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starrycassi · 1 year

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Hate, love, guilt, mothers. Aren't they all synonyms?

You can find part one of this au here, and two here. Also a quick explanation on who's Gloria here. Mild nsfw mention at the end. Like, super mild.

The grounds of the Goldenloin mansion are always breathtaking, it doesn't matter how many times Ballister's been here as a guest, as an intruder, as a knight, as a lover. The gardens are fantastic, and the structure makes him feel so, so tiny.

Standing here, looking at the dining table made for dozens and dozens of people, Ballister can't help but feel out of place. The maid that guided them here is mimicking their pose, right next to them, and Ballister signals to Ambrosius, tugging on his sleeve. There's no need for her to be here, too. She should be free to leave.

Ambrosius gets the memo and dismisses the poor girl, who leaves quietly and quickly. Ballister's skin itches.

In front of them rests a wonderful feast, colorful and appealing, even if some plates are covered with golden silverware, to protect the food from loosing it's flavor, or whatever. He can't help but wonder how many street kids are hungry right now — can't help but remember what it's like, to be alone and lost and begging for a crumb of bread, a sip of water, a simple plate of food and be denied and-

The echo of someone's steps brings him back to the present, and he stares at the woman as she walks in. Captain Gloria limps as she arrives, her golden hair down in a braid that reaches her lower back. She gleams at them, despite the clear pain that every step delivers to her system. Her eyes aren't quite focused.

Ambrosius suddenly goes still, fixing his posture.

The two of them just accept the silence, live in it, for the next couple of seconds. Gloria finally gets to the table and sits down slowly, hissing when she finally does so, reeking of alcohol and a splendid perfume. She's at the head of the chairs, and Ambrosius rounds up the table to sit right next to her. Ballister tries to follow him.

“Don't” orders the woman, her hand suddenly reaching out to grip Ballister's wrist. She tugs on him, making take a seat, too, at her left. Ambrosius stares at him with a questioning look, and he stares back with an even more questioning look. It's his mom that's acting weird, he should know what's going on.

They don't have to figure it out, though, because she explains it soon enough.

“You are not here as Ambrosius's guest, today. You're a suitor. Act accordingly or get out”

Her voice, cold and demanding, takes both of the boys by surprise. Gloria's and Ballister's relationship has never been a specially warm one, but all in all, he's always seen her as a stressed out woman who doesn't really care about anything but her work and her son. Everytime they've been together she's drunk, hurt, on duty, or in a weird combination of those options. She's never been openly hostile or mean to him, so he's left in unexplored grounds when her blue eyes are suddenly fixed on his face, pinning him to his seat and making his head spin with with dread and doubts.

“Mom, there's no need to-”

Ambrosius tries, he really tries, to reason with her. Gloria, who's whole body moves weirdly and limply, suddenly hits the table with her fist closed, and Ambrosius straightens up in his seat, body reacting before his mind does so, instincts ingrained on him urging him to obey and comply to orders, even the unspoken ones.

Ballister knows the look on Gloria's eyes — he's seen it before, only, not on her face — she's not only intoxicated, not merely wounded. She's full of regret, of fury, of pure and unfiltered anger. As soon as that knowledge hits him, he's filled with a strange sense of security, of comfort. She's mad and she's irrational, but he knows the reason of those feelings. She's merely a mother defending her child, a knight defending her loved ones.

Ballister is trying to do the same, and it's refreshing to see his own feelings of confusion and hatred mirrored into Gloria's face. He knows what her anger means, because his blood burns with the same heat, the same intensity.

“I'm sorry, Captain Gloria” he says, slowly and clearly. The nerves he felt all the way here disappear, leaving only his determination, his devotion. Gloria isn't against him. She's against anything that might hurt jer son, and that's a feeling Ballister not only understands, but shares, “It was awfully inadequate of me to act that way. I beg your forgiveness”

She smiles, woobly and unsteadily, at him. She's pleased with his words, clearly. He tries to remember the hours and hours of ranting that Ambrosius blessed his ears with every so often, complaining about stupid protocol lessons that his mother made him take.

“Very well” she nods at him, and he imitates the gesture. He quickly nods at Ambrosius, too, to try and reassure him. This will be okay. It has to.

Ambrosius's shoulders relax just the slightest bit at that, but he smiles, and talks again,

“I'm incredibly hungry, Mum. Why don't we eat before we discuss this, yeah?”

It's always surprising to Ballister, really, how adaptable Ambrosius is. One minute, he's a big dramatic performer for the Queen. The next, he's merely a child with a pleading voice, asking— no, begging, for some peaceful seconds with his mom.

