Upstairs, there are many chambers -- as if the chalet was built to serve guests constantly rather than one Old Norweigian. Along the upstairs walkway, visible from the parlor below, there is a passage. This passage branches off into hallways -- like spokes around the hub of a wheel, that hub being the parlor and its great hearth. And to the east, another spacious bedroom. Not so far from what is called the Master's Chamber -- you may guess that Edward and his young... mortal...friend are there. You would not be wrong in that assumption. But you and your William have been placed in a chamber of near equal size. See... Ylsa had determined it. Your bags carried in by Stefan are there. Situated neatly...
     The chamber is very well appointed. Very rustic. Norweigian accents everywhere, including the spacious bed designed with men in mind. The sleigh bed is of a sturdy and rich wood, and its coverings are blue and green. There is a small sitting area. And a view of the mountain that stretches farther up behind the chalet. When the glass is not so frosted over, that is. There is also a large bath, with another spa tub. Ah, you know your William. You can foretell it. He makes it easy to be a prophet...does he not?

     But there is a young man at your side. His efforts... to include you. The honest... earnest warmth. There is in Valan... simply what one sees. No pretense. He moves in his golden way beside you. His eyes -- you have noticed them -- in their greens and golds and browns...hazel -- and his eyes, animated. His smile lives easily. And he has asked about your holidays. Did you enjoy them?
     "Ah, good... Ylsa has not made a liar out of me..." Valan says, a smile tugging at his lips again, even as the modern French tugs at his tongue. There are your bags. He pauses at the threshold, half-turning to you. "Georg has given us free reign," the smile says as much: he may regret that later! "...so now the chalet is yours as much as ours. There is... a den and library on this floor as well. Nice collection of philosophy..."

     Bobbing his head, the angelic figure moves easily. Floating. No energy expended, no motion required. Simply existing in one place after another. He smiles at the kindness you show, peering at the bags before he finally answers your question. It's a sing-song voice, certainly of the Scottish highlands, but clear and fluent French.
     "It's a lovely place, Valan," the young man with the silver eyes grins, watching you now, "...and you sit well in it. It agrees with you. So does the Vicomte," he says plainly, walking further into the room, hands slipping into his pockets. His eyes lift up and he goes on, "And we had a great holiday," he twisting to look back at you, "...it's been a good year. What about you?" Melting ice, falling away as Ian seems to become more comfortable. The consort royal turning into a young man, not so unlike yourself.

     And that is the strange part. Not strange that amity should happen and politeness occur between the lovers of friends and relatives. No. But that there should be this strange... what is it, Valan? It is not understanding. You do not dare to presume understanding of a one who is... so... beyond you. But there is something. A kinship. I am young. You are young forever. Younger even than me...
     There is a natural red that comes up when you say such things. He without guile. He without pretense. He who is adjusting to the things he is seeing. The people he is meeting. And you ... you who are so empathetic. Do you not see that it is not merely your presence... that brings this politeness forth? Valan grins through the easy lifting of blood to his face. "I have fallen in love with it..." he murmurs. But the way he says it, you know the echo. I have fallen in love with Him. The Vicomte. Valan makes a sweep of a bow and grins, the Mod styling of his ever-lengthening hair shifting in the motion. "Merci, Ian... I fear it is agreeing with me too much. I will miss it when it comes time to leave." An exhale. Truth in that. "It has been... the most amazing holiday," breathes the lover. "An unbelievable ending to an ordinary year..." Soft and warm, the laughter at that. Yes, this... whole matter... of living forever and those who do. This is new for him. You can see it... sparkling on the air around him. He has a very lovely aura. It is all blue and red, but there is some gold in it too...a little pink. A touch of violet. Valan leans upon the opened door, arms folding against his chest easily. "I am glad to hear of your holiday... I trust spending New Year's in the Alps will make for an auspicious start of a new year for you and William."
     There is a pause. I don't want to leave your company. I'm enjoying this. "If you would like a quick tour, I would be happy to be your turbo guide..."

     "It will," Ian smiles, the genuine grin filled with knowledge. He can't help it...it's like he's in on some Great Trick. You too, will learn it, Valan Montague. "Each year with William is auspicious and triumphant," he explains, knowing you may soon feel the same.
     "So..." he moves around still, towards the bed as if inspecting, "...what do you think is next? I will guess," he smiles at you, "...that you have learned and seen much in...well...however long it is that you've known the Vicomte." Yes. That's easier. Personal names have never been so easy for him. "What do you think?" he asks, turning his frame around and sitting upon the edge of the bed, as if he were made to be there for some lucky soul.

