(no subject)
Title: Because He's the Goddamn Liberator
Fandom: Infinite Undiscovery
Characters/Pairings: Sigmund/Edward
Genre: General, Drama, ...ah, what the hell. Nearly porn.
Rating: Uh...R, just to be safe. Not like it matters.
Summary: -WARNING- Spoilers, but that's pretty much a standard with my stuff. ...pretty much someone's lusting after someone, but it's not from the POV you'd think. Also, the title has nothing to do with the story.
It was not often that Edward made himself scarce without alerting Sigmund first. So when the Liberator lifted his head and discovered that Edward was nowhere to be seen about camp, the light panic bubbling up in his chest was perfectly understandable. Eugene reported Edward offering to fetch firewood, and Sigmund relaxed marginally.
That is, until he heard it had been nearly an hour ago.
Balbagan offered to go drag Ed back to camp, but Sigmund silenced him with a sharp shake of his head and told him flatly that he would retrieve Edward. With his back turned, he didn't see the exasperated glances exchanged between he, Genma and Eugene.
It didn't take much searching to Edward, but it did take a fair amount of skill to keep himself from being noticed when he nearly stumbled upon a scene which he was most certainly not intended to bear witness. It had been instinctual; duck, turn, press his back against his tree before the moonlight could flash off of his armor. Somewhere behind him, Edward let out a low moan.
Sigmund twitched.
There was hushed movement; the soft, muffled crush of leaves beneath a boot, the scrape of armor against the bark of a tree and then another one of those moans, choked off at the end and stuttering breath following shortly there after. If Sigmund closed his eyes, he could almost see it. Edward with a hand down his pants, fingers curled and clutching at tree bark, head thrown back, dark hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead -it was unbearably humid out this night- lips trembling as he panted. His stomach and chest would rise and fall, rise and fall, unsteady like the beat an amateur drum.
...Veros.
Sigmund shuddered when Edward moaned again, louder this time, his voice rougher and lower than before. It was nearly a sound of pain, but even having never heard Edward make these sounds before Sigmund knows that he's close, that he's slowing down so that he can relish it. The whisper of movement stops behind him and there's only harsh panting, the occasional whimper. Edward's dragging it out.
Sigmund moves his lips in a soundless curse, fingers twitching, and he presses his hands against the bark to keep himself from moving. Why he had such a powerful urge to do so...he didn't know. But sooner or later he would have to. Should he wait until Edward leaves? But surely he'd be distraught, knowing that Sigmund wasn't there upon his return. Should he circle about and make some noise, pretending to search for Edward? No, Edward wasn't stupid, he'd know Sigmund would never tromp through the woods like that. Not to mention he had a little...problem.
Edward's breath stuttered and Sigmund's did the same, and the hiss of movement began again and Sigmund arched; his armor scraped barely against the tree bark and he froze, holding his breath. Edward continued; he had not heard.
Sigmund bit down on the inside of his cheek as Edward's whimpers became groans, and from there morphed into nearly a continuous sound. He screwed his eyes shut, cursing himself; this was- perverse, childish of him, undignified, behavior disgraceful for man of his status and nature and...dear Veros and moon and everything above the world and below it was the most arousing thing he'd ever done.
One of Edward's whispers sounded odd; like a word. Sigmund strained to hear. "L-nnnnh- Lord Sigmund-" Edward gasped again, the sound staccato.
Sigmund felt his heart drop into his stomach; was he discovered? Edward had found him, was embarrassed of himself, of Sigmund. He would never look him in the eye again, would slowly distance himself, would raise a professional wall between them until they drifted further and for some reason Sigmund found this unbearable. No, no. No. Edward was always by his side, through thick and thin, he wouldn't-
And then Edward groaned his name....and again, and again until he was chanting it.
Sigmund's eyes widened and his lips pressed together in shock.
Edward was thinking of him as he touched himself.
It- well- Well, in hindsight it wasn't that surprising, but to bear witness to it, to hear it, gods, how...