“Yes, the food. Let's eat and talk business, shall we? That's not really an appropriate thing to do, I suppose, but I can make an exception, seeing as how you've had the guts to ask for my son's hand in marriage, cadet”

She claps, and servants lift the coverings. Some of their faces are recognizable to Ballister. Did they live in the same orphanage? Were they friends, and his mind has forgotten?

This is whst he hates about the Goldenloin mansion. This is what he hates about every single noble event ever. He simply resings himself to his fate, a rejected freak to the nobles and a traitor to the commoners. He tries to keep his eyes on the table, tries not to to think about how some of the people working for Ambrosius, serving him, probably have never even tried the kind of feast he's about to have.

Ballister's never been a religious person, but he prays for forgiveness, even if it's merely for a second. He prays for forgiveness, even if it's undeserved.

The steak in front of him suddenly loses its appeal. The nerves are back, just like that. He hates himself for that, for being so brave a second and then a complete coward in the other.

They simply eat, for some moments. Gloria sips her glass of red wine every so often, and both of the boys chew methodically on their steaks. Food is fuel, Ballister tries to remind himself, tasting guilt and shame in every bite, feeling as if he's chewing his own heart; food is fuel, and he needs fuel for this conversation.

That doesn't make the bitterness of the whole situation go away.

“You said you have a plan” accuses Gloria, after washing down a bit of her salad with wine, “but I'm yet to hear anything about it”

Ballister's first instinct is to roll his eyes, tell her that it's her who's been acting all weird and cranky, but he knows better than to go against an older knight, even if she's drunk and injured. She's also his mother-in-law, and he refuses to feed into the stereotype of in laws not getting along.

“The food just distracted us, mom, that's all. It's really good”

Gloria's face softens a bit, and she offers her son a quick sound of agreement.

“Still. I need to know what you two rascals are up to, don't I?”

As if she didn't just violently smash the table, she laughs a bit at her joke, muttering something about teenagers under her breath.

They do their best to explain themselves without setting her off again, Ambrosius providing Ballister with facial expressions that let him know when to shut up and when to keep going. At the end of it, their food is almost gone, Ballister's guilt is almost forgotten, and Gloria looks almost convinced.

"And what do you win, cadet?"

She looks feral, like a lion ready to chew down on it's prey. Ballister refuses to lose against her, not today.

"I get to see my boyfriend be happy. What else could I possibly want?"

Some of the servants seem too moved by his answer to hide their coos, but he doesn't dare look their way, too scared to find out that perhaps that truly are the kids that grew up on his same street, with his same dreams. He keeps his eyes fixed on Gloria's, blue and brown crashing and figthing.

"Sounds like bullshit to me. No one would do all that just for someone else's happiness or whatever"

She shakes her head in disagreement, and Ballister wants to scream at her, tell her that she doesn't know shit about them, that he would walk barefoot into a burning building if it meant saving Ambrosius. He doesn't.

"I don't need anything else" he says, instead, "I only want to make sure that my boyfriend has a choice and-"

"Okay, say you win" interrupts Gloria, looking bemused with him. He hates the way she stares him down like a mere child, "and the interviewer; because this will be televised, that's a no brainer, asks what do you want. What are you going to tell the kingdom?"

He doesn't even hesitate, before answering:

"I would ask for just enough money to pay back my debth with the house of Elpis and the Goldenloin house. Then, for Ambrosius's political allies to be a matter only he can have the final say on. Not you, or me, or anyone else"

She looks at him some more, as if trying to be intimidating. He doesn't budge.

"That is an honest answer" she finally says, nodding, "That's more believable. That, I can accept. I think"

She makes a show of considering things, tapping her index finger to her chin. They keep quiet, waiting for her verdict.

“It's a decent attempt” she concedes, after some seconds of humming to herself. "It's even a good idea"

They both sigh, relieved. She clicks her tongue, and shakes her head, again, like some sort of wet dog, and they feel not so relieved, now.

“But you two are openly... close to one another, right? Everyone knows. Can't do anything if you win and people question us, can we? About your little, well, romance, and all that”

Gloria never really acknowledges the fact that her son is dating Ballister, even if he did come out and confess the secret to her half a year ago, cracking under the pressure of a specially though new years party. It gives Ambrosius some sort of dumb hope, that perhaps his mom might actually start taking his own free will into account and validating his love for Ballister. Even if she always says that that's something she already does.

“We're still trying to figure out what to do with that, Mum”

She laughs some more, making him feel stupid. Ballister looks as confused as he feels when she merely giggles at their faces, gulping down the rest of her drink. A servant refills it immediately.

