details. After all—Wriothesley relay everything he did in the trial without any problems. Neuvillette doesn’t even have to stand from his seat as the hearing from the murderer begins. It would be a hidden truth to call out the Iudex to not understand the sentiment of the people who say the young man shouldn't be exiled to the Fortress of Meropide now.

…

The beginning of the soothing music from the phonograph, accompanied by the high quality scent of imported teas from other nations, as the people who brought them don’t have to check how much Mora they give to the vendor anymore. It covers the whispering locks coming to unlock from behind, out of their unaware ears. The creaking of the door was the world’s last attempt to notice the adults of a human being they thought had already been eaten by the hungry stray dogs.

Then, the ungrateful child strikes forward.

The composer of the soothing music would never expect their music would get uninvited guests of terrified screams. Fearing of the loss of their own lives on the hands of a familiar figure they know. They are raised like their own son, but the truth is their ‘son’ comes back, not to say ‘thank you’, not for ‘I am back’ but incoherent, speechless rage and desire for freedom, not for him but for the children he calls as ‘siblings’ even without blood relation.

The phonograph chokes on the thick splash of red blood. The adult woman who the attacker once called a ‘mother’ desperately clenching her neck to prevent the blood from her cut open neck escapes, doing so, however, only make her share the same fate as the phonograph trying to keep on voice its music. Only an incomplete and broken pitiful voice came out.

The adult man, rather, manages to frantically injure the young man on the neck. The mother and son bonding over the similar injury, but the son proves himself as a different person than the woman by ignoring the red gushing out. His hand lifted for a moment, not to grip his neck to stop it, but rather holding his other trembling hand in place.

“No need to fear…” There was no intention of the whisper directed to anyone else but him.

The more injury he sustained, the closer it was too hard to get back on his feet. His time is near over, the deadline is soon approaching, he can’t leave without finishing what he prepares for months. The Duke has no need to raise his voice or talk loud, yet, this is perhaps the first and the last time Neuvillette would ever hear the bearer of the title screams, even his own blood screams along with him.

Then, a complete silence falls.

The phonograph unable to move anymore, finally reaching to a full stop when the blood of multiple people's life lays cold on top of it and on the floor. The floor pools up, as if refusing to take some sneaky sips as there’s too much for them to absorb. The only sound it followed was heavy breaths, and a sharp sound of something falling.

…

In one day, the Iudex may oversee at least three trials. Some go by quickly, some require some hours before reaching the end verdict. Even if he may not completely understand human emotion, even the green grass without visible eyes would catch some human’s behavior. The Iudex has overseen trials including with psychopaths who have no guilt on their eyes, those who only apologize that falls short only on their lips, but Wriothesley shows no signs of such. Somehow, a sense of comfort is gained by watching these horrific memories no human should’ve experienced.

By then, the Neuvillette thought the young maniac Wriothesley had no eyes of a cold-blooded murderer. And it seems his judgment was true.

The dream hasn’t moved forward to the next memory. Is this silence ingrained into his memories? Unskippable and far more important than any other memories? Small steps from the still form of ‘Neville’ come close to the fallen young man. Too weak to keep going, still too strong to finally succumb to the numbness. Bathing in the pool of his own blood, only able to have a solo monologue to lone self.

The young man with white hair slowly lowers himself, laying down, right beside the weak young man. The blood did not get in contact, he was the only one clean from the color of red throughout the whole room. The blue eyes are almost losing its light of life, Neuvillette knows it won't be lost completely but there was an urge, a strong desire to raise his arms. The Archon said nothing will come to interact with him, and it is true, Neville’s fingers go through the dark locks as he attempts to bring the faint breathing man to a hug. An attempt that would only be remembered by him alone. In Wriothesley’s memories, there’s no one here, and no one to feel his last few efforts to breathe.

