Vacillation (1x1 Mamoru and Avery)

Conscious of his clothes' condition, dust-spangled and smeared, Edmund hung back, remained at the top of the stairs. There was something symbolic to it. Their stations juxtaposed in that moment. He, like some subterranean wretch, vermiform and maggot white, stood at the boundary between privation and privileged. Between the suffocating dark and the benevolent light which Oliver lived in. The candle was set aside.

Edmund crossed his arms, leaning into the door frame. "If you have a heart," he echoed, "then bear it. You'd bait me now? After we talked circles about the wedding yesterday?" Expecting to be let down, for the whole charade to finally bite him back, Edmund's patience was thin. He was bracing for the fall. What optimism he had was quickly waning. A weariness eclipsed any of his usual, cynical playfulness. With a sigh like defeat, he entreated.

"Just say it."
 
Oliver felt a bit bad at how long he left Edmund waiting for a response to a seemingly trivial matter. The lack of usual jest in his voice evident in Oliver's assumptions of the waiting's effect upon him. He tried to ignore the slight guilt he felt from having Edmund feel this way, giving himself the flimsy excuse of necessity. He made Edmund wait because he had to. It was for the best of the situation that was a mess from the beginning.

"I've decided to 'upgrade' your position to my personal servant or guard, whichever you think strikes your fancy, so you'd be expected to have new and private quarters. Thus, the quarters issue is fixed, you appearing with me at the wedding won't seem so peculiar, but the staff will still think we're probably fucking," Oliver said, concisely. "Pardon my language." Oliver added as an after thought.
 
At first, he'd thought he heard wrong, a cruel deception of his hopes. But Oliver continued, and Edmund's incredulity shifted. Surely Oliver wanted a rise out of him. Elevate him just to make the fall break instead of bruise, twist the knife. But with every word, Edmund's hardened distrust and pessimism faded in the light of something he never thought possible. Happiness.

He was nonplussed, absolutely dumbfounded, expressionless as a dead fish. And wrong. He was never so thankful for being wrong. As the news and implications gradually sunk in, Edmund began to animate again. A shift in his eyes, a quirk of his lips and then two staccato, hysterical laughs. Edmund pushed from the door frame. It was all so ethereal. He rubbed his face, sighed heavily and looked back to Oliver.

"You've no idea." Edmund chuckled, unable to express the ineffable feeling. He couldn't stop smiling. "Personal servant." he tested the title with a click of his tongue. "Since we know the guards wouldn't dream of letting me into their little club, and we know I don't fight fair. I suppose personal servant will do just fine. And new quarters- with privacy! You know the closest I've been to that is locking myself in a shed and breaking into places I'm not supposed to be." Edmund gushed. "Think of all the things I could do or- actually never mind. If word gets around that we may be sleeping together, so be it. It comes with being a cynosure. Without evidence, they can't substantiate their claims. And.." he smiled wryly, feline mischief in his eye. "What's a noble's reputation without a bit of grit and mystery to it. Wouldn't want them thinking your some ineffectual, chaste choir boy, no?"
 
Oliver was pleasantly surprised with Edmund's response and was also pleased by it. He looked rather.. elated, to say the least. Surprised at first, and Oliver guessed it was because he thought Oliver would reject the offer for his own safety in mind. Oliver was glad he made the choice he did, even if it was a bit stressful and nervewracking on both ends.

"Well, Edmund, I now declare you King Oliver's personal servant from here on out. I'll make arrangements for your new room as soon as I can, but for sure by the end of the day," Oliver replied with a soft smile.

"Your first duty today as my personal servant is to do whatever you wish. If it's staying in that dreadful basement, so be it. If you'd like to escort me while I speak to the royal guards, feel free to."
 
The question of whether Edmund's quarters would be newly built or refurbished crossed his mind. There were plenty of derelict nooks they could gut. It wasn't unfathomable that he'd get wedged into a closet either. But, whatever the resulting quality was, it was negligible. That it would be his alone was all that really mattered. Already such benevolence, and yet Oliver threatened excess, giving Edmund free will in addition. At least for the day.

