The coffee is growing cold. It will be too sweet if you try to taste it. It is to be avoided now. Avoided now? This will not be hard, ami. Do you even notice the coffee? The food brought to us sometime between the last kiss and the new one. The new one. The current one. The one rivaling the fire in the hearth. As it has since I began it.
     You have not kissed so much in all your years you said? This is a pity. With a mouth such as yours. And I have become greedy with it. But very well, love, I shall stop. Afterall, I am the one who needs to breathe...
     My hand reaches up to skim your cheek, and the living blush upon, as you would say, unliving lips. But you are alive, Eduard. You are alive. You live in these eyes. In this heart. By these hands and this skin. Closing my eyes, I lean in, mouth brushing a closing eyelid. And I murmur there, "How would you like to spend this evening, ami..." As we have the last? Making love and reading and talking. "Shall we head down the mountain tonight...?"

     And outside... down the snowy road... can you hear the sound, Edward? Of the approaching heavy car? A land rover most likely. The return of Georg? The headlamps reflect off of the snow, bouncing like spectral meteorites. Do they reflect off of the undraped windows, frosted over though they are? From the back of the house, the sound of Ylsa in the kitchen. And where is Stefan?

     Under your lips, Edward's lid wrinkles faintly. Not at your touch, but something else in the senses. "Actually, a few runs would be good, ami, hmm? Get the blood going -- "
     I can't ignore it.
     Edward sighs a little, his hands at your elbows. A gentle hug. But his brown eyes open at the stimuli from outside. It is a car. Christ. You can feel him sag against you.
     "If we're lucky," he kisses your cheek, "...it's the Alpine Rangers, wondering if we're alright, as they are expecting another two feet of snow." At least then, they can be sent on their way. But of course, things never go like that.
     The inhale is quick. Edward's fingers come up to stick in your ear, and his voice bellows, "Ylsa! Someone's coming!"

     I laugh. And it is loud in my ears -- you have stopped them -- and so my laughter drowns out even your voice to me. And my chuckle of, "Ami..." It echoes. It quite nearly echoes. What does this say for what is in between my ears? I am afraid to ask, ami...

     Ylsa comes out of the kitchen. Though she is wearing an apron, her platinum hair is otherwise undone. She looks... beautiful really. Something more of forty... and less sixty. What is it about buns and aprons that can age a woman? She moves to the front door easily, then to the windows. "I will get Stefan... " is all she says and she turns with a smile. Fond for you. Fond for your Valan. She is horrendously maternal, and has adopted you both now. You can hear her, Edward, as she steps into a drawing room, and then into a wood room, mostly for storing and drying firewood. And you hear her: Stefan! There's a car up the drive! Mind the wolves... I don't recognize the vehicle...
     Of course she wouldn't. It is rented. And it moves steadily and slowly up the curving mountainous drive, pulling toward the house. Nearing it. Quite near in fact. And Freya and Loki are up and watching upon the porch, and the unnamed wolves, Georg's familiars as they are known, follow it in silence.

     Valan turns, sitting up. Dressed in a fine sweater that fits him closely. It shows him off like a tiger's eye gem, its golden brown drawing out more of the amber to his eyes. His corduroy are black, whispering as he shifts. "It will be a brilliant run," he says, in English. Learning and learning, is he not? His accent is yet heavy on the words. And probably always will be.

     "Mmhmm," Edward grins, letting your poor ears go. In brown corduroy and white, he looks the picture of a Confederation native. "You should lead us down this time, ami. Pick a path," he nods, kissing your warm cheek again before he pushes up to stand. You...may sit. No reason for your comfort to be disturbed. Edward's hand touches your shoulder, conveying such, but he moves around you to head towards the other room and the door.
     "We should try the new skis," he murmurs, noting quickly. At a side table, he opens a drawer and quickly fishes out a weapon. A glance at it, and he leans against the doorfacing between the parlor and foyer, glancing to see Stefan approach. Hands fold with the 9mm behind his back, and Edward takes a casual stance.

