#Briardien Dariustel

[roses-and-grimoires]

Prompt #22: Aftermath

Characters: Briardien, Aramis ( @zoetic-tome ) Notes: Follow up to Risks & Rewards

The room is quiet now; Aramis had left, though the taste of his lips still lingered upon Briardien's own, a tantalizing trace of the man who, were he made of less stout fiber, he would have called for and pleaded to stay. But the knowledge of the selfishness of it, of the flagrant disregard for propriety had held his tongue; after all, while he had very thoroughly cleaned house after Aramis' ascent from secondborn to head, he knew all too well what a careless bit of gossip from a servant could do.

But that did not mean he had not been tempted all the same. It was so very, very rare that he had the pleasure of being with Aramis during the light of day, and not having to keep up appearances for others.

"Blessed Fury, forgive me my selfishness," he murmurs as he settles down, making himself more comfortable among the plush pillows and warm blankets; while his own bedchamber was not nearly as grand his lord's, it was a far sight more lavish than the servant quarters he had once resided in.

Yet he would trade it all away, if it just meant that Aramis could remain freely at his side.

But he would never ask that. He knew all too well how heavily the burden of his family's line resided on the young lord's shoulders, and it was his job to help him bear it, not tempt him into sending it cascading into ruin.

And ruin it would be, if the truth of the two of them ever came to light.

The unfairness of it all burns like acrid smoke in his lungs, but there is naught that he can do about it. He had made his promises, over and over, in deed and in unfaltering loyalty. It is why he has no regret about his actions, even though they could have gone so much worse.

A bullet was nothing, as long as it meant that he would be safe.

[zoetic-tome]

Prompt 19: Risks & Rewards

Prompt: Taken - FFXIV Write 2024  Characters: Aramis, Briardien (@roses-and-grimoires) Content Warning: Mention of a gunshot wound. Notes: Part 1; A Challenge, Part 2; Duel

The duel had gone exactly as he had expected it to. The manservant as his ear had described to him what was happening. The gunshot lodged in the shoulder of the man who had insulted him and struck his face at that meeting. And the way that Briardien was clutching his own side. 

He needed to be measured, and he would have to force himself to remain that way until they reached the confines of the manor. He went through the motions, stating his satisfaction. Could feel the set to his mouth when he told Briardien to get into the carriage. 

And it wasn’t until nearly two bells later, after Briardien had been treated, the grazing wound on his side treated and wound with bandages that Aramis finally found himself alone with his steward. He’d ordered the last servant out and it was only then that he let fingers lead him to the edge of the bed that Briar occupied as he sank down onto it. 

“You won.” His voice held a gravel to it that he didn’t dare attempt to correct lest he call attention to it. It was a single, simple thread of emotion he didn’t want to bear out in the light of day. Until with most, he had settled himself and then turned on the bed until he could face Briar properly, one of his gloved hands rising to brush against the man’s ribs well above where the bullet had gouged his side.

“Of course, my lord.” There was a smile in Briar’s voice, one that died as he lifted his eyes up to scan Aramis’ face. The mask he’d worn since the duel had slipped, and worry was etched in every feature, from the deep furrow above his brows to the downset of his mouth. 

“I knew it was a risk. If I’d thought they’d manage to shoot you at all, I never would have had you take it.” Aramis’ voice held no contrition to it, for this was just the way of things in the household. It was Briar’s purpose to endure the things that Aramis himself could not. It was what had enabled him to become so proficient a lord in so short a time. 

“But now no one can question your honor.”  Briardien murmured as he lay one of his own hands across Aramis covered fingers. The darker man’s fingers were trembling under the touch. The fact that any duel with pistols was risky was not something lost on either of them. A misfire. A lucky shot and he’d have been dead. 

Aramis took in a deep breath and shifted forward on the bed until he could lean in and press his forehead against Briar’s own. 

“No, no they cannot question my honor.” He repeated. “But I would rather my honor be tarnished than the alternative.” What he referred to hung in the air like a quiet curse he dare not speak into existence, lest he tempt the Fury’s favor with them. 

Briardien opened his mouth to speak, only to find Aramis’ lips against his own as his lord tipped his head. There was an edge of desperation in that kiss, in the way fingers curled against his side before trailing skin to rise and lay across his heart. 

“Rest, my Briar. For Halone’s mercy, the wound was shallow. I will be tended by another today. And you will sleep.” It was the same tone he had been given when he was told to get into the carriage. One hand lifted to brush across his mouth, wondering if his lips might be as bruised as they felt. 

“Yes, my Lord.” He answered as Aramis’ cane settled to the ground and he rose again, stepping away from the bed to find his way to the door and out of it. Some things, he could never speak aloud. Words that he could never say, for what they would change between them.