...flattering.
Edward made a peculiar sound and stammered his name again and this time Sigmund almost shuddered, chin dropping onto his chest. It was nearly painful, and his hand was clutching at his pant leg, shaking. Maybe he wouldn't notice. Maybe...
Before he was fully aware of it, Sigmund was already stroking himself through his pants as Edward behind him, out of sight but so vocal it wasn't even necessary, begged himself to finish it, clutched at the bark and mewled Sigmund's name. And behind another tree, Sigmund screwed his eyes shut, imagined Edward beneath him, making those sounds, his arms around Sigmund's neck and gods what was he doing-
Edward let out a choked scream and Sigmund's fingers tightened before he whipped them away, panting, shaking. No no no no, he couldn't be caught, he couldn't-
There was nothing but Edward's gasps and Sigmund puffing through his nose, panicked, desperately hoping Edward hadn't heard. It was an agonizing moment, but soon Edward adjusted his clothes, sighed, moved through the leaves -gathering his firewood, by the sounds of it- and slowly moved away through the woods. Sigmund waited until all sound around faded back to the background ambiance of the forest.
He would return to camp much later.
------------
It had been difficult to sleep that night; Edward always laid his bedroll near Sigmund's, ever since a surprise attack by some knights of the Order of Chain in the middle of the night and Sigmund had managed to get himself clubbed over the head. From that day onward, Edward insisted on laying his roll outward of Sigmund's, pushing him further into the camp and thus less likely to be surprised. Sigmund had given up the fight without much difficulty; it was easier to let Edward had his way when he was adamant about these things, although he didn't doubt that Edward would have backed down if given an order to do so.
Not that he wanted to do such a thing in the first place.
Regardless, with Edward nearby and Balbagan volunteering for first watch, Sigmund laid himself down to sleep, armor set aside and his heavier clothing folded neatly atop it in favor of something lighter. Everyone had stripped down to the bare minimum tonight, to avoid becoming too drenched with sweat. There really wasn't time to find a settlement and take baths, and no one was particularly fond of bathing in ice-cold rivers and lakes.
Edward had even opted to go shirtless before slipping into bed, and he laid on his stomach, facing outward of the camp. Ever vigilant, even in sleep; Sigmund smiled to himself at the thought. "Good night, Lord Sigmund," Edward told him, voice filled with the same warmth and care, dedication and admiration it always did when he addressed him.
Sigmund imagined him moaning. "Good night, Edward."
Twenty minutes later, Sigmund wasn't even close to rest; the moon was full tonight, so bright and huge in the sky that everything was lit silver-white, not at bright as day but twice as ethereal. Sigmund could clearly see every line of muscle in Edward's powerful back, the curve of his biceps as he pillowed his head on his arms. He was asleep.
Sigmund closed his eyes and suppressed a shiver, rolling onto his side. It didn't help, and everything felt too warm so he discarded his blankets and, a moment after that, his shirt as well. Eugene mumbled something about tossing and turning from across the camp, close to sleep, and Sigmund replied with a cross, "it is too warm to be comfortable." Eugene laughed, made a wayward comment about Sigmund being spoiled before falling silent again, breath evening out.
"I'm not spoiled," Sigmund muttered under his breath, realizing how childish it sounded and thankful that no one had been awake to hear that. Eugene would get his comeuppance soon.
Perhaps he was spoiled. He couldn't keep his eyes from drifting over to Edward, memorizing how the dip of his spine curved down to beneath the blankets at his waist. Sigmund's breath caught at the thought of Edward reaching beneath them, hand shaking, rolling onto his back and clutching his pillow, panting as he touched himself, whispering Sigmund's name and-
Sigmund dropped his face into his pillow -a rolled up blanket- to muffle a quiet groan. This was ridiculous. He was the Liberator, son to the Empress of Halgita, brought up with the finest tutors and the best swordsmen for masters; he'd mastered his art at the age of fourteen, for the sake of Veros. He had discipline, grace, honor, dignity- everything that was expected of him.