     Outside, the land rover pulls up and stops. The lights dim... but no one bounds out of it. No, this is someone who knows about Georg's sentries. A window lowers as Stefan approaches the car. And from your window view, Edward, you see him signal the wolves. It is a friend. And Freya and Loki plop back down upon the porch. From alertness to comfort in sixty seconds...
     And do you see Stefan smile and signal for them to come out. Come out, the house is always open to you! And do you hear Ylsa leave through the side door... pulling on a coat. Whoever it is... it is welcomed. And then you hear her. William Plantagenet. Said as women often do... upon a sigh or a cry -- and nothing in between.
     Afterwards you see what must be him, stepping out of the driver's seat. Dressed in white, like some covert military ski patrol officer -- ski gear and jacket on. Layers and layers. And you could not mistake the smile. That smile. Yes, that one. And a handshake for Stefan, and a hug for Ylsa. A gloved hand to her cheek, like a king. His cheeks red with the touch of frost and the breath that freezes in his speaking and in his laughter.
     And with him. Yes... with him. Someone far more golden on the passenger's side.

     "Who is it?" The voice of your Valan, warmly. Warmly like the lover he is. Standing as he did, when you moved away. When you moved to take position by the window. So many visitors for a mountain hideaway! And in such weather...
     Amazing...
     But I smile, how can I not? To see you so protective of our privacy and safety. Ah... in the arms of a knight, Valan. You shall never have to worry again...

     He'd moved in enough to get a viewing out of the open door. Staring, staring... a dip of his chin to see into the darkness.
     Oh. Oh! Edward shakes his head, recognizion, confusion, then instant clarification. Holy shit. He took me up on that offer.
     "Well," the weapon lowers and Edward twists to put it back into the drawer, "...more friends, really," he smiles, stating it too simply. Edward's entire stance changes, and once the 9mm is put away, his hand extends to you to join him. "It's...cos," he murmurs, pointing outside. You recognize him, don't you? "Looks like he's visiting. I'd ... mentioned to him that maybe he should join us for a ski," Edward shrugs softly, "I guess he decided to..."

     Wolves? As if. Ian only smirked at the telling of that tale. Nice sentries, really, unless someone shows up who has a way with animals. Like me.
     "Oh, we're here," he smiles, still in his seat as you turned off the lights. "This is nice," Ian nods, watching the servants come out and greet. But until you have finished with opening statements, he remains in his seat, only unbuckling the belt and letting his indigo jacket open. Beneath, white woolen slacks and wool turtleneck with ivory boots beneath the slacks' hem.

     Your hand is taken, Edward, and fingers are given a squeeze. Warm, living his hand. And warm he finds yours in reply. Leaning in, his mouth is near your ear... and with a slight turn of his head, Valan may see outside and to the ones who have arrived. Eyes narrow, trying to make sense out of the shapes in the darkness. His eyes are not as acute as yours. Ah! The one in white . "Your cousin with the cigarettes..." A pause. "It looks as if he has brought someone with him, that is good... and... weren't you trying to forget about him, ami?" A soft laugh. "You try to forget and then you invite him to the mountain..." Silly creature, I love you. A touch lands upon your shoulder then and a kiss against your ear. I love you is murmured there. "They have come on a good night... fresh snow... and we ... out of our bed and thinking of skiing. He has good timing, yes?"
     If he only knew...

     Outside, the passenger door is opened, and the tall and broad vision in white bending there. "Coming?" The warm laughter brings with it freezing air and suspended icicles. "I cannot introduce you, if you stay in the car, amours..." And then there is his hand. Large, gloved in white, the palm pad black. Offered to you, like the hand of a lord to his Prized One. Let me show you off. It is my chief form of entertainment, second to ... entertaining you. William's mouth upturns at the corners, and dark eyes are blue and dark as the sky above. Brilliant, star flecked. As above, so below.

     "Oh, alright," Ian mock-laments, taking the hand he's held for so long. He smirks and swings himself from his seat, taking the step on the running-board before landing onto the snow. "Soft," he murmurs, maybe it's new..." His grey eyes look down, the indigo jacket muting the brilliance of what he wears beneath.
     "Who are the servants?" he whispers in your ear, twisting to see who is handling the bags and the lovely chalet ahead. He should not want to get their names incorrect.

     Edward's brow slants as mention of trying to forget is made. Yeah, well . "Apparently, I'm no good at losing relos," he murmurs, smiling after, arm snaking around you. "Impeccable timing, eh?" he both says and snorts off, grinning as Edward moves you both out of doors and onto the porch.
     "How now, Lord William," Edward shouts as you cross the doorway, "...and...Lord Dunross," he smiles, seeing the fairer head at the passenger door. "Welcome to Georg's Den of Fur!"