     I only met him very briefly. I do not know much of him other than you love him, he loves you and Edward cares for you both. And thus... my family grows. And I thought only half a year ago that the only family I should know was in a villa in Bordeaux, overlooking the sea. So much have things changed. And this in but half of one year. What will I do when I have a hundred? Ah, there is one other thing I know about your William. He smokes the most incredible cigarettes. To call the cigarettes is to profane them. Better said, you swallow fire and breathe spices.
     Hazel eyes lift and hold to you... even though to hold your gaze ties his tongue. He is direct, this one called Valan. He moves in, following you. His stride is slow, the smile is slanting. That mouth, full as befits those of the Loire Valley. His eyes widen, sparkling. "I did not know my brain could hold so much," a mortal's whispered confession. "Before... it was... just... " his hand gesticulates, "...the mundane and day-to-day. Jazz and cafes and spending my father's money. But these two months have seemed..."
     Valan pauses, eyes narrowing in wonder and he looks to you, even as he moves to take a seat on one of the chairs not far from the bed. "...What is it about time that makes it seem that it has passed by you in a whirl and then... at the same time, you feel like you have been here forever...?" You would know about this better than I . Valan smiles and rolls his shoulders. "After this...? I go to Bordeaux... I spend a week or so with my family...and then..." And then the... Part We Have Not Fully Discussed shall occur . "And then... I will go to stay with Edward..." A pause. "I am moving to London... it is a very vibrant city. But... I will have to learn English. I am not so proficient in it yet..."
     There is a moment of silence. A pause in his own rapid-fire confession. The first unloading of all he has felt, heard, experienced -- you can imagine. Ah, no... better still. You can remember. You can remember when William was like this. Only the question had been answered. He was immortal first... these wonderings came after. "Ian... I... do not want to seem...I do not ask to ...cause offense but..." I cannot help it, I must ask it. "... if I may ask..." And Valan pauses again. Almost stopping. No, you should not ask, Valan. But then you see it spill first from his eyes and then, like quicksilver, from his tongue. "...how long have you been with William..." In his French... it was Your William.
     The tongue that loosed the question now wets a nervous mouth. He does not ask to ... press into your life or presume or question or judge. But for some missing piece of information... some... Understanding. Valan leans in as he settles in the chair.

     He watches you, listens, like he has nothing else to do, but to talk and to listen to you. Just you. For a moment, even William does not press upon him, a constant reminder in Ian's visage. You speak to someone who's seen everything, been everywhere. Regardless of what happens later, you can say something so few can.
     "Eight-hundred and..." he grins, looking askance, trying to remember, "....forty two years? It," he waves off, breaking whatever horror might emerge, "...has just been a long time. Very long. And do not see it ending."
     He is quiet a moment, sitting there. Arms rest on the edge of the bed, anchoring there as he leans forward a little. Pendulent. The white wool he wears pales him.
     "And I'd be happy to have you as a ... turbo..." he smiles, "...guide. When you cease from falling over."
     That brings a boyish smile, he recalling his own age. Ripped out of vampiric context and put into a mortal one. One for you. "Questions do not cause offense," he teaches, "...just poor answers or lack of thought. I hope...I do not do either. It's...an important time for you, Valan Montague. A Vicomte, meeting...associates. His existence. Knowing the Universe is not as you are taught or experienced. Is it all lies then?" You have to ask. His head tilts as he wonders at you a moment. And you do remind him of a young man he once knew, one still locked inside. "Moving to London to be...with this Man," said not as the word seems. More encompassing. "It is a grand, great, frightening, dangerous, marvelous, and loving life you stand ready to embark on, Valan Montague," Ian says softly. "I wish you nothing but joy, peace, success, and luck."

     Eight hundred...
     Are you certain it was Eight Hundred...?
     Eight hundred and forty two...
     Horror does not follow the...blink...that causes hazel eyes to glitter. Flicker and glisten. Valan sits there and you could prick the silence after with a pin and it would burst. And you can see it, from the crown of his golden head, over the cream-olive complexion, sparking in his eyes, forming the space in the parting of his mouth, in the intake of a breath. The breath hat when it is exhaled bears upon it a word of French: Incroyable ...
     But all he can think to say after all of that is an earnest, a warm: "Thank you, Ian..."
     And slowly... like the sun slowly moving past the horizon...it slowly dawns on him. The things you have said. "It...is a very strange time. A very happy time. It is hard to know where marvelous ends and dangerous begins. Fear... has so blended with Exuberance... anticipation... as to be indistinguishible from it. I am afraid... and not afraid. It is marvelous ... incredible... in the truest sense of that word..." Incredible. That which cannot be believed. "... but ... I do not think it makes the life I knew a lie. That is, perhaps, the strangest part. Maybe..." Valan chuckles, it is the helpless warm laughter of the living, the mortal. "...my time in university will finally be put to use."
     There is a moment where he says nothing but looks at you, marveling. Touched by the words you have spoken -- you, of all of them ... took time to speak to him. The young mortal. He will remember this. Hazel eyes leave you for a moment. "I ... must say this... for ones who have been together ...so long... eight-hundred and forty two," his inflection lifts even as his eyes lift to you again, as if confirming. "...or however many years ... you and he seem...like those newly loving..." And you can feel a portion of fear being set aside. A question unspoken receiving its answer.
     "I ... appreciate... your telling me, Ian." A pause. "Or should I call you Earl...?" You have a title. And you are from an Age where these things were important. Knowing now, you see him trying to remember his history lessons. Finding out who William is will make the tender mind absolutely bubble over with history. Does that make you chuckle a little?

