Fandom: Ladyhawke (1985)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Isabeau d'Anjou/Philippe Gaston/Etienne Navarre
Characters: Isabeau d'Anjou, Philippe Gaston, Etienne Navarre
Additional Tags: Threesome, Family, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Caretaking, Slice of Life, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Snowed In, Huddling For Warmth, Threesome - F/M/M, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Yuletide Treat, Yuletide 2014, Yuleporn, Post-Canon

December 24, 2014:I saw this prompt back when the Yuleporn post went up and just knew that I had to write it if I had time, because I hadn't realized how badly I wanted this story until now. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Happy Yuletide!

I just realized that I never posted this here. OOPS. ^_^ Last of my three Yuletide contributions for the year and also the porny one. I'm pretty sure the tags say it all? Written for skitz_phenom for Yuletide 2014.

Dawn and Dusk and Forever In Between
by eirenical

The Bishop was dead.

The curse was broken.

No more would Isabeau wake to the dawn to find her limbs changing, stretching into feathered wings to take to the early morning sky. No more would she lose her mind, her soul, in the guileless flight of the hawk she'd been by day. No more would she reach out to touch Navarre, her love, just to have him ripped from her by hawk or by wolf. No more.

Now, when Isabeau awoke to the dawn, it was a gentle awakening. The slow trail of light creeping in from the window slowly illuminating the room, penetrating the bed curtains, and warming the cold corners of the bed she shared with her love. And she treasured every second of that awakening, never missed a single sunrise. A single sunset. They were precious reminders, now, of the time she had lost to a curse she could not control.

They were happy.

…in their own way.

As the dawn light reached the bed, Navarre would shiver, fighting the demons which never let him be, even in sleep, his entire body rejecting the coming dawn and what he yet feared it would bring. Losing himself was still a less painful prospect to him than losing her. It was a dilemma that Isabeau well understood, for she felt the same. And try as she might to speak with him, to share that lingering pain and worry, still Navarre kept his silence. Not for the first time, Isabeau wondered what would become of them. Having spent so many years together, yet apart, they had lost the way of it. They had forgotten how to be together… how to talk with each other. The Bishop had destroyed more than he knew. But Isabeau would not be bested so easily. In her heart she was a bird of prey, still. And more than that, she was a woman who loved. And she would not give up that easily.

"You know, God… I like to think you have a sense of humor. I like to think that you have a sense of humor, because I have a sense of humor. And after all, are we not created in your image? So, I like to think that sometimes, you sit up there and tweak things down here, just to see what happens - because it amuses you. And I don't mind that, God. I truly don't. Because the way I see it, the better of a mood you're in, the better it is for all of us. If you'd had me around, for example, to play these little tricks upon, when the people of Sodom and Gomorrah got up to their mischief… maybe you'd have given them a second chance. So, I like to think that when you play these little jokes on me, that it's for a greater purpose, a higher calling, if you will. And that gives my life meaning. And that's what it's all about, isn't it?"

Philippe had started this conversation when Isabeau's letter had arrived that morning and had kept up his end through his packing, through saddling his horse - he had one of his own, now - and all the way down the road. He intended to keep it up long into the night and on into the next day, perhaps even when he was asleep. It would keep him from thinking too hard about the contents of the letter. It would keep him from thinking too hard about the pains that reading it had driven into his heart.

It would keep him from thinking about Isabeau… and Navarre.

And so he talked. He teased and taunted. And when an unseasonably early snowstorm dumped just enough snow atop him to make the trail treacherous, he kept talking still.

"Well, God, I suppose that's an answer. It's a cheap way out of the conversation, but maybe you're tired of my voice. Which seems a pity as it's such a pleasant one. But who am I to argue with the all-knowing? Maybe you have things to do. But don't you worry. We'll finish this later. I'm not done with you just yet."