     "The lovely woman," comes the Occitan, ah... from that mouth... clothed as he is...the words carry a kind of soft regality, "..my love, is Ylsa... serving woman to Georg. She has been with him many years now. And the young man, who is not so young, is Stefan, he is the watchdog of all watchdogs. Good man..." And upon the edges of explanation to you, you hear the language shift modern. An easy transformation. A natural metamorphosis. Introduction of you, gallant upon his lips and carried to them with a smile. Proud. He calls you Earl to them. Giving you title of Scotland and a title fitting the one he should call his spouse. Beneath it you feel what he means: Ah yes... see who I have? He is brilliant. More brilliant than the sun itself. Careful, Dunross, you might wake to find yourself the Count of Poitou...

     Ylsa smiles and curtseys -- a proper greeting to a lord, "A pleasure, Earl... welcome to the chalet... please please... come in, the house is warm. I will put on coffee... have you eaten?" And so the whirlwind of Ylsa begins...
     Stefan's greeting is a simple smile and a bow of his head. "A pleasure, sir. I will tend to your bags and belongings. Please... " Go inside. Get warm. Worry for nothing ...

     And then the bellow. A hand yet in yours, and introductions on the edge of those lips, sensuality's birthplace, William turns and a grin erupts. "How now, Blois!" The famous... and infamous...Plantagenet roar. His free arm goes out. "I see you ordered snow for our arrival... how thoughtful of you, sir..." Brows lift to the one with Blois, however. Haven't we...? But it is not lingered upon. He will wait for the introductions to commence. Half-turning to Ian, William lifts his lover's gloved hand to his mouth. Eyes sparkling, conveying something in the small space between them. And his hand does not free the hand of the golden one with him...

     Even as your hand does not free the golden one you hold, Edward. Valan smiles, a hand lifting. A greeting... and then he remembers... ah, I had better wait for introductions.

     A greeting to him. Ian's smile for the polite servants remains upon his lips, introductions and his own thanks barely complete. Another voice and person to see! Grey eyes sweep between his gallant husband and the pair appearing at the porch. Den of Fur? Ian's lips murmur it, but he does not question. He just chuckles at your humor. Maybe it shall be a fun trip after all. His hand holds yours tightly, and his beauty gleams even in the darkness. Just as a royal consort's should.

     "That's Ian Dunross with him," Edward whispers ever so faintly at you, eyes still ahead in subtle falsity. "William's ... lover. Has been for a long time, ami. Very long. So...not all things are as they appear..." he says evenly. It does happen, such relationships. Such age. And do not be fooled by what you see. They are very real. "He does not come out much, Ian doesn't, so...it's sorta interesting that he's here." Not bad, just that this visit is significant. "He's a little aloof, but...he is a pleasant sort, when you get to know him. You will like him, I hope. Oh...and my cos," he adds, as an afterthought, smirking at the toss of William in there. A squeeze tightens around you, this meeting perhaps more important than the others.

     Are you ready? Your husband's hand tightens around yours. A social visit with your friends. "Do I look okay?" Ian whispers, leaning in close...

     "Yeah, yeah," Edward calls, but only after a moment of quiet. He was distracted. "We were about to head out to the slopes, be glad you found us."

     It is amazing, is it not? That the further one travels from what one once was, the more like oneself one truly becomes. Like William's Regality in a Vacuum. There are no kings left on this earth such as he Almost Was, and with every passing year it shows more clearly. He does not become less Guillaume d'Angevin, Guillaume XI Comte du Poitou, William Plantagenet, Duc du Normandie... but more so. More so because there is nothing like him, and so regality shows itself for what it is. And it is echoed in every motion. In the kiss of his love's hand. In the whisper to him, and with the smile. The same Duke that ever was, undaunted by all the Time that has passed him. He can only seem as he Is.
     A lift and a touch of his gloved hand against his partner's cheek as he leans in. A kiss that, though it is brief and for public consumption, is also without shame. A kiss, love, and see my smile? "Handsome, without compare, beautiful. I like this..." Distraction is spreading. William touches his hand to Ian's indigo. You wear my colors. As easily as you wear me .

     Valan's eyes turned from you to the ones you speak of. Holding there in tri-colored curiosity. Leaning in, though his eyes are still to them and the smile is at the ready for all polite greetings, Valan murmurs, "Oui?" He breathes it. Wonder. Very long. How long? "It... will be an interesting time, I think. Ami. I hope they... like me. I am sure to like them..." Your friends. "They are ... as you..." he barely speaks it. Wondering. Can they, like you, hear so much? You squeeze him and speak of your cousin. And now I am a little nervous. This is important...
     "We have had new snow ... almost every night," says Valan, this time to the group. A smile. Hello.

