The morning light was just beginning to stream through the slits in the luxurious velveteen drapes and the sounds of Serault stirring awake could be heard beyond the walls when the Scholar began to fade in and out of sleep. With the fire having died down, leaving only smoldering ashes in its place, the sleeping blonde inched closer to what he figured was simply a firm bundle of blankets and furs in his exquisite Orleasian bedspread. He would likely have fallen back to sleep completely if the warrior hadn't felt said bundle pull itself closer to him and… nibble on his ear.
Heat rushed to his face as the Scholar shot himself up from his plum colored sheets and was met with the bewildered gaze of his lovely sleeping companion, Bard.
At his sudden movement, his body twinged against the soreness of his muscles.
It seemed the Marquis had entirely forgotten about his reckless charge into the Applewoods the previous night to rescue the very troublesome rogue, and the incident that followed shortly after.
It had come without any warning. The Scholar's former ally—the Horned Knight—had decided to forcefully seize custody over the Bard, and the Marquis had taken it upon himself to reclaim his kidnapped companion by means of hacking his way through a wild maze, poisoning himself from the toxic bramble thorns, and storming straight into the darkest parts of the Deepwoods before finally locating and freeing the missing bard.
After what seemed like an impossibly long ride back to Château Serault, the two men had been deposited into the care of the marquisate's finest healers. Despite the Bard's week of captivity, the healers found that the Scholar had returned looking far worse than the brunette, with poison dripping from the many bleeding lacerations that marred his formerly clear skin.
Once both men had been properly bandaged, the Marquis' counsellor—the Guildmistress—had decided that it was only right to throw a minor celebration for the Scholar's daring escapade into the heart of the Horned Knight's domain to save one of Serault's most favored citizens. Although the celebration was nothing more than an excuse to descend upon their newly acquired surplus of wine imported straight from Val Royeaux, the Scholar found himself enjoying the first relaxing moment he's had in weeks. Due exclusively to the knowledge that his bard, yes, his bard, was home and safe, and far from the clutches of the self-proclaimed Lord of the Forest.
Only, how the celebration went from enjoying good wine with close friends to waking up with the Bard in his bed, he had no idea.
"Good morning, your Grace," the Bard announced, flashing the blonde man one of his many dashing smiles, "I hope you had as delightful a night as I did."
"I-uhm… Bard, what did we do exactly?" The Scholar asked hesitantly, only now noticing both their nakedness.
Judging from the disarray of his bedchamber, it appeared they did little other than, well, each other. The Scholar quickly silenced his brain for thinking something so salacious.
"You… don't remember?" The bearded brunette asked, the smile falling from his lips as he sat up against the ornately studded headboard.
"I remember… bits and pieces, but I'm not entirely sure which parts I dreamed and which actually happened. I assume the flaming purple elephants singing praise to Andraste weren't real?" The Scholar answered vaguely, tempting a half-smile at his own jest.
"You'd be surprised. That was quite the wild night," the Bard chuckled, "But I imagine considering our current situation, it is rather obvious what we did. What comes next remains to be seen," he said, his voice unbelievably smooth.
"I understand…" the blonde mumbled and paused, blush returning to his cheeks, "I certainly didn't mind last night..." he answered hesitantly, his head and eyes down, watching his fingers pick at the worn cuticles lining his fingernails.
"Your Grace, I would not force you to do something you didn't wish for," the Bard placed a sun-darkened hand on the Scholar's pale ones, "I want you to want this, but if you don't, then we can go back to the way we were before. This doesn't have to change our relationship."
The Scholar looked up and caught the intense gaze of the Bard's chocolate brown eyes in his own light blue ones.
"And you'd… accept that?" He asked skeptically, cocking an eyebrow.
The Bard let out a chuckle, "Far be it for me to force our great, scholarly Marquis to do anything he didn't want to do."
"You didn't answer my question."
Both men stared at the other in silence until the brunette released a dreary sigh and looked away from the Scholar's eyes.
"I've experienced a fair share of heartbreak, comes with being a bard. It would hurt, but if you don't want our relationship to be anything more than friendship, then I'll understand," he said, turning back to face the blonde, trying a smile to encourage an answer out of the other as he gave a gentle squeeze to the hand he still held, "After all, the Marquis of Serault and a wayward bard? It doesn't make much sense, now does it?"
The Scholar let out a soft breath and held the Bard's gaze.
"What if we didn't have to make sense?" He could feel himself blushing but flashed the other a mischievous smile as he inched a little closer to his companion. He hoped that the Bard would catch his meaning. The Scholar admittedly was never the best at this whole flirting business.
The Bard chuckled, "Then I'd be a very happy man," he gibed, lifting the Scholar's callused hand to his lips and placing a delicate kiss on his thin knuckles, "But are you certain this is what you want? I'm not the easiest to deal with, especially when sober," he inquired, cocking an eyebrow dubiously.
The Scholar rolled his eyes before deciding to confirm what the Bard wished for. He snaked a thin hand around the Bard's neck, pulling the man in and closing the distance between them .The kiss was soft and chaste, nothing like the sloppy, drunken messes they had shared the night prior. The Bard tangled his fingers in the Scholar's light hair—who titled his head into the touch.
This kiss meant more than just a one night fling. This one was important. A promise.
When the two finally pulled apart, it was with a great deal of reluctance.
"…Does that answer your question, my dear Bard?" He asked through soft breaths and half-lidded eyes, resting his forehead against the other's.
"Quite…" he said with a smile before pausing, "I dread to imagine what my Uncle will think of this… entanglement," the Bard said.
"Is that what you'd call this is?" The Scholar teased.
The Bard scoffed, "Whatever word you'd wish to use, it won't be easy. You know that," he said.
"Easy isn't as fun. It'll be much more enjoyable if it's challenging," he said, and the Bard barked out a laugh.
The Scholar could see little problems with taking the Bard as his lover, save for producing an heir. However, he was sure that one of his relatives would be more than willing to supply him with an heir of their own. And he was fully aware that his relationship would be scandalized, but well, he didn't give two shits. He was the Marquis and it was his choice to love whomever he wanted. Damn the consequences.
Laughing together, smiling together, doing… certain other things together, the Scholar knew that whatever was to come, he would be glad to have the Bard at his side.