He tried to think logically, reigning in his delight to later relish. "It may be best that we disseminate my new status first, 'fore it be put into full effect. As much as I'd love to gloat to all your lessers, I wouldn't want us to appear overly chummy... for your sake. Let's feign formalities, go through the usual procedures. My company, at the moment, wouldn't be suitable either. No matter how dashing you'd look by contrast, I'm a bit sloven with all this dust, no?" Their levity diminished some, weighed with responsibility. But Edmund grinned. "I'll take the liberty, however, of telling Marta where to shove her sheets."

Edmund made to retrieve his neglected candle and hesitated, caught by an afterthought. He looked aside to Oliver. "And.." he stretched the word, buying time to try and express something he couldn't remember ever truly meaning. Until now. "I should thank you for this. For your tolerance- For everything really. Know that the risk you take ins't lost on me."
 
Oliver couldn't blame him for keeping more on the safe side and not accompanying him on his duties to talk to the royal guard. Despite the big rumors that will undoubtedly form due to the decision to rank up Edmund to his personal servant and the improvements in rooming he would receive as well, Edmund still felt cautious about making those rumors worse.

"I don't mind the dusty look, but you do have a point. Then feel free to do what you think would be most productive. Tea will be at the regular time, regular place." Oliver replied, smoothing out the front of his dress shirt. He hadn't dressed himself entirely, as he didn't have the usual over coat to go over his dress shirt on. He'd do that later, when he'd be going out to address the guard.

"It's sad that peasants, commoners, and most importantly, my staff, thinks that generosity is a rare thing to receive from nobles. I trust you, you mean a lot to me. I see it as something I perhaps should've done in different circumstances, but I do not regret either way." Oliver then turned on his heel, ready to leave, before he paused. He turned his face to look at Edmund through the corner of his eye.

"Don't make me regret it, Edmund."
 
When one knows indigence with the intimacy of a chronic disease, charity is no better than pity if it cannot cure. Largess but a temporary balm to the pain of penury. Unless it facilitates permanent change, it largely goes unnoticed. The cycle of violence rolls on. With such disparity between classes, avarice was equivalent to survival. So no one expected a gift, especially one without strings. There was an urge to make that clarion, but Edmund held his tongue. No need to edify, not at such a time.

Oliver's parting words felt like a threat that Edmund received as a dare. A residual compulsion for recalcitrance from youth, the worst trait for a subordinate. It gradually waned with age and necessity, but still caused a knee-jerk crease of his brow.

"Never would I." he assured slowly, soberly. Though Edmund knew he had a capacity for deceit, for cruelty. He'd lose if it meant keeping another from victory. He'd sellout if the reward were rich enough. But like a troll in children's fairy tales, he hoped that the affinity and happiness he shared with Oliver would be enough to give flexibility to his nature, give reason to be more than spiteful. His reluctance to use Oliver already meant such was possible, no? ... But their trust had yet to be truly tested.

"Have faith, Oliver." Though Edmund felt he was also telling himself. "If one acts true to their heart, there isn't regret, only compunction. And that, my lord, is very much temporary." He hadn't the foresight, the arrogance, to think what they we in course to do could potentially leave an indelible mark on the kingdom.
 
The next time Oliver and Edmund met, it was to discuss the arrangements of Edmund's living quarters. He was shown to his room, how to get to Oliver's chambers from there, and that he was free to decorate as he wished but was advised to avoid being a slob just to show off to the maids that he had a new, glorious room all thanks to Oliver. The room was certainly spacious, enough walking room to pace about comfortably, and was already furnished with a bed, bedside drawers, clothing drawers, an armoire and some other normal furnishings a room would have. Off to one side of the room, it branched off into a bathroom that was also pretty standard. Oliver imagined Edmund found it an extremely nice change of scenery for him.

After Edmund's new living quarters were settled, Oliver planned and arranged a ship to take him and Edmund to Johansson's wedding, in a kingdom not too far by ship. Currently, Oliver was just finished sending his chests of baggage off to the ship, and was heading straight to Edmund's room to alert him that they'd be departing in less than half an hour.