Admissions he would love most direly to make, but could not. Theirs was a precarious relationship in many ways. For as deadly as a bullet might be, in some ways, this was the greater risk taken in the House of Xavalien.

[roses-and-grimoires]

Prompt #20: Duel

Characters: Briardien, Aramis ( @zoetic-tome ) Warnings: Violence, blood Notes: Follow up to A Challenge

The light of dawn was a subtle thing, a brightening of a grey, overcast sky. The wind whistled over the empty field, kicking up flurries of snow, the same snow that crunched under the feet of the trio who had arrived to the designated dueling ground first. One of them carried a cane in one hand, while the other was resting upon the arm of their companion, who was busy carrying a long, thin wooden case. The third trailed behind, the livery of House Xavalien just barely visible under the collar of their coat.

"They were not happy when they were informed that we would be using pistols, my lord," Briardien declares to the man with the cane. "I believe the exact words were that they were a commoner's weapon." The steward prided himself on his poker face, but at this remark he allows himself the barest hint of a smile. "But commoner or not, it would have been dishonorable to refuse."

"Excellent," Aramis says. "You have my permission to behave in a manner you deem acceptable for the offense they've given."

Briardien takes a moment to mull over those particular words and the way that they are phrased. Then he nods once. "I understand, my lord." He pauses, his eyes narrowing against the glare of the snow. "I believe they're here."

He gives a nod to the other manservant, who goes over to converse with the other second; Briardien, meanwhile, remains at Aramis' side, his mismatched eyes lingering upon the offending party.

The moment seems to drag and yet over in the blink of an eye, for it is not long before the other manservant has returned, and is pressing a familiar pistol into the steward's hand. Briardien gives him a small nod, his eyes following him as he makes his way towards where Aramis was standing to one side, out of the line of fire. His gaze lingers upon him, his fingers tightening on his weapon as resolution settled into his chest.

His eyes snap to his opponent, his heart pounding in his ears as the seconds tick down. And then the signal is given, and his hand is a blur of motion as he brings his pistol level, and fires.

Two shots ring out, splitting the air with a short, sharp staccato.

Briardien sees his opponent crumple to his knees, one hand clutching at his shoulder, and allows himself to experience a brief moment of satisfaction of having hit his target where he wished. But only brief, for that is when the pain sets in, his gloved hand flying to press against his side. He cannot feel the blood through the fabric of his glove (yet) but he knows that it is there. His nostrils flare as he feels someone come up to him, a few quick words said that don't quite register.

He does hear Aramis' voice though, coming through in a firm declaration: "I am satisfied." Followed by a comment about it wise to make haste to a chirurgeon. His voice is carefully level, with no betrayal of any emotion that he might be feeling. It is left to the other manservant to help Briardien walk over to the waiting carriage, yet he is reluctant to move until the sees Aramis turn away and start coming towards them.

"My lord," Briardien begins, only to see Aramis' mouth press into a thin, displeased line.

"Get in the carriage. We're going," he says, in a tone that brokers no argument. For while the other party is distracted, there were still appearances to keep up. It was only once they were alone that he would be able to express any sort of concern, a fact that Briardien was not ignorant of.

"Of course, my lord."

[roses-and-grimoires]

Prompt #14: Telling

Characters: Briardien, Aramis ( @zoetic-tome )

"My lord."

There was so much meaning that one could pack into two simple words. For though they signaled the deference of a servant, they could also so easily carry the warmth of a friend, the disdain of a rival, or even the gentle care of a lover.

Briardien was familiar with so many permutations of those two simple little words; the ones for when they were in public, and the ones for when they were alone, when he was allowed to look upon his lord with the adoration that was supposed to be reserved for Halone's visage in Her church.

But such was how it was. A lord bedding their servant was one thing; a lord getting attached to that servant and neglecting their duties to their house was another. And part of Briardien's job was to protect his lord, even when he could not or would not do it himself.

So there would be words that were never said, merely implied through each soft "my lord", each lingering brush of their fingers, each fleeting moment when the lights in the bedchamber had been extinguished and they could lie together, free of pretenses--at least, until the next morning when they would rise, and go through the day again.

And if each morning Briardien hated the harsh light of the sun more and more, then that was just how it would be. And if each morning brought a fresh wave of dread for when all of this might end, for when his lord would have to finally carry out his duty to his line and house, or for when the sniffing hounds of the inquisition finally decided to put an end to them, that too would never be said.

Instead he would cherish each "my lord" all the more as he murmurs it into Aramis' ear, in the brief moments before he presses his lips to his, and allows all thoughts of the future to be driven away--if only for a little while.

[roses-and-grimoires]

Briardien Dariustel, the loyal steward of House Xavalien.