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“The rising moon admires the sun,
For its resplendent radiance reaches all corners of the earth;
Unaware that the setting sun covets the moon,
For its muted splendour allows for the company of the sweetest of dreams.”
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Eyes closed, the dull aches in his body making him unhappily aware that he’d perhaps exaggerated more than a trifle when he had told Paracelsus he was fine; Sarmenti allowed the physical pain in his weary, recently insulted body to numb the emotional pain of recalling his own miseries. Having his attention on physical pain was more acceptable than the renewed anguish brought on by misplaced emotion or events that may as well have happened in a dream…or a wholly different life from the present.
At some point, the jester supposed that he must have somehow slid into a light sleep because he was startled to wakefulness by his fellow travelling companion—Baldwin—tapping him on the shoulder.
His eyes drifted over to the whiskey flask held out by a gloved hand, and he felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips…until—
“Perhaps you should go lie down. Get some sleep.”
Sarmenti looked out to the star-studded night sky, then at the flask—and did not bother to disguise his disappointment, “whatever happened to standing watch with you under the stars?” he scoffed.
Even with their masks still worn over their faces, the both of them knew the sort of expression the other had at the moment.
Insufferable court fool. Haughty once-king.
A part of him was childishly tempted to smack away the offered flask of alcohol from the leper’s hand; much like how a cat would stare a person in the eye as they batted a fragile ornament off a shelf to watch it shatter against the ground. Yet, the quiet—surprisingly, not entirely silenced—voice of reason in his mind reminded him that such behaviour was beneath him; that this nonsensical rush of giddy spite was a reaction to the long days of exhaustion and mental fatigue weighing down on him since leaving their previous inn to traverse through the primeval forest that was the Tangle.
Hence, he released a sigh through his nose and removed his mask and fool’s cap with one hand, while his other hand took the proffered flask.
“You really should go lie down. Even with my clouded vision, the sheets have more colour than you.”
“Oh, so this is how it is,” Sarmenti huffed, giving the much taller man an annoyed glance—the light in his eyes glinting like the flat polished sheen of his sickle and dirk—that would have made lesser men step back from him. But that sharp gaze did not linger; instead, they shifted away to focus on the opened flask nursed in his hands.
“The lofty king dismissing an underling. Tsch. I should have known that you did not mean anything of the sort—”
“Sarmenti.”
It was unfair, how there was something in Baldwin’s gentle voice—in that simple, straightforward murmur—that sent his anger slinking off back into the shadows, as if a torch had been kindled in the vast night that was his being. He found himself blinking, feeling a blaze rise from his neck to his cheeks.
‘This is ridiculous.’ He thought, tipping the contents of the flattened bottle down his throat; he coughed and spluttered after when he almost accidentally choked. There was a firm, kind hand patting his back and he leaned into it, not minding the physical contact. When that bout passed and he finally managed to catch his breath, he winced and handed back the empty flask— his face was expressionless, as if all his secrets had been stuffed away.
“Better?” Baldwin rumbled, having settled to sit the jester’s side earlier. He placed the bottle aside, next to where he’d set his own mask.
“Of course, should I be otherwise?”
The expressed words were colloquial, conversational; the tone could have been considered mild even, in spite of the scoff it was expressed in. On the surface, it would have been taken as a hint that the conversation was over with nothing more to be discussed.
In a sense, he should let it go at that. Truthfully, what deeper feelings and thoughts lurked beneath the outward veneer of grating hauteur and outbursts of delirious mania was none of his business. If the jester saw fit that his personal miseries were best left unspoken, he should simply accept that assertion.
After all, the core of the matter was simple: it was all about trust.
However, after having to live and work together from their time in the squalid hamlet, each had come to know the other beyond at first face impressions. Or perhaps it was his nature as a poet to try and see beauty in people; by the extension the world as well, despite there not being any obvious outward appearance of such worth or value.
Sentimentalism: his besetting sin – as he had been accused of by his treasonous courtiers.