The walk to his room was rather brisk. Their rooms weren't far, which made finding each other a bit easier if they weren't off on seperate duties. Oliver reached his door and knocked two times.

"Edmund?" He called through the door. "Ship's about to set sail."
 
It was fan-tastic.

Edmund hated to think himself so satisfied with a room, but he hadn't any right to cavil, nor anything to do so over. Everything was so solid, finished, and refined. And capacious! He could lay on the floor. Not that he wanted to, the bed granted him was a luxury he had no intent on denying himself, but the matter stood that he could repose on the floor. And the furniture, Edmund hadn't enough belonging to fill more than a single drawer. He could ferret away half the pantry in all the nooks and crannies afforded him. Not that he would. At least, not any more.

The worst he'd experienced was a sense of vulnerability at night, unaccustomed to the expanse of floor and quiet that unfurled around him. It left him open. To think, so many years of sleeping among others would have such an effect on him. Edmund figured it would pass with time.

Now, standing in the middle of the floor, having only enjoyed the room for a matter of days, he had to leave it. A shame, but necessary. Even Edmund couldn't be so remiss as to deny Oliver company over seas. Especially when it afforded them time away from the tensions of the estate.

At the sound of a knock, Edmund turned to leave, opening his door to Oliver's welcoming presence. "Pardon my delay. Just wanted to say goodbye." he jest, before gesturing down the hall. "Shall we?"
 
"No problem with saying goodbye to such a beautiful room," Oliver teased with a light smile as he took the lead down the hallway.

"I must say, this trip has one downside: I won't be able to have tea at our usual times while we're away." Oliver said, a bit later on, though his disappointment wasn't written on his face, still donned with a light smile. "No garden could ever replace my own," he continued with a soft sigh.

The trip to the docks wasn't dreadfully long. A short walk and a short carriage ride was all it took and they were by the sea side, the salty scent of the sea invading Oliver's senses. The crew was finishing up putting things up onto the storage area of the ship, most already on board. Oliver greeted those he could as he lead Edmund onto the ship, deciding to stay up on deck for a short time to enjoy the sights. Oliver had never ridden on a ship before, mostly because his parents never had a need to travel by sea.

"Have you ever ridden a ship before, Edmund?" Oliver asked curiously, looking at him as he leaned over one of the sides of the ship.
 
The docks at which they boarded were calmer, cleaner. Almost salubrious in how fresh the air smelt by comparison to the soft, acidic tang of rotting fish and piss that were signature of the market-side docks. Edmund never tarried there long. Iniquity flowed as freely as the alcohol. Inimical sailors, dodgy merchants and whores plying their trade. Edmund didn't consider himself a conscientious man, but he had a standard, and it was above that lot.

Standing beside Oliver, he looked out to the yawning expanse of sea before them, depths so black and impenetrable they may have been crossing over the gates of hell and been none the wiser. Such crushing vastness. It left Edmund feeling his own world was small and frightfully delicate. He hoped Oliver could swim.

"No, I'm afraid I haven't." Edmund informed, enjoying the almost boyish look of his employer leaning so casually. "The sailor's life is not for me. I'd rather have regular ablutions than a meretrix and bottle of liquor after a month's journey. Now, I have, however, been on general boats. During summer, we poor people enjoy fishing, which I came to understand as slang for sitting about on a boat, drinking, while pretending to fish. I imagine a ship is just faster and less likely to capsize." he shrugged.
 
Oliver couldn't help but roll his eyes playfully at Edmund's response. It was good to know that Edmund always had some sort of playful jest within him to keep life so damn entertaining. It may be that fact that contributed the most to Oliver spending so much time with him and deciding to change his status from simple servant to his personal servant.

"You're always oh so eloquent, aren't you?" Oliver said simply, gazing out into the sea. Down below Oliver heard some shouts and then a few dock hands waving goodbye to the crew and he and Edmund. He waved back, practiced and regal, sending down a bright smile as well. The ship then lurched forward slowly, and within time, they were past the dock and onto open seas.