Before all could Wriothesley remembers was seeping, murky fog—

A hospital. That’s right. According to the report, Wriothesley was found alive, ran into the hospital and miraculously survived all of the injuries he received. But as the price of staying alive, he was awakened to both of his hands cuffed to the metal rails and treated like a young psychopath, and as if it wasn’t enough, a trial is already planned for him.

Perhaps thinking it was safe, Wriothesley was put in the first floor of the hospital, that, or in other way of seeing, it’s easier for the officers to keep on checking on the psychopath just in case he somehow manages to escape.

Neuvillette watches the open window from afar at first but then, Neville walks towards the window.

It’s time to say goodbye. After this, Neuvillette would see who Wriothesley and Wriothesley would face the Iudex in the trial. There is no more need for a character known as ‘Neville’. He hasn't even confirmed yet whether the dream owner could see him to the Archon but the dark-haired young man who notices him already gives a sufficient answer. With a half smile, the only word Big brother Cerberus could give was,

“Hey.”

Thank you for whoever lets him use extended chains cuffed to the bed, enough to go near the window. Or is this an incorrect dream? Could it be a newborn desire to come to the window allowing him to have no guards and no short handcuff on him? As the Archon said, dreams are as flexible and as dynamic as water.

“I haven’t managed to say my goodbye.” This time, Neville was the one speaking up first. It caught the other in surprise, he never even expected them to be able to meet again, so this sudden goodbye announcement is not sad news.

Neville comes as light and as natural as water, and disappears like the warm rain drops. It’s weird. This goodbye doesn’t feel heavy, there isn’t even a sadness in the air between them. Rather, they both say their goodbye with a smile on their face, though for some reason, Neville’s smiles seem more genuine, like he had witnessed something that brought him true happiness. Wonder if he found his mother…

“If we meet again, somehow, I am sure it won’t be soon, though,” The dark-haired young man with bandages all over his neck and arms rests one hand to his chin, “I have a name now. You can call me by that name someday.”

“How should I call you when I find you back in the streets? To make you turn around.” Neville asked the last question.

With a huff, but a happy smile follows after the breath, the question receive a short but the gentle wind and sunlight applauses in celebration,

“‘Wriothesley’.”

—Just like in the dream before it was cut to a blinding white scene, Wriothesley was warmly caressing Neuvillette’s cheeks.

“Someone sleeps better than an old grandpa.” Wriothesley chuckles.

Neuvillette didn’t respond immediately, he silently enjoyed the caress, burying deep inside his memories before it all can only be remembered throughout the water that can never have the same warmth as Wriothesley. The brushing sensation from Wriothesley’s harder skin felt through every nerve on his skin. Every of its pores bury deep this happiness.

His life energy… It’s almost spent away. Now that Neuvillette remembers, humans somehow manage to muster up their last drop of life energy to say goodbye to their loved ones whether it’s received or not. The actions are now reversed, now it’s Neuvillette’s turn to caress the grey strands, slowly and gently, coming down to cupping the wrinkly cheeks.

“Did you have a good dream?” He asked, still caressing.

Wriothesley nods, he tells back the dream he saw. The supposed dreams of his life experience. From his childhood, to teenager, to adulthood and now to being a walking wrinkly old grandpa that the Melusines more than often immediately approach him to help him walk when he’s around the Court. The ticking clock was their only source of noise at the moment, and the very faint sound of short breaths from the senior mortal.

He was only looking at the ceiling, but Neuvillette could see his gaze as fond as ever, “Weirdly enough. The nights where I lived on the streets and before going to the trial, I thought it was supposed to be cold but for some reason… It’s warmer than I remember. It was a happy dream. ”

Just like the Dendro Archon said, ”It will become a new memory.”

Hearing the only sentence he wished to hear made the Iudex genuinely smile. He managed to make Wriothesley happy even if the man would not know the truth. But as the Archon said, it’s not a lie, it doesn’t have to be a lie or something to confess, it’s all as natural as a dream should be. The water may never remember Wriothesley emotions and memories since there were never his tears in it since the beginning.

But the owner of the water has remembered it and will continue to do so to the end of time.