Thus, murky storm blue eyes observed the deceptively languid man; tracing along the line of the jester’s profile as though studying a painting completed by a master painter – waiting patiently for the other to talk, knowing that he had more to share, trusting that he would.
“I don’t suppose you are regretting this,” Sarmenti muttered, gesturing with a hand at their surroundings and themselves. “So much for having a night together while the world burns, don’t you think?”
“Would you believe it if my answer was, no?”
At that, the jester turned to face him properly; without the cap and mask that obscured his appearance in the day, and bathed by the silver light of the moon: —
Sarmenti’s hair was tangled, ragged as if he had hacked it short using a knife without the benefit of a mirror. His face was wan and haggard from fatigue; it did not help that he always had a thin visage – cheekbones sharp, and his jaw going prominent. Yet, he curved his hardship-tinned mouth into a smile—matching his bloodshot and haunted eyes that gave Baldwin a clear, and level gaze.
He extended a hand; both of them pretending that it did not tremble, just a little, as the leper reached to take it.
Baldwin noted how light and fragile it felt in his, as if the jester’s bones were as hollow as a bird’s, but the latter’s grip was still strong and warm.
“I do,” came the quiet admission that was breathed out with a chuckle, “just as I would believe it if your eyes once reflected the lives of countless people. That your sword swung with the intent to be a shield for your people, from the hard wind and rain of life once.”
The smile turned more genuine, and Baldwin could almost visualise how different Sarmenti would have looked had life turned out as it ought to have: eyes alight and sparkling with charming mischief beneath a fan of lashes, his lush, glossy hair as deep as night, riotously tousled yet framing the delicate impish perfection of his face, all while a precious smile danced on sly lips.
But above all that—the most important of all—
‘His skin would never have become a patchwork of scars. Neither would the thought of willingly suffering worse injury for the receiver of his amorous affections come to mind so easily; as if such a thing was natural.’
He was stunned out of his thoughts without warning; the leper did not hear or notice the other slip his hand out of his hold—blinking when he felt the jester press their lips against his own marred ones together in a soft kiss.
Sarmenti had moved from where he’d been seated to straddle his legs on either side of the other, his arms drawing them both close in an embrace, such that the side of his head now rested on a broad, armoured chest. The jester nuzzled against his shoulder, his body vibrating from stifled laughter.
“You seem to be surprised by this development,” he purred lightly; the smooth lilt of his voice, coupled with the comforting warmth of his touch, brought to life sensation in the leper’s skin that he’d believed to have died away a long time ago.
“Sarmenti…” he started hoarsely, gazing at the glittering eyes framed by elegant long lashes and creased in amused crescents, “you are alright with this?”
That question earned him a beguiling smile and the gentle press of a palm against his chest, over where his heart drummed away against his ribs. “If I wasn’t, I would have sliced your hands off in a blink.”
To that statement, Baldwin could only shake his head and laugh. He placed a gentle kiss on smiling lips, “I appreciate your candour, truly.” He replied, as his thumb brushed over a sharp cheek.
“Mn…as I value your generosity that is as radiant as the sun.”
“Said as if the moon is not unique and unparalleled in its allure against the backdrop of night.” He murmured, unconsciously stroking the other’s back. The leper took in a deep breath, and then let it out slowly, “there is no shame to be had in the coldness or distance to your smiles and manners.”
‘Like the moon that is beautiful and fair, yet detached. As a person, your disposition is like the moon: having many phases but ultimately still the same.’
“Flatterer.” Sarmenti scoffed, though his voice light as if he was teasing the other. Nonetheless, Baldwin could hear the edge of a silent reproach, and feel an expectant gaze beneath it. “But you do have a knack for dealing the decisive blow when you successfully land your strikes.”
“No thanks to your fleet-footed skill in making it much easier for me to do so.”
“Heh. How very kind of you to say that.”
“I mean it,” the leper answered plainly, gazing unflinchingly at the eyes that searched his with close scrutiny. The jester’s arms were folded, resting on his chest; the thin, wiry man having shifted so that he could touch the scarred, withered face of the other, and tilt it such that they looked at each other in the eye.