And on that note, Philippe swung down from the saddle to land in snow that covered him to mid-calf, cursing as the cold leeched straight through his breeches. But it would be easier going on his little chestnut, David - a name that had made Navarre frown and Isabeau laugh when he'd gifted it to the gelding - if he didn't have to carry Philippe's weight while breaking a path through the snow. Besides, they couldn't be more than an hour's walk from their destination by then and Philippe had spent most of his travels walking. It would be good for him.

Three hours later, as the sun set below the horizon, Navarre startled at a pounding on the door. He'd been expecting no one, and only a fool would have been caught out with the weather this wretched. He rose from his chair by the fire, moved to the front hall to see who might be on the other side of the door on a night such as this. He spared one moment to consider taking down his crossbow from its place on the wall but decided against it. Those days were behind him… even if he could not ignore the part of him that yet believed that the crossbow would be unnecessary - not because there was no danger, but because with the coming night he should have had far more powerful weapons at his disposal than mere arrows.

When Navarre reached the door, and before he could inquire who was on the other side, a voice penetrated the wood. It mumbled, and Navarre could not make out the words, but it was a voice he knew well. As he pulled open the door, a smile crossed his face. Sure enough… there was his little mouse. "Philippe! What a pleasure it is to see you!"

But Philippe was paying no attention. He was shivering, covered in snow, and his lips had a blue tinge to them that Navarre definitely did not like. Without the door between them, Philippe's mutterings, at least, became clearer.

"…very stupid way to die. Honestly, I expected better of you. You couldn't have held off this freakish weather until I'd arrived? If I die of exposure, God, I shall be very cross with you when I reach the Pearly Gates…"

Eyes widening in alarm, Navarre reached out to pull Philippe inside, even as he yelled for Isabeau. For the first time since agreeing to live simply such as this, Navarre cursed the fact that there were no servants in their home. But Isabeau came running, as graceful on two feet as she had been a-wing. Passing Philippe over to her, Navarre led his horse to the stable, It was a wretched, wretched night, but the stables were warm and he gave the horse a thorough rubdown as well as a warm mash. He then filled the stall with an extra thick padding of hay and threw a blanket over the poor horse. What demon had possessed Philippe to convince him to travel on a day like this? Surely he knew how to read a sky better than that. Navarre had taught him.

As a final kindness, Navarre brought Goliath out of his stall and into David's. It was going to be a cold night. The two would be better off being able to share the warmth of another body. Once he was satisfied that the two were settled, Navarre returned indoors. Even that brief sojourn to the stables had brought a chill and stiffness into his limbs that required stamping out. How much worse must it be for Philippe? Navarre made his way back towards the fireplace.

Isabeau had Philippe wrapped in a thick blanket and was feeding him soup left over from their day's supper. She was talking to him intently, and low-voiced. Philippe's lips were no longer blue, but still he shivered. Navarre frowned. "Isabeau… he needs to be out of those wet clothes or he will never get warm." Kneeling down by the chair, Navarre gripped Philippe's knee. "Well, little mouse, we meet again. Next time, perhaps, you will try not to kill yourself in your efforts to affect such a meeting, hm? Come. Let's get you tucked into a bed. There are better ways to warm you than this."

Isabeau leaned back, hiding her smile behind her hand, as Navarre helped Philippe to his feet, all but carrying the smaller man in his haste to bring him somewhere where he could be better warmed. The sight warmed her own heart, as well. Though she never would have asked Philippe to come if she had thought that he would put his life at risk to do so, she could not help but notice that his presence had already made a difference.

Navarre… Navarre believed in tradition. And tradition demanded that a man be the protector of all he possessed. Even if among his possessions was counted the woman he loved and respected. Such feelings, however, had no place in talk like this. If Isabeau was his to protect, then he would not show weakness in front of her. And because he would show no weakness, it kept them from being able to lance the still festering wound of the curse which had lain upon them for so long. It was that simple and that impossible. And Isabeau had had more than enough of it. If Navarre would not talk to her… she would make accessible someone to whom he would talk.

