golden hour
Written for August Fic Challenge 2023, Prompt: Melancholia. References deleted Pillory scene. First try at Knight's Tale fic. Comments and kudos would be awesome. Enjoy!
The celebrations last all night. A fantastic party begins just as soon as the tournament reaches its stunning conclusion. The Black Prince's castle is rich with food and wine, music and dancing, everyone celebrating Adhemar's brilliant defeat and William's unprecedented knighting. Though Will misses the beginning of the festivities, having the wound in his shoulder patched up and seeing to the rest of his injuries, he finds himself perpetually occupied upon his return.
The Black Prince proudly toasts him, congratulating him on his well-fought victory. William speaks at length with his father, the old man moved to tears by the sheer magnitude of today's events. He dances every dance he can with Jocelyn, even sneaks away with her for a few shared kisses and a very important conversation. Then, with his head still spinning, he drinks entirely too much wine with Wat. He obliges when Kate forces him to eat something, and she keeps the crowds at bay while he scarfs down a plate of food under Roland's close supervision. He loses himself in the chaos of the party, drawn into conversations and dances with total strangers all night long. And somehow it is only now, as the party finally starts to wind down in the early hours of the morning and things finally begin to settle, that he realizes Chaucer's absence.
He does not know how he could have missed it.
"Pardon me," he says to a gaggle of loitering nobles who've been trying to engage with him all evening. He peels himself away from them and scans the last of the guests in search of his friends. He sees Wat nearly passed out on some fancy lounge chair, a bottle of fine wine possessively clutched in his hand. Kate is chatting animatedly with some lovely lady in the corner. Roland is settled by the fire, half-asleep and snoring softly. Jocelyn has long since taken her leave – Will is not surprised to note.
But still, there is no sign of Chaucer.
Will slips away from the grand hall, intent to find his loyal herald. At last, he does, out on one of the adjacent balconies, the cool air blowing softly in the clear night sky, the horizon already edged with the pale pinks and oranges of the coming dawn. There is a goblet of wine at hand, but it is full, untouched. "There you are, Geoff. I'd wondered where you'd wandered off to."
"Here I am, indeed, Sir William," he says. He does not tear his gaze from the fading stars above.
He crosses the space between them, settles in close at Geoff's side as they lean together on the stone rails. He is exhausted. He is aching from his many injuries. But, he cannot let this lie. It's been niggling at his brain all night, this conversation lurking on the periphery of every other. "Those things you said. At the pillory."
He can still hear them all so clearly. "For he is like gold… to me." He can still feel Geoff's hand card through his hair as he'd made his plea for the rowdy crowds to leave him be, his touch gentle and intimate and so comforting. He can still feel Geoff's head leaned against his, Geoff's hand bracing his own when he'd been freed from the stocks. He can still sense Geoff at his side, watching with awe as Prince Edward knighted him in front of all those people who, mere moments before, had longed to see him abused and tormented.
"Merely calming the rabble," Geoff assures him, waving a dismissive hand that it was anything more.
Perhaps for the first time in a long damn time, William does not believe his words. Chaucer's speech, his touch, had been far too heartfelt for that. And this melancholic mood of his… "Why the pieces of your heart?"
"Pardon?"
"When I asked you if I should run. You said, 'Yes, I wish it, too, William, with all the pieces of my heart'."
"Did I?"
"You did."
"Oh."
William reaches out with his good arm, lets his hand settle on Geoff's shoulder. Finally, Geoff meets his gaze, and William can see the forlorn edges of panic hidden in the stark blue of his eyes. He's right. He knows he is. He has to be. "Your heart breaks when I'm with her?"
Geoff offers some discordant laugh, looks away from him once more. "My heart breaks for you, always, Will, whether you are with her or not. It has been yours for quite some time now. I suppose I should get used to it, shan't I?"
A beat of silence, because this is it. Will has told her already - she deserved to know the truth. He loved her, but… She'd understood everything he hadn't been able to say. She'd taken it better than expected, too. Perhaps she'd known, perhaps she'd seen the way they looked at each other when he wasn't looking at her. She'd kissed him goodbye and promptly taken her leave of the party. They would still be friends, she assured him, as she wished him good luck.
"No," Will tells him. "You don't need to do that."
Chaucer tenses, likely dreading some sort of rejection, as if Will would ever reject him, as if Will would ever turn him away for something like love, after all they've been through together. He slides his hand up from shoulder to neck, feels Geoff lean into his touch whether or not he means to, Will's hands leeching warmth into his chilled skin.
"Because my heart is yours, as well. I'm sorry it took me so long to notice your claim on it," he admits. "Those words you bid me to say to her, did you long to say some version of them to me all along?"
He's looking again, wide eyed and disbelieving, into Will's eyes. He has, at last, rendered his herald profoundly speechless.
"Will, I-"
"I'd like to kiss you, if you'll permit me?"
Chaucer makes the first move, brazenly barreling through the last bit of space between them in a desperate sort of kiss, hands pulling him in closer. It puts all other kisses to shame, to feel so adored and worshipped by the man before him, like he is every piece of gold a man could ever want.