     Full of smiles, Ylsa is beaming. Heading around the side of the house with a bag, while Stefan moves behind her, more gear in his arms. It appears they will be staying a couple of nights. Or three...

     Edward nods. "They will like you, just as I do," he whispers, nose at your hair. "Just as I do. And yes, they are...as I am." As you may yet become. His eyes close, and for a moment, as you speak politely of snow, Edward reconnects with you. "Just be you," he whispers barely, and yes, for others approach.

     "New snow is good," the radiant one whispers, walking up with his mate. Ian's eyes are almost quicksilver, Valan. Real, as he stands before you, but not so. No one looks at this. Long for this world. It is as if light spontanously flourishes, like an aura, beginning nowhere, but certainly illuminate. He looks no more than nineteen, this young man, but he has landed a Prince, indeed. The royal arm he is attached to is no less real than he.
     "Hello," Ian begins first at the step, "... I'm ... Ian," he tries to say without guile, without fear. But the bond knows it's there. He bobs his head, much a youth with little experience. Just Ian. Aithlen. His hand never leaves Edward's cousin's arm, as if nervous for doing such.

     He can turn out a castle in hours, and the same command that has edged him since that first evening of departure in Scotland lingers about him still. A brief turn, he has to survey it -- Ylsa and Stefan. A nod, barely visible and to himself, and then he is beside you again. Moving to the porch. Whisper heard and shared, "We will go down the mountain tonight," flows the Provencal from his mouth, "...and get cold, and then we will thaw in a nice bed..." Ah you know how it shall end tonight, Earl Dunross. You can feel it. The command that surged against the air, first at the castle, and now here... exertion in physical activity... the conquest of a mountain... and then Plantagenet will be in your bed... carrying on like a proper sovereign. It is foretold in the smile and the look. In the surety you see. The answer to your nervousness and fear. It will be alright, my love. Come with me.
     Even as the first step is reached, and he hears your voice. Do not be afraid, for I am with you. The bond resounds with. Just... be yourself. Just... enjoy it, this life. For I am with you . And his hand closes over Ian's own as the first step is reached.

     "Valan... " the young man says it, drawn out. He is French. He has a tongue not so unlike William's. You can hear the Loire on it, Ian. And the young man smiles to you. He is nervous, and you are so... beautiful. He does not even look at your William yet. "Valan...Montague," he says a bit more formally, but with a grin. "A pleasure to meet you... " Earl... isn't that what Ylsa called you? "We can put off the slopes for a bit, head out all together... after you've had a chance to settle in..." Valan makes the offer. Polite, giving. Your young man is brilliant, Edward. And finally he looks to you, smiling, and then to William. "Hello..." I remember you. Did you bring your cigarettes? Valan begins to unwind from you, Edward, just slightly... as if to stop blocking the doorway.

     "Impeccable timing as always, then... good," William says with a grin, frost hanging upon the air a moment, lingering even as the smile lingers. Even as the grin finds a home in his eyes. No less beautiful than his golden companion. Merely taller and broader and darker. But they make such a pair. "Glad to see I haven't lost my touch..."

     "Not at all, cos," Edward confesses, unravelling from Valan. He too stares at Ian a moment, but familiarity covers such reverie. Quickly enough, he's back to you, William. "Come on," Edward motions within, leaving Valan there with a touch at his back, "...it's nice you both could come," and a smile to Ian. He moves aside to lead everyone within, being Georg's substitute. He'd do this better though. Well, maybe not.

     "Valan Montague," Ian repeats. It does wonders for the memory. He didn't know your cousin was into young men, but at least he picks decently. "It's nice to meet you...Valan," he smiles, well rehearsed. Nice to meet you. Nice...to meet you. Nice to meet...you. Ian tries not to sigh, but instead simply squeezes his companion's hand, grey eyes returning to Edward's motions inside.
     "Thank you," Ian murmurs to Edward, "...we're glad you invited us, aren't we, Will?" he asks you. I hope I'm doing alright. Do I sound like an evil old Ventrue? I'd like to have fun.