“You kids are so slow, nowadays” she flaps her hand, rolling her eyes, “a mere fight will be enough. In a public space, obviously. Be nasty about it. My friends and I used to do it when we wanted to get a rise out of our parents. Neat trick”

And, with that piece of advice, she keeps on drinking.

Ambrosius excuses them both out of the table when they're done, leaving Captain Gloria to drunkenly mumble nonsense to herself.

The halls of the mansion are spacious and lonely, so they're able to walk together, holding hands, without a care in the world. Ambrosius has grown up here, was raised here. He knows and trusts the staff to keep a couple of secrets.

“She seems… a bit agitated” Ballister says, softly. Gloria has been a sore spot for their conversations ever since the start of their friendship, and they mostly try to avoid talking about her. But if feels wrong, to be in her house and pretend she doesn't exist.

“She's got a dislocated hip” Ambrosius answers, voice impregnated with pity, “Must hurt a lot. She was distracted with this whole thing and a thief managed to hit her real hard…”

He stares at the floor, but they keep on walking to Ambrosius's bedroom. After lunch, Gloria has practically demanded for them to stay until dinner, arguing that they have already lost most of the day, anyways. Neither one of them dared go against her word.

“I'm happy she's mad. At least I'm not the only one worried about your ass”

“I can assure you, Ballister, your thoughts about my ass are really, really different from her thoughts about it. At least I hope so”

Hip bumping his boyfriend for being an idiot, Ballister blushes a bit. Ambrosius does have a nice body.

“Don't be weird about this, Amber. We're literally talking about you mom”

“No, you are talking about her. I'm talking about people's thoughts on my ass. That's a whole different conversation”

“Not a specially interesting one, I'm sure. Much like your very flat ass”

Ambrosius gasps, offended, just as they reach the doors of his bedroom. He makes a show of dramatically slamming the door, just to open it back again mere seconds later, sticking out his tongue at Ballister before allowing him to come in.

“Keep this treatment up, and I'm actually marrying Todd” he threatens, and Ballister half heartedly pushes him.

“Okay, your ass is not flat. Just… sort of concave. Happy?”

“Not so much. But, alas, I'm not really dating a poet, am I? My heart has chosen you, even with your horrible mistreatments towards my figure”

They laugh at the stupidity of the situation, as if guilt isn't eating Ballister alive, as if Ambrosius isn't worried to death for his mom, as if the world isn't collapsing and burning around them.

They take of their shoes, and get into bed, cuddling with each other almost immediately, used to it after years and years of practice. Ballister rests his cheek on Ambrosius's chest, and they hold hands, tangling their legs. This is incredibly inappropriate to do on Ambrosius's house, with his mom meter away, but everything around them feels so wrong right now that this is the closest they can get to normal.

The events of the last few hours settle in. Panic comes back, alongside with every other emotion that they have been trying to run away from. It's scary, to admit that perhaps they could fail. They could be wrong. Ambrosius understands why his mom seems to be in denial all of the time; it's easier to pretend that something is not happening than to deal with the fact that it is.

The room is quiet. They're just teens.

“I'm nervous”

“Me, too. I'm terrified”

“Yeah. Me, too”

And it's just them, their fears and their breaths, for a second. There's nothing else but them. But reality is always there, waiting, and it comes with paperwork and legalities and many, many other things. It's them against the world, even if they would really, really like to just make peace with everyone and sleep until winter.

To avoid silence — because it comes with too many questions, too many memories, too many reminders — Ballister decides to keep on with their plan, furthering it, and asks, “So, now, we fake fight?”

“I think it's the best choice we have, right? Mom said so”

Ambrosius, always eager to follow Gloria's word, seems to perk up. Ballister feels slightly annoyed, but at least his boyfriend looks a little less like a kicked kitten.

“And what are we figthing about, uh?”

This is scary, too. Yeah, a fake figth. That's something they should be able to manage. But there's some issues, here and there, and perhaps they're just waiting for a chance to come out. This could be that chance. And there's no way they're going to actually live apart from each other, but they have to, right? So it's believable.

“What about something stupid? Like, I don't know, jazz?”

“Ambrosius, you know very well how I feel about-”

To stop his boyfriend from going on yet another campaign of hate against freestyle jazz, Ambrosius gives him a quick kiss on the hair, successfully making him shut up.

“Kay, not jazz. What, then?”

“Let's fight about this. I'll be jealous, you'll scream at me for being jealous, and we'll break up. Call me a selfish insecure asshole, or something”

Ambrosius immediately pants like a wounded animal, frowning. He makes Ballister get up slightly, to make sure he can see his eyes. They're full of love. Pure, solid, love.