“I know.” Sarmenti whispered, the smile gracing his lips resembling the passing sweet-tempered breeze that rustled the slowly drying leaves in fall. “You always have been one who is more honest than most, even to yourself.”
“Now who is the flatterer?” Baldwin rumbled, brushing his thumb across the other’s cheek as if he was wiping away a tear, and hummed. “By that standard, I’d still be amongst my people, and not here. I would neither have the mask over my scarred face for most of the time.” He paused before continuing in a hushed sigh, “nor would I be unwilling to relinquish the one I love when reality says that they are at death’s door.”
He took the jester’s left hand from his face; eyes lingering on the missing tip of the pinky finger for a few seconds, before pressing it to his lips.
“Your hand is shaking.” Sarmenti commented, still smiling, but without mockery or cynicism.
“Yes,” Baldwin admitted before pressing a kiss to the other’s forehead tenderly. “Perhaps in reverence for the lethal dagger of a person that you are, slender and deadly; the rose and its thorns altogether.”
Sarmenti gave him a playful pout before pressing his body closer; he pressed his face to the bandage wrapped neck and gave a slow kiss to the other’s jaw, making a quiet sound when the hands that held him pulled him closer and tighter. The jester wrapped his arms around the leper’s neck, clinging to him as their lips brushed against each other.
For a passing moment, Sarmenti realized that he did not mind this; as if what was left of the prickly walls that was his usual apprehension and defensiveness towards prolonged physical contact had lowered, and given way at Baldwin’s touch. He gazed into the murky storm blue of the other’s eyes and found no contempt or derisive triumph at having ensnared a prize—
There was only the infinite, vast sky which enveloped everything in its encompassing embrace—for all good or ill.
“Some would say that the rose is all the more appreciated without its thorns.”
“Ah, but are all flowers born to please human eyes and their need to contain them in artificial arrangements?” came the response in a question. “Peerless beauties and those with extraordinary talent do not exist to please or serve others, nor are they meant to be caged playthings of those with power.”
“You are terribly confident that I would not turn my blades on you, given what has been brought to light regarding my past from those shrines.”
“My dear fool, what makes you think that I would not consider it an honour?”
Baldwin laughed at the stare he received, but stopped when the other took his hand and entwined their fingers.
“Sarmenti,” he murmured, framing the jester’s face with his free hand, “all flowers are doomed to fall and fade into mud; yet it is in their season that they are the most brilliant sight to behold. That is what people remember and look forward to seeing once again.”
There was a short pause, and it was the jester’s turn to wait patiently for the leper to continue speaking. Trusting that he would. Sarmenti leaned into the hand against his face, so that he could look Baldwin in the eye, so that the leper could see—feel—how much every word he said meant to him.
“Likewise, for their gorgeous furs, foxes and mink are adored and praised; for that same quality they are often subject to cruel hunts. It is the need to possess what is deemed desirable, that beauty becomes cast as evil—as sin.”
[You are not to blame; the fault lies not with you for the abuse and mistreatment you suffered.]
Sarmenti blinked and he felt a half-smile flow across his lips; it was imperfect—full of conflicted emotion, and without all the practiced warmth or mirth he knew he was capable of—but he knew it was the most beautiful and real smile that came from the depths of his heart.
“Yes, how very like you to deliver the final blow at the crux of the matter…” His voice trailed off into a soft chuckle, “and to see it for what it is as well.”
“For every act, a consequence.”
“Mn…who but you would simply condense it down to a simple sentence of five words.” The jester softly laughed; and with just that—
Their lips met together in a tender kiss; a slow, passionate one that spoke of their affection and desire for each other without the need for words. When they drew away to breathe; both their foreheads were pressed against each other, their eyes expressing for them their deepest desires and wants.
“Let’s stay together tonight,” Sarmenti whispered. “We’ll exist in each other.” The curve of his lips was affectionate and sly all at once.
Finally, as though having overcome something within him that had rendered him immobile—Baldwin returned the smile and framed the other’s face with his hands.
“It is a gift, to love one such as you.”