     Indigo sparkles and finds no better home than you as you speak. He was looking at you all the while during the introduction and following Edward's own words. And for you, Ian, a smile. Warmth and knowing. And most of all, confidence and love. Be yourself... it is ...alright, amours. For I am here. Sword and shield. And who is to speak...who... against you with me present? The lion at your side. As I love you, I am your safe harbor. And his hand leaves Ian's hand... but not Ian. His same hand skims lightly against the small of his lover's back. And then rests there. Gallantry.
     "Very glad..." William begins at Ian and ends at Edward. "Merci, Edward." A pause and he turns his attention to Valan. A smile. Yes, we have met. I remember you. "Valan... a pleasure..." Again. That is held in the grin. "More...once we are inside. We are going to freeze to death of courtesy..." So sayeth Plantagenet. In that way... only he can.

     Valan chuckles, his laughter coming easily. There is so much power. So much beauty here! I must laugh or I will cry. He steps aside, a hand giving Edward a tug. Continuing the way inside. Feeling the promise of warmth. And the fire that his kiss once outrivaled. Followed, but such...glorious fellows. You and your cousin, who seems like a king, with such easy gallantry. Was he a king, Edward? Even as you were almost a prince? "There is buttered rum," Valan continues, "if you would care for some, I will arrange it..."

     "Oh, they'll see to it, ami," Edward smiles, wanting you to stay nearby. Arm is gentle at your waist, and he glances back to see the other pair. "How was your trip, hmm? There is a front near Grenoble...did you go through it?"

     Ian's hand stays with William's, feeling the reassurance. "Maybe I should see about our things and...change a bit," Ian wonders and asks at the same time. He looks around for the servants, before the conversation gets too deep.

     I want to do something. To work off the jitters, ami. I smile. Does my face look like it will crack? Why do they... affect me so? It is not like it is the king and... the king's beautiful chosen Favorite. It is just...your cousin, and your cousin's lover. It is good to see... ones such as you are... living together. See, it can be done. Can it be done? Valan remains with you. Flush against you. With you, he is in His Space. Another breath and he calms. But his eyes are brilliant, amber and green and brown. His hair styled again in the mod. Beautiful, your Valan. "It was a nasty storm last night... you could not see past the patio... " he adds.

     His hand lingers still at your back, even as he steps within with you. Your soft words. "We will settle in," he murmurs, Provencal sounding so ancient, so sensual in comparison with the modern French that has been dancing upon the frozen air. This tongue... it comes with honey, with fire, with wine. And he smiles, leaning in... a kiss. Yes, in front of these people, Ian Dunross, I am kissing you again . Just a brush of his lips to yours. Do not shrink, my Scottish violet.
     Straightening, William looks upward, his blue-violet eyes taking a quick, studying tour of the chalet's rustic interior. It is like Valhalla Meets Beowulf. Warm, the smile spreads and slow. He removes his gloves and begins at the white ski jacket that covers him. Within the chalet, it is clear to see why white was chosen. How well it sets him off. How like the famed white knight, yes? And his dark hair already black seems deeper somehow, and his eyes even more brilliant. Yes, chosen on purpose, these layers of clothing. Those eyes, Edward, settle after on you. "It wasn't so bad," modern French again, "...but the landing was a bit rough. But after that... clear all the way. Smooth trip..." With William driving? It is no wonder that Ian is somewhat quiet. He is probably saying soft Hail Mary's, thankful to have his life intact.

     Ian smiles, gathering he should stay around instead of seeing to setting up the room as you both would like. He simply keeps up with William, kiss accepted with a smile and grinning shake of his head, and listens as talk of flying turns into driving. "It was eventful," Ian offers politely to Valan, "...but it sounds worse here."
     Grey eyes lift as he enters the foyer and parlor, and he adds, "This is a nice chalet...Edward." Can I say that?

     "It was pretty bad," Edward notes, nodding at you, "...and we're expecting the same continuously for the rest of the week. This front's passing, but that one from Grenoble will be here tomorrow eve," he explains, moving towards the sofas with you against him. "We might not be able to ski later this week, so Valan's gonna lead me out tonight on a trail," he smirks, putting you on the spot with a nudge.
     Arriving at the seats, Edward inhales and looks up, "I can't take credit for Ian, y'know, it's Georg's, but yeah, it's comfy, that's sure." He motions for everyone to have seats, "Go ahead, you guys must be a little tired, huh?" For you, Valan, blanket is moved, so you can retake the seats you shared earlier.