Isabeau banked the fire in the main hall, then made her way slowly up the stairs to their bedroom, knowing that Navarre would place Philippe there rather than waste time stoking the fire in a guestroom. Their room would be warm, already, the fire having been heating the room for the past hour, at least. There were warm covers on the bed and a bed curtains around it, and thick rugs upon the floors. There was no better place to get warm.

When Isabeau reached the room, she paused, stopped just inside the doorway to watch. Navarre had stripped Philippe of his wet clothes and tucked him into the middle of their bed. She could see, even now, that Philippe was protesting the treatment, trying to rise and relocate out of their bed. Navarre, however, was having none of it. Reaching out, he held Philippe to the bed with a move so casual that Isabeau's breath caught at the implied strength. It had been long since she had last seen them thus.

Navarre did not know… he did not know that Isabeau knew, that Isabeau had seen. As a hawk, she had known only that she must stay close to Navarre at all times. She had not understood why or what it was that she observed when she was near, but the moment the sun set, everything she had seen during the day would become clear.

Isabeau was not a jealous person. She had been glad that Navarre had found someone in whom to take comfort, even if that comfort was only physical. It was not until many moons later that she had understood the one piece that she had missed - that the comfort Navarre took from Philippe was not merely physical; that something about the younger man eased Navarre's soul in the same way that Isabeau once had. Navarre trusted Philippe. He confided in Philippe. And so, Isabeau had learned to do the same. It took but two nights to see why Philippe had gained Navarre's trust, barely one night past that for him to gain hers, as well. She didn't know what they would have done without him. Isabeau still didn't know how they would get by without him. That was why she had written that letter, begging Philippe to come back to them - for a day, a week, a year, whatever time he felt he could give them. He was a missing piece, now. They no longer knew how to get on without him. So, Isabeau would do her best to persuade, as she had tried to do downstairs. She would do her best to help Philippe to see that he was needed, and wanted, by them both.

That night, Philippe lay between Navarre and Isabeau, on the one hand grateful for their radiating warmth beneath the covers, and on the other hand gibbering in panic. He couldn't sleep. Sleep was a distant dream with how his thoughts careened and crashed about him. Isabeau had alluded in her letter to knowing certain things about his time with Navarre that Philippe had thought he and Navarre both would take to the grave. He was not ashamed - far from it - but he would never have even dreamed of risking the love that was between Navarre and Isabeau. Not for any amount of his own desires. That love had been strong enough to break an unbreakable curse. That love had survived years of being unable to touch, or even speak. That love was the stuff of legends, and Philippe respected that. He wouldn't want to interfere.

That was why Philippe had come here today. He needed to explain to Isabeau, needed to make it clear that he had no intention of causing either of them any grief in the name of remembered intimacies whose time had long since passed. That had been his intention… until Isabeau neatly upended his logic. Isabeau had laid out her true reason for wanting him to make this visit. And Philippe had had barely enough time to even hear, much less process, what she asked of him before Navarre had appeared and ended that conversation.

Navarre… He was as strong and determined as ever he had been, only now all his focus was being brought to bear on caring for those he loved. And Philippe was not fool enough not to realize that the gentle way he had been handled and the concern in Navarre's eyes indicated clearly that he was counted among that number.

But what Isabeau had implied… that was so much more. Did Philippe want that? Could he give that much of himself? Could he be the one to stand between that legend-worthy love and create a bridge between the two it now held apart?

Those questions preyed on Philippe's mind long into the night and on into the small hours of the morning. And to his utter surprise, when the dawn light broke through the shadows of the bed curtains… he found that he not only knew the answer, but that it was an easy answer, indeed. So when Isabeau turned away from her slow awakening, basking in the light of the sun, to face Philippe, one eyebrow raised in query, Philippe swallowed hard… and nodded.

