Work Text:
The hammer pounds into the anvil.
Slow and steady. Almost melodic in it's repetition.
It rings out into the castle courtyard signaling to any nearby that the craftsman is at work.
It is a sound that Smithy knows well. As sure as he knows his own heartbeat. Strong. Dependable. He likes it that way.
He's not sure when Jester started visiting. It could have easily been weeks ago and he was simply too engrossed in his work to notice. Perhaps he had always been there and something within Smithy himself had changed that allowed him to better see.
Whenever it began he now considers the other boy a permanent fixture beneath his canopy. As constant and unchanging as one of his carefully arranged tools.
Jester would often bring his lute, adding his own musical flair to the steady rhythm of Smithy's anvil. The sound of half finished armour and half written ballads permeated the air making some kind of new and beautiful song.
As oblivious as he was to Jester's almost constant companionship he was even more so to the constant idea of him in his thoughts. Smithy wasn't sure when he started melting at the sound of Jester's voice, straining to hear his half whispered words over metal and steam. Or when he began noticing the way the other boy's long, delicate hands plucked the strings of his instrument so masterfully.
He's not sure when he began imagining slowly removing the belled hat he always wore and running his fingers through the soft hair that stuck out from underneath.
He'd likely have gone on unnoticing for quite some time too had he not burned his arm with a freshly fired sword trying to hear a bit better. ...Watch a bit closer.
For days he chided himself for being so careless and felt his heart clench every time he saw the triangular burn on his forearm. A physical reminder that this... whatever it was, had gotten away from him.
He's not sure when it began, but it had. And now that it had, it was hard to stop. He found that he wanted to sit nearer to him when they ate with Pepper and Rake, that he wanted Jester to sing to him as he exhaustedly lay his head in his lap after a hard days work, he wanted... He wanted Jester. It was a simple desire. But quite unnatainable. They were friends. They had duties to perform. It couldn't work. So he tells himself.
He tells himself many things. He tells himself that Jester is just being friendly when he takes his arm as they walk back to their quarter's after work each night. That he misheard when it sounded like his friend's newest song contained his name. That Jester doesn't mean it when he tells him he loves him. And especially that it won't last when they kiss for the first time.
Though as time goes on it gets harder and harder to believe himself. Jester has always been stubborn.
...
Smithy's heart pounds in his chest.
Slow and steady. Almost melodic in it's repetition.
It pounds in the young jester's ear signaling to him that his companion is at rest.
It is a sound that Jester knows well. As sure as he knows his own heartbeat. Strong. Dependable. He likes it that way.