     Now this is a moment I have waited for... ah, for how long? Centuries, William. To be among those I most love -- all together. The same room. I do not care if we are talking about the weather. It doesn't matter. We are... talking. And for two... maybe for three nights... it will be so. I, William Plantagenet, say it shall be so. Ah, if only it were 1183... when my word could be scribed and turned to regional law ...
     And the joy. The tangible joy. It extends from William like visible light. Lives in his eyes. Glistens around him. Turning him into something beyond the usual otherworldly prince. Something horribly human about the smile, the curve of that mouth -- with living hue from a living heart -- upturning with such Understanding as no one living could muster. And if any residue of earlier upset yet remained? It was dashed into nothingness a moment ago.
     William half-turns toward Ian, smile lingering... no, spreading. My beautiful young man. "Are you tired, amours?" he murmurs, his baritone voice languid, intonation smooth. And in the depth of that some... knowledge most familiar. And notice? Is it not obvious? His eyes cannot long leave him, his hand -- one or the other -- can never leave him for long. A skimming touch, again. A look, before he reminds himself of the other he is here to see -- and his...other, a man at that. William waits. Have a seat, love. A hand lifts, raking through black hair, but he shakes his head. "Non, I could take a run. In a bit. We'll probably settle in... " First. Or maybe that's where it will end. Indigo flickers back and forth from Edward to Valan. Then lastly to Ian. "Did you want to do that now...?" he whispers. "Do you want me to help you? I will..." A dutiful husband. Plantagenet. Imagine that.

     Valan looks between them and then to you. A grin spreading. How long did you say? And then, to the smile. Do angels sing when your cousin smiles this way? He is... unreal. They are... unbelievable. Like... sitting across from seraphim. More beautiful than Michelangelo or Leonardo could design. Waking, Valan turns toward Edward even as he settles beside him. The dazzled smile returning. "It is... unreal this place. Like out of a legend. I could anchor here... I have warned Edward..." Gold-green-brown eyes flicker to him, "...that I may never wish to leave it..." And then to Ian. A smile. "There are many rooms... would you like me to show you where they are?" If you want to settle in...

     Bobbing his head a little, Ian confirms what William knows before any other. In truth, he is a little weary. He woke up earlier this evening in order to leave Scotland in a timely fashion. "I do not blame you, Valan," about leaving, and he follows with, "I am weary a little," he notes, "...but maybe a trip to the room would be good," Ian nods at Valan. "But you don't have to come," Ian says softly, as if speaking intimately with William, but clear enough that others may know his mind, "...you should stay and speak with Edward and...Valan may show me to where he wants us," he smiles, standing. He should have never spoken how he felt, for you always know. Voice...is a politeness. "I hope you do not mind," Ian says to Valan and Edward, grey eyes upon them, asking leave of the hosts.

     "Never leave?" Edward smirks, rolling his eyes. I know what that means, ami. Another hug and he looks to the need to rest a bit, indeed expecting Valan to assist the guest. "Sure, sure," Edward murmurs, "...I dunno what room though Ysla and Stefan set the bags," his brown eyes widening at you, wondering whether you know.

     A nod. A smile. And perfect understanding. Held in the eyes and in the smile. Large hands lift and the zipper of the overjacket is pulled downward. A motion, and then the jacket is off. Edward... Ian... both of you know the effort it took to slow the process down. It is done with precise, deliberate intent. And reasonable seconds...long ago ingrained... are counted. Beneath the jacket? A beautiful white sweater, hand-knitted by the finest hands in all Scotland. Beneath it, a black shirt. The pants he wears -- there are layers to this as well. Loose fitting ski pants are of a water resistent fabric, and fit over another pair of pants. Or two. But he seems comfortable and warm. And comfortable within his skin. The regality... remains. Brilliant. Making every motion something of gallantry. He remains standing still, a hand to Ian as he lifts. "I will be up in a bit... unless you beat me to it..." By returning, that is. Half-turning, William slowly veers toward Valan, smile spreading in a slant. "Pick out a big room... a big bed... other than this... I have few needs..." A wink and indigo flickers. Dark. Brilliant. A kiss is left upon Ian's neck. I can't help myself, amours. And even if I could... I would not ...

     Valan smiles warmly, rising even as Ian does. A glance to Edward. I hope you don't mind, ami. "Of course not, Ian... the first night here, I came in, I had rum, I found the sauna and that was it for Valan..." He gives easy comfort. His grace... it is modern, natural. He gestures toward the stairwell and waits for Ian to join him. "There are several to choose from. I am sure that Ylsa had Stefan appoint you well. I will also show you, if you like, where the sauna is downstairs..." Rather than the one that is in the master bedroom.