     He smiles and waves a gentle hand. Don't think about it. I've done little, in truth. "Thank you for saying," about Will and he, "I wish I had better words for you, Valan Montague. I do not. Save...at least ...you are well-loved. It is...the best way of doing things. Remember that and begin there..." that left there for you to ponder. It is fantastical. Unbelievable. The world spins...but he can't really assist you with that.
     A deep inhale and Ian's eyes lift again to the room. "Your Vicomte is a not an unwealthy man," he smiles, "...that too is a plus. If one will live forever..." he grins at you, "...it might as well be damned luxurious. You will be around a long time..." he smirks at his own humor.
     Laughter. Humor. Yes, there is humor in death. Just as life is funny. Hilarity to the point of crying. It is a wonder that we do not all collapse to the floor, holding our guts. Ah, well... then again... some of us do...

     "This is especially good for me. I am used to luxurious..." And you can imagine. Look at him. Those hands. His bearing. His mannerisms. His impeccable French. Aristocratic, such as the Modern Age allows. No, he has not known toil as Edward has or you have or William has. He will learn. Valan chuckles, "I ... have to have that talk with him, oui... about how to... handle... all of this. How does one... handle ones finances when one has centuries to live in, potentially. Thirty years," a wave of his hand, "...that is nothing now." Oh, of all the ones you tried to council in America... none were thinking along such lines -- and the change had already occurred for them. His mind? His mind is leaping forward with its thousand questions. This hipster. This scholar. This aristocrat. Valan shakes his head and waves that away for a moment. "So much to do... if I sit and think too long I will only end up staring at it..." But he is thinking of it.
     "I am still thinking of...how I shall disappear. It will be hard now that the world is so small. I imagine... in Edward's time... especially in your time..." even more ancient. That would be... the 12th Century? "...it was... easier to disappear. There was not the cellular phone and the Internet. Now, you can find out where anyone is... almost at any time..."
     He stands with an exhale and grins, "I will come up with something. A skiing accident...or...maybe one can get lost, theoretically, in New York... while living in London all the while...Would you like the tour?"

     He smiles, leaving that up to you. "Many things to think about Valan...I hope you think well yet know...even if you err," Ian winks, "...it's not the end of the world. You have time to make corrections." And that is the beauty of it all. Time. And thus mistakes...are not really such.
     He stands as you do, seeming done for now. "And be kind to your family, hmm? They..." his expression is soft as is his voice, "...will miss you." No growing up, no marriage, no seeing your work, your errors, no aging with you. They will miss out on You. Give them understanding.
     "I should see about our bags and find my William," his voice sing-songs again, like that of a tiring Empress. You may go as much as, I am not what I used to be. Such conversations can only go so far and should be limited anyway.

     There is something about him that softens. Understanding, so much as there may be between one so old and one so young. Centuries in between you. And yet, that strange kinship remains somehow. Strange as it is. But the softness came when you mentioned his family. And you saw him Know and Understand. And you saw the only part of him that aches for all of this. There is no wish to hurt them. My family. Mama et papa. This is why I go to Bordeaux.
     I go to tell them I love them. I go to tell them I will be alright. I go to tell them goodbye.
     And the tour can wait. Valan nods and smiles. "If you and William are not too weary ... Edward and I will be taking a slope... you are welcome to join us..." Inclusiveness again. A courtesy. "It... has been a pleasure already..." And with you, rising, turning to go...

     And then feet sound on the steps. You... you could hear William approaching moments before. He and Edward on their way up. Wondering, perhaps, what lovers are up to. The two knights. The House of Anjou and Blois under one roof and laughing at each other's jokes. Now... who in history would believe that?

Posted by rowan at February 09, 2001 12:24 PM