#most of this is just idle musing i think i've been here in my seat for hours. oh how the time flies huh? midnight is nearing & the tears

[sezja]

:D

not realizing they’re holding hands till someone points it out

(Don’t block me)

Touches Prompts

"We must keep this... quiet," Sanson cautions him while they walk - of a certainty, it would be quicker to teleport to Quarrymill and from there make their way to Jehantel's camp, but by silent accord they'd set out to walk the entire distance to the South Shroud. The quiet of the forest is its own privacy; the squirrels and treants give little care for the personal lives of two passing men. They may speak frankly.

And they have a good deal to speak about.

"Quiet, sure, but keeping it a secret from Jehantel?" Guydelot shrugs, shaking his head in incredulity. "You reckon he won't see it from a malm away? When last he saw us, we were at each other's throats." He grins, elbowing Sanson. "Now I've been at your throat in a different sort of way-"

"Guydelot! This is serious." Sanson looks away, too late to hide the blush creeping into his cheeks. But this is why they must discuss this while out, after all; any attempts to have a serious conversation at home invariably devolve into kisses stolen between words, and then the kisses grow deeper, and then... well. Getting out of the house is necessary.

Although Sanson isn't entirely convinced Guydelot wouldn't be just as content to take him against one of these trees-

Focus!

"We are in a delicate situation," he says, clearing his throat. "If I am to be your commanding officer, I cannot also be your lover in the eyes of the general public, let alone our superiors. They will accuse me of granting you special privileges - or of manipulating you from my position of power-"

"They've got a point there," Guydelot teases, tracing a line across Sanson's back with one finger. "I reckon I'd do just about anything for you when you're on top."

"Guydelot!"

The bard laughs, bright and musical, and it makes Sanson's heart stutter. The man has a beautiful laugh, rich as honey, and it makes Sanson want to kiss him again, the better to taste that sweetness on his own lips. But Guydelot raises his hands in surrender, putting half a step of distance between them as they walk. "Alright, alright. I won't tell Jehantel, but I'll be stunned stupid if he don't guess."

They walk on, passing into the shaded silence of the South Shroud. Wary antelopes dart away from the path, watching from the tall grass, and the boughs rustle high overhead - 'tis no great challenge to see why Jehantel favors it here. The Shroud has a music all its own, and the southern reaches are perhaps the most untamed - home to poachers and swamps and the ruins of Amdapor.

And one bard.

"Ah, there you are!" Jehantel greets them warmly as they reach his camp at last, drawn by the plucking of his harp. Even his idle melodies are enchanting, Sanson muses, as the three of them exchange greetings - it makes him wonder just how Guydelot's own songs will sound in a decade, or perhaps two...

"But come, I am eager to hear of your tales," Jehantel says, and Sanson realizes with a guilty start that he has been staring at Guydelot, lost in daydreams. By the Matron, if he means to keep this a secret, he must get a better hold on his own self-control!

"What, Eve didn't tell you all you could possibly hope to hear of it?" Guydelot drops comfortably to a seat on the ground, legs crossed. After a moment's hesitation, Sanson sits beside him - well, where else is he meant to sit? Nothing suspicious about that, surely.

Jehantel smiles at them both, and Sanson wonders, abruptly mortified, just how much Evelynn had told her mentor about their journey - and its conclusion. But all Jehantel says is, "Aye, but I should think it a tale worth telling twice, wouldn't you?" He sets his harp aside, folding his weathered hands in his lap. "I would hear it from you both."

They exchange a wordless glance.

Sanson draws a deep breath, and begins from the beginning, with their departure from Gridania. He allows Guydelot to take over the tale of finding and speaking to Ser Alamenain... and so it goes, weaving their stories together, making something coherent of the fragments they each carry of their adventure.

There are holes, of course.

I don't know how to tell the story where I fell so deeply in love with you, he thinks, gazing at Guydelot once more. Not without telling him I'm in love with you.

He recognizes the same hesitance in Guydelot's own side of the story - and the telltale glances he tosses Sanson's way, before he catches himself and looks away once more. He is, in Sanson's far from unbiased opinion, far more convincing at it; he himself might not have guessed that only a short time ago Guydelot had been flirting and teasing him all the way from Gridania's very gates, had he not experienced it firsthand.

"...And thus did we return home," Sanson concludes, as their tale winds its way to a close, climaxing with the fight against the siren in the Sea of Clouds, and the truth of the Ballad of Oblivion. Well, he can hardly tell Jehantel they'd kissed nigh the entire flight back, nor that he'd taken Guydelot home with him that very night, and for all three of the nights since; he doesn't wish to tell Jehantel that they very well ought to have made it out to visit him sooner, but that they'd spent every free moment together instead - talking, kissing, and inevitably falling into exploring each other, until suddenly there was no time to visit Jehantel at all.

There is a glimmer in the aging bard's eyes, however.

"Are you quite certain you've told me all there is to tell?"

"Everything as matters," Guydelot replies, sounding mildly affronted. "Why? Did Eve tell you different?"

"No, your story is much the same as Eve's," Jehantel says... and then his eyes drift downward. "'Tis only that I suspect you've left something out."

Something...? Sanson follows the line of Jehantel's gaze... to his own hand, joined with Guydelot's. At some point during their story, their hands had entwined without their knowing; he sees the same realization dawn on Guydelot's face - and they hastily let go. Sanson clasps his hands together demurely in his lap. "I... that is, we-"

"Found common ground?" Jehantel smiles, a wealth of knowing in his voice. "I confess, though I hoped you might become friends, I never suspected-"

"No one can know of it," Sanson says hastily, all too aware of Guydelot's I-told-you-so smirk at his side. He'll not hear the end of this, he's sure of it. "If Guydelot is to be a member of my unit, then-"

"I won't breathe a word of it." Jehantel picks up his harp once more, strumming a reassuring tune that puts Sanson's mind at ease. "Although, if you mean to keep it a secret... you'd best practice keeping your whole hearts out of your eyes, lads."

#sanson smyth #guydelot thildonnet #jehantel #my writing #do i write too much about the awkward early days of their relationship? #maybe. #but i like exploring it #(also why would i block you; you keep me fed)