You're still seventeen, a small voice whispered in the back of his mind, and Sigmund stubbornly squashed it. Age didn't matter when it came to the tasks set before them, the mission he had to complete. A darker voice murmured that he was an Unblessed, and that if Edward knew he would think twice about following him. Darker still hissed the one about the blood he'd coughed up several weeks before and Eugene's warning with it.
"Be silent," Sigmund snarled under his breath, and buried his face into his pillow again. Thankfully, his mind troubled him no further and after a moment Sigmund lifted his head to breathe again. Idly he reached up to comb his fingers through his hair, halted by his headband before carefully removing it and setting it aside. His bangs fell into his eyes and Sigmund shook his head, laying on his side and facing Edward. Even if he knew...even if he knew, Edward wouldn't leave. Edward's loyalty was boundless. He'd never leave Sigmund's side, never.
Sigmund was counting on that.
He wasn't sure when he'd closed his eyes, but when he opened them again he was not alone in his bed. There was a hand on his hip, and another body close to his. Edward's body close to his.
Sigmund swallowed, eyes wide. What to do? What should course of action should he take? If he moved away Edward would surely wake, and- no. It was not an option. He could feign sleep, and once Edward awoke he would move away of his own accord and they would both pretend that nothing had happened. That was the wisest course of action.
Edward's breath ghosted over his neck and Sigmund shivered, screwing his eyes shut. He could do this. He would-
Oh dear Veros Edward shifted, and now his thigh was between Sigmund's legs. This couldn't stand, Edward would be able to tell. Sigmund had to move away; very, very slowly he inched back. Edward's fingers tightened slightly atop Sigmund's hip and he made a sleepy, displeased sound and Sigmund froze. Was he waking? After a few breathless minutes, Sigmund began to move again-
Only to be thwarted when Edward sighed in his sleep, reached out, wrapped both arms around his waist and drew Sigmund flush against him.
Oh Veros.
Oh moon. Oh kingdoms and skies and earth and whatever else was listening. This was a problem.
Sigmund could wriggle out of Edward's grasp without much trouble, but the force required would certainly wake him. Not to mention that if he moved certain things would become...agitated and apparent and Edward had tucked his face against Sigmund's neck. His breath was puffing over his collarbone, and Sigmund was almost shaking. This was too much, too much, and he had to do something before Edward woke. They could not fall into an awkward place; not as leader and follower, not as comrades in battle, not as...friends.
Yes...Edward was his friend. Wasn't he? The "yes my lord"s didn't mean anything, because they both knew that Edward could choose at any time not to follow an order and that Sigmund would think no less of him. Well, Sigmund knew this...it was another matter entirely if Edward did or not. Sigmund's arm moved beneath him, rising, and his fingers brushed over Edward's hair hesitantly. The swordsman against him made a quiet sound of content and snuggled closer.
Oh damn it.
Edward's skin was warm and smooth and just a bit slick, and Sigmund needed to move very, very quickly. Edward shifted in his sleep -always so restless, even in slumber- and Sigmund stifled a gasp. This was wrong, and...and foul and lords but it felt good. But they didn't have time for this, for indulging themselves in hormone-driven fantasies, didn't have time for...for sex and carnal pleasures and damn it Sigmund had more self-control than this.
Edward had to be woken. Before Sigmund did something he would regret later.
His hand hovered over Edward's shoulder when a thought occurred to him; why would Edward have a problem with it at all? It was an idle thought and Sigmund almost scoffed and discarded it before it struck him again, insistently. Why? Edward had been chanting his name just earlier this evening as he pleasured himself. Why would he be ashamed of Sigmund, disturbed to find that Sigmund was so close to doing the same?
Because it would ruin his image of me, as a powerful leader, Sigmund argued with himself.
Perhaps it was time he became something other than simply that.