Navarre woke next, and if Isabeau's awakening had been a languorous welcome to the morning sun, Navarre's was a snarling disavowal. Philippe recognized it all too well. Navarre had ever been in a battle with the dawn, forever furious that the sun dared to take his love away from him. Such habits had to be hard to break. So Philippe did as he had always done. He spoke softly, soothingly, whatever nonsense came to mind. When Navarre let out a brief snort of amusement amidst his growling, Philippe knew that he had won. Navarre was properly awake. Before Philippe could free himself from the bedcovers, however, Isabeau reached across him to gently trace the lines of Navarre's face. Navarre caught at her hand, turned it, and placed a soft kiss upon the back. It was a gesture as natural to them as breathing, and Philippe had to fight off the feeling that he was intruding, that he in fact had no right to be there. Because if Isabeau had her way… he would have every right.

Philippe watched as Isabeau sat up in the bed, her nightshirt falling to expose one shoulder. She leaned over Philippe, reaching out to Navarre to bring him into a sitting position, as well. Once she had him where she wanted him, Isabeau leaned over and kissed him. That kiss was slow, and sensual, and Isabeau moaned into it. Trapped between and beneath them as they shared that intimate moment, Philippe felt his manhood begin to swell. It would take a man made of sterner stuff than he had ever been to resist a view like that, after all!

It was Philippe's almost pained whimper that finally brought Navarre back to his senses, eyes wide and a little horrified by the very public display he had just engaged in. Isabeau, however, was not finished, yet. She leaned forwards again, placed tender kisses along the length of Navarre's jaw and down his neck. And in between the pauses… she explained. She knew that Navarre loved her and hoped that he knew she felt the same. But the truth was, Navarre also loved Philippe… and Isabeau loved him, too. He was a part of them now, and his absence had done them both harm; harm that it was long past time to heal.

Navarre stared down at the pair of them, and Philippe did his best not to even breathe, lest his affect Navarre's decision. In the end, Navarre fled, as Philippe had known he would. Navarre was not a man who was easy with his emotions, and Philippe could see that he had an even harder time of it now that he did not have his nights as a wolf to give him relief. He turned to Isabeau, prepared to make his excuses and go after Navarre, but she gently shook her head and pulled him against her. Then she smiled and her smile was dazzling.

"Never fear, little mouse. Navarre will come to his senses and return. After all, he did not even take his boots. And, Philippe… I would put on a show for him when he does. I feel that would help him to make up his mind."

And as Isabeau bent her hands and mouth to her next task, Philippe's mind ran away with him. Oh God, you really do have a sense of humor. I knew you must. Or perhaps I am dead and this is Heaven. Or perhaps I am even now frozen out in the snow, not even aware that I die. If so, Lord, this is a very pleasant way to go; much better than that time in the sewe- holy sweet Jesus!

Navarre paced frantically up and down the hallway, shivering in his thin night shirt, cursing the fact that he had not even grabbed a dressing gown in his haste. What Isabeau was asking - what Isabeau was offering - was a decadance the likes of which he would never have dared even dream for himself. But he could not deny that she had a point. Last night, with Philippe nestled between them, it had felt as though something that had been long missing had finally been returned to them. He did not want to admit it, that Isabeau and himself were no longer enough for each other, but this… it did not feel wrong. It felt… it felt right.

Navarre turned back to the bedroom, put his hand upon the door to push it open… and froze. There were soft sounds emerging from the room, panting and soft moans that widened his eyes and dried his throat. He knew those sounds, had been the one to cause them not even a year hence. Slowly, though his heart felt as though it would gallop out of his chest, Navarre pushed the door open.

There on the bed was a scene plucked straight from Navarre's wildest dreams - dreams that he never would have admitted to in the light. Philippe was on his knees, his face buried in a pillow, his manhood curved hard and proud against his stomach. And Isabeau… ah, Isabeau… she was was behind him, her tongue caught between her teeth and the fingers of her left hand buried deep within the cleft of his buttocks. Well Navarre knew the ways of such things but never had he imagined - never had he dreamed - that Isabeau knew them, as well.