"You don't have to stay on deck with me. Our cabin is down below, and is so nicely labeled for us. We have to share a room, though." Oliver pushed himself to standing up straight and stretched out his arms and back, humming softly. "I'd like to stay up here and watch the sea for a bit,"
 
As the sails caught wind, slowly pulling them from port, Edmund took Oliver's rhetorical statement as compliment, smiling inwardly to himself. He hadn't always a quip or epigram for the occasion, but compared to most of his breeding and education, or lack thereof, Edmund considered himself none too shabby at discourse. That Oliver should find it charming was all the better.

The thought of sharing quarters was both stimulating and curious. "A commoner privileged with sleeping in royal bedchambers, how progressive." Edmund thought aloud. "Have I been afforded my own hammock or am I to sleep at your feet like the cat? I suppose I could venture to see for myself. Lest you want to spare my heart the surprise." He watched as the wind winnowed about them, playfully tugging stray hair and fabric. "You'll be all right without me?" he asked. Edmund didn't doubt Oliver's adaptability, and so it was perhaps out of concern that he asked. Neither were accustom to the ship's ways as of yet.
 
The fact that Edmund thought he'd be getting shitty sleep accommodations was honestly not surprising, but still left Oliver a bit unhappy he'd think he'd be left with such uncomfortable accommodations. Though, perhaps it was lower class thinking to be that way; expect nothing less than the worst, because its only the nobles who bathe in the best.

"You'll be pleasantly surprised," Oliver merely replied, a slightly devious smile tugging at his lips. Edmund could find out on his own if he oh so wanted to.

"Hm," Oliver gave the question some thought. It was unlikely Oliver would be lost on the ship, as there were plenty of people obligated to aide him, and even if he had no problem navigating around, time alone was never unwelcome. But even so, having Edmund around was also never unwelcome.

Oliver opened his mouth to give his reply after some thought, when the ship rocked back and fourth a bit roughly, perhaps from the shifting sea tides, and Oliver nearly tumbled over in surprise. His stomach clenched uncomfortably and something rose in his throat. Oh God, he couldn't be sea sick, could he? He'd heard about it from his mother about sea travels that some unlucky fellows are unable to handle the rocking of the boat, leaving them nauseous. Oliver grasped onto the edge of the boat for stability. No. He was not sea sick. That was just too embarassing to have to deal with with Edmund around.

"...You can stay with me, if you'd like," Oliver replied, trying to keep his voice even and level. He guessed that if he did get sick all over deck, it'd be less humiliating having Edmund help him out with dealing with it than a random crew member.
 
Seeing the sudden shift in Oliver's mien compounded what had otherwise been a tenuous apprehension in Edmund. Compulsively, he put a steadying hand on Oliver's shoulder, head turned subtly with avian scrutiny. "Are you all right? Present tense this time. You're looking stiff as a corpse and I can't tell if it's because you've yet to get your sea legs or..." He was sick, the thought crossed Edmund's mind, bringing the ship's sinusoidal rolling to the forefront of his perception. To him it felt gentle, almost maternal. Perhaps not so for Oliver.

Edmund leaned closer, speaking softly, privately. A smile colored his tone, and, for a moment, the lower class patois of his roots blended with the civil dialect he'd long since adopted. "If you're gonna chunder on me, may I suggest eschewing the scenic view and retiring with me below deck? Wouldn't want your adoring public to see you ill. And I'm sure the crew would think nothing of me occasionally chumming the ship's wake with a bucket of your bile and breakfast."
 
Oliver wasn't shocked that Edmund was able to see his clear and obvious discomfort at the bobbing of the ship on the waves of sea. If anything, he was comforted by the fact that he wanted Oliver to head down to his quarters to suffer than vomit in front of the many members of the crew.

"... Perhaps it's best if we do.. retire below deck," Oliver meekly replied, looking at Edmund with slightly widened eyes as another wave of nausea washed over him. Oliver placed his hand over Edmund's, the one placed upon his solider, and walked with him towards the raised part of the deck at the opposite end of the ship. There was the entrance to the stairs and the lower deck, leading straight to the cabins below.
 