     He nods, Ian smiling at the kiss left on his throat. A pat at William's arm. "Thanks again, Edward, for having us here," he smiles, moving around the sofas after a last touch of William. Unhidden, our relationship. To William he smiles, "I'm sure they have given us something nice, Will," he shaking his head as color blushes through his fair skin. He chuckles and heads off to follow after Valan, chiming, "Oh, a sauna is nice," he agrees, wondering where that's hidden.

     Edward grins at Ian, "You're welcome," a bit surprised at the reaction. But, perhaps, Edward, it is important . He stands as the young man departs, always polite when someone with grace exits. A wink is sent towards Valan, and Edward's eyes return to you, Prince William.
     A smirk. You're going to say something. Edward retakes his seat, tossing the blanket aside for now. But he can wait. He reaches for his cigarettes as the sofa squeaks softly, tapping the pack at the side of his hand.

     The voices begin to trail off as they ascend the staircase. "Oh... it is... I will show you the sauna after... so, do you get to this part of Europe often, Ian? The slopes have been truly amazing... after you are settled...perhaps tomorrow evening," yes... he does assume. He must ...know then? Valan looks to Ian -- could he help but do this? -- as he ascends the staircase to the second floor. "...we could all take a run..." Such a polite young man. European. French. The name... of former worth -- a merchant house of Italy.

     Downstairs, William finally settles upon the sofa beside you. There is room between you yet for one other. Enough space for him to spread out, as he tends to do. And it has begun. The lordly half-sprawl of long legs. A hand slips into ski pants and takes out his own pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Indigo eyes lift. To find Ian as he moves. To watch him as he leaves. To hear his voice dwindling as distance intervenes. But the Bond is everywhere... that, no distance could separate. "I... really want to thank you for this, Meurelle..." he murmurs. Indigo settles upon you. Palpable. "It was a good thing," he nods and then grins. "And... so... this young man... he was the one I saw you with... at... " Eyes narrow. "What was the name of that club? Nice place..."

     "Mmm," Edward tips his head up, then letting it falls lazily to his shoulder. He stops with his pack, spinning it instead between nimble fingers. "I'm glad you came..." he says, "I wasn't sure if you would. And yeah," his eyes look up too, "...L'Empereur," he reminds. He shrugs, "I haven't gotten rid of him yet." Not that he shall. That much is obvious.
     Now, he moves to open the new pack. "He's great, Will," he nods, voice low as if to give confession. "And...he...knows everything," shoulders heaving in a sigh, "...well," he stiffens, "...everything one can get across without sending someone over the brink in a matter of nights." The pack sounds with the tear of a strip, and Edward casts it aside. A small trinket in such large hands.

     This is serious. And so he holds your attention for a while. Voices have dwindled. Even for him. He studies you. And then... he smiles. It is warm. His entire expression... living in color but beyond living in grandeur ... warmed by it. Eyes leave you, a downsweep of lashes as he lights a cigarette. One of the ones Valan was craving. A flare of cinnamon. A rush of something herbal. Not tobacco. The smile fades, but not for lack of good humor. Merely, for something more of ...purer interest.
     "And he is still upright and in good humor. This bodes well. He... seems very genuine, and he is very lovely. I can see... why you would ...be drawn to him. And care for him. He has a ... way about him. Look, how he and Dunross go up the stairs in pleasant conversation. That... is a talent. Not everyone can do this..." A gesture of his hands, a nod to the pair no longer visible.
     Such large hands. You both, you knights of different times. Down here while your golden lovers are above. It has a nice symmetry to it. William tilts his head. A harmony almost. His eyes lift to you and then toward the ceiling. Really, looking upon the echo of Dunross. How is it that love so old remains so intense? Remains? No, has grown. "You are going to... take him on a journey?" William murmurs, his voice soft inquisition. Wondering. "Someone to walk the Long Road with, brother?"

     It's harder when you put it like that. Edward's face stones a little, he busying himself with retrieving a cigarette. The first of many. He shrugs, not really sure what to say. But the old words come up, slightly off-kilter. Not speaking the real meat of it. "I want him with me, yes," Edward says simply. He wants to talk, but at the same time...there's something sullying about it. Something that ruins the idea. Ah, that dying part.
     Brown eyes shift upstairs instinctively, as if calling his young man. But he will not come, and Edward turns his face back to his pack. Expression of cheer settling into something more serious. After moments, he shrugs. "I don't know, Will." What to do.