Sigmund blinked; he hadn't thought of that. It had been that way for nearly a year; Sigmund was the Liberator, the leader, and his band of followers, protectors, helpers. Friends? Yes, that. Eugene certainly, at least. Genma was more his retainer than anything, Balbagan his "rival," -he was hoping they wouldn't have to fight again, that hammer was a horrible thing to be struck by- and Edward his...what? Right-hand man? Trusted companion?
Perhaps Edward could be something else, too.
"...Lord Sigmund?"
His heart stopped.
"...I..." Edward was drawing away, looking mortified; eyes wide and dark, a deep indigo, their color barely discernible in the moonlight. "Lord Sigmund- I- my apologies-" His voice lifted in volume, panicking when Sigmund didn't respond. "My lord, I was asleep, I had no intention of-"
"Shush," Sigmund told him quickly, touching his fingers to Edward's lips and glancing over his shoulder. Genma and Eugene were still asleep. Balbagan was far off enough to not have heard their whispers. Edward fell silent, whether from shock or simply to obey an order, Sigmund didn't know. By the look on his face, both. After a moment, after listening for the silence of sleep, Sigmund lowered his hand and turned back to Edward, whispering. "It's all right."
Edward sank back in relief at that, though it did not occur to him to move further away. "My apologies. I- I am not sure why I did such a thing. I was asleep."
"I know. It's all right." Sigmund prayed that Edward wouldn't shift his leg.
Apparently Veros abandons the Unblessed in every form possible, because Edward shifted his leg and froze still, eyes widening impossibly further. Goodness but his eyes were large, Sigmund noted vaguely through his mortification. He cleared his throat, awkwardly, and carefully shifted away from Edward's leg. "Good night," he said, and Edward snapped to attention.
"G-Good night, my lord!" Rolling over and flopping back onto his blankets, turned away from Sigmund, Edward committed himself to sleep as if it were an order. Which, technically, it was, and Sigmund was grateful that Edward had taken it as such.
Even if the night was much colder than he remembered it being.
Fandom: Infinite Undiscovery
Characters/Pairings: Sigmund/Edward
Genre: General, Drama, ...ah, what the hell. Nearly porn.
Rating: Uh...R, just to be safe. Not like it matters.
Summary: -WARNING- Spoilers, but that's pretty much a standard with my stuff. ...pretty much someone's lusting after someone, but it's not from the POV you'd think. Also, the title has nothing to do with the story.
It was not often that Edward made himself scarce without alerting Sigmund first. So when the Liberator lifted his head and discovered that Edward was nowhere to be seen about camp, the light panic bubbling up in his chest was perfectly understandable. Eugene reported Edward offering to fetch firewood, and Sigmund relaxed marginally.
That is, until he heard it had been nearly an hour ago.
Balbagan offered to go drag Ed back to camp, but Sigmund silenced him with a sharp shake of his head and told him flatly that he would retrieve Edward. With his back turned, he didn't see the exasperated glances exchanged between he, Genma and Eugene.
It didn't take much searching to Edward, but it did take a fair amount of skill to keep himself from being noticed when he nearly stumbled upon a scene which he was most certainly not intended to bear witness. It had been instinctual; duck, turn, press his back against his tree before the moonlight could flash off of his armor. Somewhere behind him, Edward let out a low moan.
Sigmund twitched.
There was hushed movement; the soft, muffled crush of leaves beneath a boot, the scrape of armor against the bark of a tree and then another one of those moans, choked off at the end and stuttering breath following shortly there after. If Sigmund closed his eyes, he could almost see it. Edward with a hand down his pants, fingers curled and clutching at tree bark, head thrown back, dark hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead -it was unbearably humid out this night- lips trembling as he panted. His stomach and chest would rise and fall, rise and fall, unsteady like the beat an amateur drum.
...Veros.