Not cold as though affected by poor circulation or ailment, but simply cool to the touch. That was how Oliver’s hand felt compared to Edmund’s own. He thought it strange. Not that Oliver’s touch was cool, but that his own was warm enough to engender difference. It stood in contrast of his temperament, biting and bitter. Nettles were not meant to comfort, and briars not to hold. Edmund tried not to think deeply of it, helping Oliver to their room.

Though room it wasn’t quite, as there was little of it. It wouldn’t have been an exaggeration to say it was nearly eighty percent bed. A bed. One single, but lavish, bed. What little other space was for walking and a chest of noble’s necessities. Edmund began to think Oliver had been joking when he’d said they’d be sharing quarters, but didn’t feel it apposite to mention.

“Have a seat.” He ordered gently, pushing open the pigeon hole of a window the room offered. “I’ll get you something. Maybe tea but-“ Edmund wasn’t an herbalist. His knowledge of nausea allaying concoctions was sparse at best. “I can’t imagine this ship is stocked with anything as mundane as dandelion root, or ginger, or hell, even valerian. Never mind the items to brew them. Our trip’s too short for such.” He thought aloud, looking to Oliver for guidance. “Aside from a receptacle to purge yourself, is there anything you’d like which may succor?”
 
Oliver wasn't phased by the room being practically consumed by bed, and only one bed for that matter. His mind was focused on Edmund's hand and the stirring feeling of something not quite wonderful moving about in his stomach and trickling up towards his throat. God, was he at least happy the ship ride would not be extremely long.

Oliver did as he was told to, taking a seat on the bed. His arms wrapped around his stomach like a cage, as if it'd keep the churning inside his stomach and not spill out. The rocking lessened in intensity, and Oliver let out a gentle sigh of relief at the feel of his nausea settling down as well.

"God, can you not ramble that much right now?" Oliver mumbled, mostly to himself. "Any damn tea you can get would be sufficient," Oliver replied snappily, looking up at Edmund with narrowed and pained eyes. "I don't know the stock of the ship. You might as well go find out what we have,"
 
"Right away." noting Oliver's limited patience in pain, Edmund truncated his usually desultory and teasing chatter. Without further delay, he left in search of roughly anything that seemed felicitous. The fifteen minutes during which he was gone, however, were anything but fruitful. Upon return, he asked for a moment of Oliver's patience to hear what he'd managed to avail.

"There is no tea." he began succinctly. "I'm able to proffer, however, two libations and a bucket. For what it was previously used for, I cannot say, but for now it is yours to fill as you see fit. The water I have-" Edmund gestured vaguely with a brushed, steel stein. "I literally stole from that troglodyte of a cook who monopolizes it like a tyrant. And for the other, I have wine." He shook a bottle in his other hand. "Now hear me out. It's not vinegar, but neither is it going to win any accolades. What it can do however, is blunt pain and leave one drowsy. After waking from a brief sleep with dry mouth, you can then drink the water and prevent hangover. Perfectly wholesome, works more than half the time." Edmund proselytized, without addition of his own, personal experience doing so.

"Otherwise the best I can do is... distract you." The anxious enthusiasm with which he had begun speaking gradually drained. "Last we spoke you didn't seem taken with me speaking, so I can't say I'd be the best to take your mind from this."
 
Oliver's irritated state was not satiated when he saw Edmund returning with quite possibly anything and everything but tea. Goddamn, this ship was carrying a royal and these assholes think that any drink but tea was what the stock of food and drink had. Absolutely wonderful.

Oliver knew he shouldn't be so pissed off at something so insignificant, but it felt nice to project his anger onto something stupid than to focus on the churning aches in his stomach that would get more intense and then lessen within minutes at a time. Anything that distracted him was welcome.

Oliver practically snatched the wine bottle from Edmund, muttering a soft 'sorry' afterwards before popping open the bottle, none too cleanly. Some of it spilled out onto himself, but he had no plans to leave this stupid cabin any time soon. He pressed the bottle to his lips and took a drink.

"Distract me. Talk about your past or whatever peasants deal with," Oliver dismissively said, waving his hand.
 
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