Neuvillette and Wriothesley talk for a few moments longer, sharing their talk where words come as easily as giving almost zero energy to it. Like Wriothesley said, talking with Neuvillette feels effortless, but the same can be said for Neuvillette when having conversation—light or heavy—to his beloved. Until it reached Neuvillette finding a decision after contemplating to ask this last question that he didn’t even find in the dream.

“Why didn’t you choose a name after running away?”

For the majority of the answer is obvious, Wriothesley knows he doesn’t have to answer the same thing again, but, indeed, the remaining answer is something no one knows, maybe not even the heavens above knows since he thought to keep it only for him. Neuvillette is no longer just somebody, and certainly, in some way, already became a part of him.

It felt embarrassing opening it right at the end, the grip on the blanket shows it,

“I thought—” Wriothesley took a quick breath and exhaled it, “I thought if I gave myself a name, my real parents wouldn’t be able to find me if we meet again in the water after my death.”

It may be because of the trial regulations, but there is a chance for Wriothesley to choose only simple as a fake placeholder name. A lot of prisoners from abroad often do so. Then, in that hospital, he already chose to continue living with the name ‘Wriothesley’, to the end, and will be carved forever in history. 

Their talk comes to a short end when Wriothesley said he suddenly felt sleepy again. Asking Neuvillette to be a bother to make their tea if he awakes again since he thinks he won’t have the energy to do it again for today.

The eyes of the Hydro Sovereign don’t lie, just as the same as his whole body and mind. He and Wriothesley know if the blue eyes come a shut, it will eternally sleep peacefully. His face comes close and closes the distance between his lips and Wriothesley’s face. The eyelids receive a warm peck, the same goes to the chin but far more intimate with a slight chin to chin rub, sharing their last intimacy together. Before then, Neuvillette’s skin no longer touched Wriothesley.

“Goodnight, Wriothesley.”

“I am happy to know Neville has shared some warmth in your coldest nights.”

Here lies, the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide

Wriothesley

Somehow there is a feeling of pride and being honored to see the name of his beloved with his title the Iudex once fought for, carved into the stone grave, positioned on the cliff, near the sea. The ceremony—Wriothesley would maybe laugh at how many people came to mourn for him. Some of the family of the past inmates who already passed away even came to say thank you to the Duke for giving their elderly a chance of recovery in the Fortress before.

All Melusines came to give him their last stickers. Sticking them into his suit. Too many people for Neuvillette to remember one by one. Enjoying the comforting sea breeze, he stood there beside the grave until a surprised voice came from behind. It’s the new head administrator of the Fortress. He was surprised to find the Iudex here, with a bouquet of flowers on his hands, the intention of coming to the place was obvious.

Their both eyes met, “It seems we met a day earlier than we planned.”

The gentleman chuckles nervously at the disclaimer, knowing their schedule to meet regarding business transactions should be tomorrow yet they already met today. “Having His Grace trust me to be in his position is already too much of an honor, to know the Iudex also trust me to continue His Grace’s position… I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Oh, why is that?” Neuvillette asked.

The other man replied he wouldn't be thought to be trusted by the Iudex as well, since the man was hand picked by the Duke himself with not many hands of the Iudex included.

“I trusted him when he was still here, why should I stop trusting him after his death?”

No one can truly know a form of trust, humans are designed to be doubtful at times with each other, that’s what makes them able to survive for so long. But, he may retract that statement. Looking at Iudex's eyes, gazing afar the sea with tints of orange as sunsets soon will come, and with his fingers touching the Duke’s grave— this is the true form of trust.

No one knows how long the Iudex will stay in Fontaine, but as he hasn’t gone for such a long time. But the water will remember the Duke and its trust to the human.

After the new head administrator left and left Neuvillette for some time alone, he finally let go of his touch to the grave, “I should get going.” The sun has set, but his duty in Fontaine remains at least for some more time, “I will come to see you again with Sigewinne in her next vacation time, Wriothesley .”