Sigmund shuddered when Edward moaned again, louder this time, his voice rougher and lower than before. It was nearly a sound of pain, but even having never heard Edward make these sounds before Sigmund knows that he's close, that he's slowing down so that he can relish it. The whisper of movement stops behind him and there's only harsh panting, the occasional whimper. Edward's dragging it out.
Sigmund moves his lips in a soundless curse, fingers twitching, and he presses his hands against the bark to keep himself from moving. Why he had such a powerful urge to do so...he didn't know. But sooner or later he would have to. Should he wait until Edward leaves? But surely he'd be distraught, knowing that Sigmund wasn't there upon his return. Should he circle about and make some noise, pretending to search for Edward? No, Edward wasn't stupid, he'd know Sigmund would never tromp through the woods like that. Not to mention he had a little...problem.
Edward's breath stuttered and Sigmund's did the same, and the hiss of movement began again and Sigmund arched; his armor scraped barely against the tree bark and he froze, holding his breath. Edward continued; he had not heard.
Sigmund bit down on the inside of his cheek as Edward's whimpers became groans, and from there morphed into nearly a continuous sound. He screwed his eyes shut, cursing himself; this was- perverse, childish of him, undignified, behavior disgraceful for man of his status and nature and...dear Veros and moon and everything above the world and below it was the most arousing thing he'd ever done.
One of Edward's whispers sounded odd; like a word. Sigmund strained to hear. "L-nnnnh- Lord Sigmund-" Edward gasped again, the sound staccato.
Sigmund felt his heart drop into his stomach; was he discovered? Edward had found him, was embarrassed of himself, of Sigmund. He would never look him in the eye again, would slowly distance himself, would raise a professional wall between them until they drifted further and for some reason Sigmund found this unbearable. No, no. No. Edward was always by his side, through thick and thin, he wouldn't-
And then Edward groaned his name....and again, and again until he was chanting it.
Sigmund's eyes widened and his lips pressed together in shock.
Edward was thinking of him as he touched himself.
It- well- Well, in hindsight it wasn't that surprising, but to bear witness to it, to hear it, gods, how...
...flattering.
Edward made a peculiar sound and stammered his name again and this time Sigmund almost shuddered, chin dropping onto his chest. It was nearly painful, and his hand was clutching at his pant leg, shaking. Maybe he wouldn't notice. Maybe...
Before he was fully aware of it, Sigmund was already stroking himself through his pants as Edward behind him, out of sight but so vocal it wasn't even necessary, begged himself to finish it, clutched at the bark and mewled Sigmund's name. And behind another tree, Sigmund screwed his eyes shut, imagined Edward beneath him, making those sounds, his arms around Sigmund's neck and gods what was he doing-
Edward let out a choked scream and Sigmund's fingers tightened before he whipped them away, panting, shaking. No no no no, he couldn't be caught, he couldn't-
There was nothing but Edward's gasps and Sigmund puffing through his nose, panicked, desperately hoping Edward hadn't heard. It was an agonizing moment, but soon Edward adjusted his clothes, sighed, moved through the leaves -gathering his firewood, by the sounds of it- and slowly moved away through the woods. Sigmund waited until all sound around faded back to the background ambiance of the forest.
He would return to camp much later.
------------
It had been difficult to sleep that night; Edward always laid his bedroll near Sigmund's, ever since a surprise attack by some knights of the Order of Chain in the middle of the night and Sigmund had managed to get himself clubbed over the head. From that day onward, Edward insisted on laying his roll outward of Sigmund's, pushing him further into the camp and thus less likely to be surprised. Sigmund had given up the fight without much difficulty; it was easier to let Edward had his way when he was adamant about these things, although he didn't doubt that Edward would have backed down if given an order to do so.
Not that he wanted to do such a thing in the first place.
Regardless, with Edward nearby and Balbagan volunteering for first watch, Sigmund laid himself down to sleep, armor set aside and his heavier clothing folded neatly atop it in favor of something lighter. Everyone had stripped down to the bare minimum tonight, to avoid becoming too drenched with sweat. There really wasn't time to find a settlement and take baths, and no one was particularly fond of bathing in ice-cold rivers and lakes.