As though sensing him caught in the doorway, Isabeau turned and pinned him with eyes that had once been able to spot a rabbit from hundreds of feet away. And with that one look, Navarre was just as caught. Those eyes were knowing, hinting at deep, dark secrets the likes of which Navarre could not even begin to guess. What had Isabeau learned of the human condition in the dark hours of the night when she had roamed the world alone? Judging by the whimpering moans eminating from Philippe… plenty that Navarre would never have guessed. This was a side to Isabeau that he would never have imagined existed and, to his shock, he found himself not only intrigued, but enraptured.

When Isabeau beckoned, Navarre joined her on the bed, pinned her naked body to him to plunder her mouth. She grabbed the back of his neck with her free hand, held him tightly to her as he moved lower to lavish attention upon her breasts. She was beautiful. She was powerful. And Navarre was ashamed that he had forgotten these very simple facts.

Before Navarre was quite aware of what she had planned, Isabeau had grasped his manhood, her supple fingers covering him in the fragrant oil she normally used to enhance her own scent. Never again would he be able to breathe this scent upon her without thinking of this moment. And, clever, clever Isabeau… that was most likely the point. She guided him into place behind Philippe, even as she continued to use the fingers of her left hand to work Philippe open ever wider. He was shaking now, panting harshly against the pillow and rocking back onto Isabeau's fingers with every breath.

Navarre could hardly imagine that there had been a time, even ten minutes ago when he had not wanted this… wanted them. Following the push of Isabeau's hand on his own buttocks, Navarre allowed her to position him as she would. And as he slowly pushed his manhood into place beside Isabeau's fingers, her knuckles rubbing against him, even as they thrust ever deeper, Philippe gave a keening cry beneath them. Isabeau put her free hand on Navarre's stomach, a silent command to be still for a moment and Navarre hung there, trembling, very much aware that in this moment he would do anything she asked.

Isabeau removed her hand from Navarre and leaned over, murmuring soft words of comfort to Philippe as he fought to catch his breath. How must this feel from his end? How much more intense to have both of them filling him so thoroughly? No wonder he was overwhelmed. Navarre was overwhelmed and his was the easiest part here by far. Soon, Isabeau ended the discussion with a soft kiss, a kiss which she carried up to Navarre to share. Navarre shuddered with it, overcome and becoming more so with each second he was not allowed to move. Finally, Isabeau wiggled her fingers once more, and nodded at Navarre to indicate that he could move. As he slid the rest of the way in, Isabeau finally, slowly, slid her fingers back out.

Once Navarre was fully seated, however, she paused him again. In words and gestures, she indicated what she wanted, shifting Navarre so that he sat back against the headboard with Philippe sprawled nearly boneless in his lap. As soon as they were once again settled, Isabeau raised herself up and slowly straddled Philippe, taking his own manhood within her with one smooth roll of her hips. He stirred at that, let out a soft groan and let his face drop between her breasts. Isabeau let out a breathless laugh as she cradled him to her, as she reached past him to stroke her oil-slicked fingers over Navarre's neck and shoulders.

If Navarre could have kept them there, just like that, for all eternity, caught in that moment just before ecstasy… he would have. He couldn't, of course. He knew that. But the promise in Isabeau's eyes as she moved atop them, the willing compliance in Philippe's body as he held onto them both, let him know that while it might not last… they could return here whenever they wished. They climaxed one after the other, collapsing bonelessly to the bed to lay entwined.

As their breathing slowly returned to normal, Navarre heard Philippe mutter, "Well, Lord… if this your idea of a joke… then I like your sense of humor just fine."

Navarre's gaze met Isabeau's over Philippe's exhausted body and, for the first time in months, Navarre smiled without even a hint of sadness. He would be all right. Isabeau would be all right. Philippe would be all right. And they would not be parted from each other ever again. And if that was a joke... Navarre was ready to laugh.