     A nod. Non... it is not easy. The birthplace of sensuality, his mouth pulls fire from the brown cigarette and his hand begins what will become the rhythmic flicking of dead ash into a waiting container. His thumbnail, short though it is, flicks against the butt of it. A sharp, precise motion. Well-practiced over the space of a hundred years. William is quiet for a time. "I cannot begin to tell you what it is like, brother, for I have never done it." A pause. "Never even considered it. But... in matters of love, and in matters of the heart...I do know this part of it. I have been on the other side." Indigo settles upon you again as the last of the scented smoke curls upward from his lips, his hand already shifting to bring the cigarette back to his mouth for another inhalation of fire. "I have been... enamored... of an immortal..." There is a small smile at that. Knowing.
     I still am. And somewhere in the chalet there is one who feels the Love so great it cannot be spoken. A love so great all I may do is pull in fire and dare the sun with my next breath. William looks to you again. But he is serious. "I mean to say... I will be happy to listen to you if you wish to speak. But ... I will not sit on the mountain like holy ventrue ..." There.

     Edward smiles gently and waves you off with a few fingers. A cascade. "Maybe later," he exhales loudly, finally lighting that cigarette. "I wanna...see what they're up to and do a bit of skiing before we get all depressive and shit, cos..." he chuckling, returning to his good humor.

     A chuckle and a spreading grin. Such eases out upon a trail of scented smoke. The echo of fire. "Later... I hope I am in my bed and testing the springs... with said immortal..." So easy the humor returns. The grin lives, wicked... curving. In ways that a mortal mouth simply cannot. With the smooth edge of oft-tasted decadence. And upon him? It is a defining, Plantagenet look. "Though... maybe I should take in a run beforehand...I will see how he is feeling..." William looks to you and takes another breath of scented smoke.
     "See what they're up to?" Upstairs you mean? He shrugs and rises, the grin slanting. A tower of a Norman, he is. The cigarette is thereafter extinguished. Yes... a waste. But he can afford the luxury. "Good idea... " A chuckle lingers in his throat, resonates in that broad chest. He does not say why. He doesn't have to. You left a beautiful young mortal man in the company of Ian Dunross? Tsk.

     "Hey," Edward notes, standing with you, "...can you get a few cartons of that for Valan? He loves those things, cos," he putting his pack back into a pocket. He never did smoke one. Ah well. Idle chat for now. Too early for the rest. Just so you know the situation.
     Edward moves around the sofa, leading to find the other pair. "What do you think they're talking about?" he murmurs, foot thudding upon the bottom step. "Oh, nevermind," Edward grins, "I don't think I want to know..."

     "With... or without opium? I am going to guess without..." He is fragile. Ah, how you must love that. The beat of the mortal's heart. The life. He can imagine what it was like for Ian... well... and then he remembers. Ian did not have the luxury of such time to enjoy me. Oh, but if he had. "Of course, I can do that for your Valan," comes the French, inflected Medieval.
     A step upon the stairway and William turns his head, grinning to you. "I do not know, Edward. What do the lovers of knights talk about...?" So nonchalant the tone. You can nearly hear him say it: the length of lances? But it is held unspoken but savored on the tongue. "You have told him... about who you are, Vicomte?" He could easily take the stairs several steps at a time, or in a rush. But William takes his time.

     "I told ya I didn't want to know," Edward smirks, a dawning in his expression. Vicomte. No one calls him such. He twists to see you, but then begins the ritual stomping up the stairs. And a Knight. Hmph . His brows open as he wanders up, thinking about things so rarely thought.
     "Oh..." he says at the top of the stairs, realizing he'd gone silent, "...and yeah...he knows ... about me. You too, cos," Edward says, lips pursing. "That was pretty obvious once he knew about things. And sans opium, huh? I don't want him on that shit...if anything does happen," he smirks, turning the banister to find the right room.

     That does not seem to trouble him. He had not assumed until you spoke it, but Truth is Truth. And in truth, he was not being subtle. "You... didn't tell him the Robin Hood shit did you. It's bad enough I have to watch on telly..." William grins broadly and chases that off with a wink. Hands slip into pockets as he moves upon the landing and along the hallway. He can hear their voices. The two young... beautiful men. "Sans opium... of course. I would not want to be responsible for hooking such a young man to such a thing. And even... should things change..." Like his mortality. "...he will have to have some fortitude. Never you worry..." I will watch out for him.
     And yes, you can feel that Edward. The young man, with your love, has entered the fold of William's long arms. Accepted. Easily. Because you love him. William halts his steps and then turns to the left of the master bedroom. Down here, Blois...

Posted by rowan at February 08, 2001 10:48 PM