Edward had even opted to go shirtless before slipping into bed, and he laid on his stomach, facing outward of the camp. Ever vigilant, even in sleep; Sigmund smiled to himself at the thought. "Good night, Lord Sigmund," Edward told him, voice filled with the same warmth and care, dedication and admiration it always did when he addressed him.
Sigmund imagined him moaning. "Good night, Edward."
Twenty minutes later, Sigmund wasn't even close to rest; the moon was full tonight, so bright and huge in the sky that everything was lit silver-white, not at bright as day but twice as ethereal. Sigmund could clearly see every line of muscle in Edward's powerful back, the curve of his biceps as he pillowed his head on his arms. He was asleep.
Sigmund closed his eyes and suppressed a shiver, rolling onto his side. It didn't help, and everything felt too warm so he discarded his blankets and, a moment after that, his shirt as well. Eugene mumbled something about tossing and turning from across the camp, close to sleep, and Sigmund replied with a cross, "it is too warm to be comfortable." Eugene laughed, made a wayward comment about Sigmund being spoiled before falling silent again, breath evening out.
"I'm not spoiled," Sigmund muttered under his breath, realizing how childish it sounded and thankful that no one had been awake to hear that. Eugene would get his comeuppance soon.
Perhaps he was spoiled. He couldn't keep his eyes from drifting over to Edward, memorizing how the dip of his spine curved down to beneath the blankets at his waist. Sigmund's breath caught at the thought of Edward reaching beneath them, hand shaking, rolling onto his back and clutching his pillow, panting as he touched himself, whispering Sigmund's name and-
Sigmund dropped his face into his pillow -a rolled up blanket- to muffle a quiet groan. This was ridiculous. He was the Liberator, son to the Empress of Halgita, brought up with the finest tutors and the best swordsmen for masters; he'd mastered his art at the age of fourteen, for the sake of Veros. He had discipline, grace, honor, dignity- everything that was expected of him.
You're still seventeen, a small voice whispered in the back of his mind, and Sigmund stubbornly squashed it. Age didn't matter when it came to the tasks set before them, the mission he had to complete. A darker voice murmured that he was an Unblessed, and that if Edward knew he would think twice about following him. Darker still hissed the one about the blood he'd coughed up several weeks before and Eugene's warning with it.
"Be silent," Sigmund snarled under his breath, and buried his face into his pillow again. Thankfully, his mind troubled him no further and after a moment Sigmund lifted his head to breathe again. Idly he reached up to comb his fingers through his hair, halted by his headband before carefully removing it and setting it aside. His bangs fell into his eyes and Sigmund shook his head, laying on his side and facing Edward. Even if he knew...even if he knew, Edward wouldn't leave. Edward's loyalty was boundless. He'd never leave Sigmund's side, never.
Sigmund was counting on that.
He wasn't sure when he'd closed his eyes, but when he opened them again he was not alone in his bed. There was a hand on his hip, and another body close to his. Edward's body close to his.
Sigmund swallowed, eyes wide. What to do? What should course of action should he take? If he moved away Edward would surely wake, and- no. It was not an option. He could feign sleep, and once Edward awoke he would move away of his own accord and they would both pretend that nothing had happened. That was the wisest course of action.
Edward's breath ghosted over his neck and Sigmund shivered, screwing his eyes shut. He could do this. He would-
Oh dear Veros Edward shifted, and now his thigh was between Sigmund's legs. This couldn't stand, Edward would be able to tell. Sigmund had to move away; very, very slowly he inched back. Edward's fingers tightened slightly atop Sigmund's hip and he made a sleepy, displeased sound and Sigmund froze. Was he waking? After a few breathless minutes, Sigmund began to move again-
Only to be thwarted when Edward sighed in his sleep, reached out, wrapped both arms around his waist and drew Sigmund flush against him.