“I don't ever want to hurt you, Bal”

Ballister chokes on air, because this isn't fair. Ambrosius is so pretty, resting on the mattress, looking up at him. No one else but him should ever get to see him like this. Specially not some imbecile who thinks figthing for him is enough to get married.

“It's just going to be a play-pretend situation, Amber. I don't wanna hurt you, either, but it's going to be just a couple of days. Then, we're back to normal”

Ambrosius ponders on it, pouting. But he finally nods, agreeing.

“Fine. We're hating each other from now on”

The next time Ballister wakes up, they're back at the Institute, half naked, fused together like a pretzel. Perhaps they got a bit too sentimental when they came back, and perhaps they stole a couple of sips from Gloria's wine reserve. A make out session had been the start of their so called hate, and Gloreth, did they suck at this.

“Ambrosius. Ambrosius, wake up. Ambrosius, fucking move”

With a bit more of force than needed, he shakes his boyfriend, trying to get him to open up his eyes. Ambrosius attempts to do so and also get up, miscalculating, and falling face first to the floor.

Shit.

Hurrying up to help him, Ballister trips, too. The wine is still in their systems, apparently, and it makes them laugh like idiots as soon as their gazes cross.

“Shit. We're supposed to be figthing, Amber”

“I'm pretty sure last night counts as a form of combat. Sword figths, one may call it”

“Shut the fuck up, honestly. Just, for once, shut up”

“Only if you kiss me, babe"

Okay, maybe they aren't suited for a divorce yet. Ballister got up, grunting, and Ambrosius followed suit, if only because the floor is way too cold to be laying on it with nothing but a boxer and shorts on. He smiled at the wall when he managed to stand up on his own two feet, still dizzy.

“What now, Bal?”

Ballister struggled to put his shirt back on, trying to remember where the fuck his shoes where. It was early, still. If he hurried up, he could sneak out without anyone seeing him.

“Dont ask me. This whole thing was your plan. Think, Ambrosius; for the first time in your life, think”

Ambrosius threw the nearest object at his ungrateful boyfriend, and rolled his eyes when the comb impacted against the desk. Turns out his aim gets affected by alcohol. Who could've thought?

“What was that for?!” Hisses Ballister, barely managing to get done with his clothes. Ambrosius's loopy smile only grew bigger at the sight, and he looked so much like his mom, for a second. Just a second.

“We're figthing, love. I think this is how figths are supposed to go, right?”

And he threw a hair cream bottle, that impacted on the wall.

Ballister opened up the door, just in time for the notebook Ambrosius threw to go flying through it. Some cadets were already out, curious about the noise. Ambrosius, drunk and ad impulsive as his mother, grinned with pleasure. Yes, a public fight, indeed.

“And get out!” he screamed, remembering the way his mother looked at him yesterday, feeling the tears burning on the very corners of his eyes, hating her stare and wishing she looked at him more often “I don't want to talk to you ever again, you hear me?!”

A pillow was thrown. Ballister fought down the urge to burst out laughing. This felt so much like a cheap soap opera.

“It's not my fault you're a coward!” He screamed back, wine helping him come up with the words, “Go and die for all I care, Golden Boy! Hang yourself from a fucking tower, I don't give a shit!”

More and more people came in to witness the situation. Had he been sober, Ballister probably would've stopped. He wasn't, though.

“You're so jealous!” Screeched Ambrosius, like he meant it, “You're just jealous of my suitors being way better than you, you prick!”

Ballister kneeled down, picked up the fallen pillow, and threw it right back at it's owner. Ambrosius barely contained his cackles.

“I'll enter the fucking tournament just so I can disown you, Ambrosius! You don't deserve all that money!”

They were losing the plot a bit, but it didn't really matter. A figth is a figth, no matter the reasons.

“Do whatever you want, Ballister! You're never winning, never !”

Next, a sweater came in, balled up, flying. This one actually hit Ballister on the eye, and he had to take a step back, surprised. Ouch.

“We'll see about that, you idiot!”

With a final heated stare, Ballister turned around, bitting down his tongue to dissimulate the giggles.

As soon as he got into his room and locked his door, Ballister opened up his cellphone, already missing his boyfriend's arms. He found a couple of drunken voicemails Ambrosius had already sent his way, and a couple of pictures that matched the vibe of their last night.

Smiling, he got into his own bed, hiding under the sheets. Perhaps intense figths weren't such a bad idea for their relationship, after all.

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