Oh Veros.
Oh moon. Oh kingdoms and skies and earth and whatever else was listening. This was a problem.
Sigmund could wriggle out of Edward's grasp without much trouble, but the force required would certainly wake him. Not to mention that if he moved certain things would become...agitated and apparent and Edward had tucked his face against Sigmund's neck. His breath was puffing over his collarbone, and Sigmund was almost shaking. This was too much, too much, and he had to do something before Edward woke. They could not fall into an awkward place; not as leader and follower, not as comrades in battle, not as...friends.
Yes...Edward was his friend. Wasn't he? The "yes my lord"s didn't mean anything, because they both knew that Edward could choose at any time not to follow an order and that Sigmund would think no less of him. Well, Sigmund knew this...it was another matter entirely if Edward did or not. Sigmund's arm moved beneath him, rising, and his fingers brushed over Edward's hair hesitantly. The swordsman against him made a quiet sound of content and snuggled closer.
Oh damn it.
Edward's skin was warm and smooth and just a bit slick, and Sigmund needed to move very, very quickly. Edward shifted in his sleep -always so restless, even in slumber- and Sigmund stifled a gasp. This was wrong, and...and foul and lords but it felt good. But they didn't have time for this, for indulging themselves in hormone-driven fantasies, didn't have time for...for sex and carnal pleasures and damn it Sigmund had more self-control than this.
Edward had to be woken. Before Sigmund did something he would regret later.
His hand hovered over Edward's shoulder when a thought occurred to him; why would Edward have a problem with it at all? It was an idle thought and Sigmund almost scoffed and discarded it before it struck him again, insistently. Why? Edward had been chanting his name just earlier this evening as he pleasured himself. Why would he be ashamed of Sigmund, disturbed to find that Sigmund was so close to doing the same?
Because it would ruin his image of me, as a powerful leader, Sigmund argued with himself.
Perhaps it was time he became something other than simply that.
Sigmund blinked; he hadn't thought of that. It had been that way for nearly a year; Sigmund was the Liberator, the leader, and his band of followers, protectors, helpers. Friends? Yes, that. Eugene certainly, at least. Genma was more his retainer than anything, Balbagan his "rival," -he was hoping they wouldn't have to fight again, that hammer was a horrible thing to be struck by- and Edward his...what? Right-hand man? Trusted companion?
Perhaps Edward could be something else, too.
"...Lord Sigmund?"
His heart stopped.
"...I..." Edward was drawing away, looking mortified; eyes wide and dark, a deep indigo, their color barely discernible in the moonlight. "Lord Sigmund- I- my apologies-" His voice lifted in volume, panicking when Sigmund didn't respond. "My lord, I was asleep, I had no intention of-"
"Shush," Sigmund told him quickly, touching his fingers to Edward's lips and glancing over his shoulder. Genma and Eugene were still asleep. Balbagan was far off enough to not have heard their whispers. Edward fell silent, whether from shock or simply to obey an order, Sigmund didn't know. By the look on his face, both. After a moment, after listening for the silence of sleep, Sigmund lowered his hand and turned back to Edward, whispering. "It's all right."
Edward sank back in relief at that, though it did not occur to him to move further away. "My apologies. I- I am not sure why I did such a thing. I was asleep."
"I know. It's all right." Sigmund prayed that Edward wouldn't shift his leg.
Apparently Veros abandons the Unblessed in every form possible, because Edward shifted his leg and froze still, eyes widening impossibly further. Goodness but his eyes were large, Sigmund noted vaguely through his mortification. He cleared his throat, awkwardly, and carefully shifted away from Edward's leg. "Good night," he said, and Edward snapped to attention.
"G-Good night, my lord!" Rolling over and flopping back onto his blankets, turned away from Sigmund, Edward committed himself to sleep as if it were an order. Which, technically, it was, and Sigmund was grateful that Edward had taken it as such.
Even if the night was much colder than he remembered it being.