How many times had the Spanish Kingdoms been divided? At one time, Africa, Valencia, small Granada, Seville, Toledo, old Badajoz, and Cordova were related entities, under the Fatimite Caliph who ruled from El Mehdija. Before that, even more of Espana had been under darker hands, saved only by the God-fearing sword of Charles Martel.
     But that was before my time.
     By 1380, after the Crusades, marriages between cousins Castile and Leon, victories in Portugal, and the departure of the Eastern Horde had changed the landscape. The Northern barbarians... we ... had mined...married...their way into the heart of a Moorish world, aligning the last continental frontier with the constructed family politics that defined us.
     And when I came to Spain, it too, was a family arrangement. The Northerner from a branch of the greatest of the continental families.
     In time, I managed to relearn the words "obligation," "honor," and "blood."
     But I skip ahead.
     Driving my car from my ancestral birth to my adopted one, from green pastures and lilting hills to rocky mountains with gashes of plain, I was teleported to those earliest nights in Espana, when the world was upside down. Little did I know, that upside-down would be my preferential way of seeing the world. It was easy to leave behind 'knight,' seeing the world obligated to me.
     In the Caliph's land? I was owed nothing. I was no one. Christophe Phillipe Eduard Meurelle Vicomte du Blois, Chevalier du France, Marquis Guise du Ser...well, he was now Eduard, that one Maria brought from the hinterlands.
     Oh, but how I changed that view. I will only now give that one to me.
     And so, the car moves against the expanse, where green sometimes flecks rusty land. Where baked earth occasionally still sees snow. It is not this year, however, and as things change, so is the old mosque of El-Adar now Alydar, lovely palazzo.
     And in a way, Alydar became my birthright. I am her youngest product, but perhaps her future. Who else would care for the Infanta, or her courts of mathematicians, scholars, students, and holy men? Who would see to the continuance of Alydar, her grounds, her mountains, her rivers, livestock, and horses? Who else would continue the joined traditions of the Caliph and the lords of Castile and Granada?
     It's this, that belongs to us, ami. Even as the dust flies beneath our wheels, as late sunset affords us the rosy-rusted view. Minarets and twinkling colored lights both. A joined culture that finds harmony in us happy few.
     Soon, it will be your birthright too.

     I am unvanquished by winter...
     Her cold wind peels back, falling to the ground like husk, and the sun -- I still remember it at noon, darkening my skin to a copper as I worked in the fields as a young boy -- is on my skin, on my mind, and in my smile...
     And in the reflection of my eyes against the rose-gold lenses...
     I am heading into the Caliph's Land. Or to quote the Unnamed Poet of the tome at my feet, that sun-kissed land, rich in dark-eyed girls, and water that springs silver from the golden ground. I have never been to this part of Espana. Only the vineyards of Castile, the exclusive villas of Madrid, the discos of Barcelona.
     I am a child of the New Millennium. Born in 1984. Sixteen at the turning of a thousand years. Born to the echoes of aristocrats, we businessmen now. Biding my time.
     That's what it was, ami...
     I was just biding my time...
     And now I am crossing the plains of Andalusia, immortal, watching the sunset -- it doesn't hurt as much as I thought it might -- and heading for... something unbelievable. Something amazing. Something...
     A little daunting...
     But I am unvanquished. Grinning, I tilt back my head. Golden hair, seeming all the moreso, hair mussed Hipster. In oranges, reds, golds and browns. You are bringing me to your Spain. Your home. Where you spent the first years of your Second Existence. A gift, it is, a great one.
     I have dreams of poets on the tip of my tongue. The end of the story of Alhambra. The ending was a swirl of sand, a guitar beneath the hand, descending words, in couplets, then in single, detached lines. Like dripping blood onto the grains at the poet's feet. And I could see you all there...
     William, the Almost King, He should have been. Who would know to meet the artist, that the king was waiting beneath?
     Girault, who sang out and made the hills ring when Alhambra was captured...
     Eduard, Second Born of Spain, who sprang from the sand like a desert god. He brought the wind and fire...
     Davydd, the Dragon who makes no footprints in the sand...
     Nasr ben Yusuf, the Sultan, whose supposed prayers I can still hear...
     Georg, who held open the gates like Atlas held the world on his shoulders...
     Niall, the mad, the dervish...
     Others I have not heard of. A cardinal giving last rights. A dark speaking shadow...
     And lastly, the poet, who stood at the last sunset, covered in blood, pronouncing it Done.
     And I am with you. How can I be with you. All of you. To be in such company. I look at you, head against the back cushion of the carseat. The smile slants, broadening, warming. Summer. And in the departing sunlight, I make the motion to give you a kiss.

     "You look happy," I say, grinning in kind as I slow the car the last miles. They know we approach, those holiday lights calling us. I lean over to give you a quick kiss, my lips slow to leave your skin. Already, we have changed...
     "I cannot wait to lie in our bed..." Edward sighs, trying to hold the car along its route while giving another kiss. And another.
     I should stop now, while I can.
     "Oh, ami, wait until you see Alydar! There is no place like it." At home, I am one of many of my rank. Here, I am its only Prince. "Linens and mattresses made of the feathers of doves..."
     He laughs, hitting the accelerator a little. Dust flies frantically, but Alydar is clearly close.

     "Are the pillows made of spun gold?" he teases, murmuring like a true aristocrat, as if he could sleep on nothing less. Valan settles back, his hand on your thigh, fingers pressing, wandering. "Je suis heureux, Edward. tres heureux," he adds a half-breath after. He looks past his own window. The approach and embrace of this storied Alydar. "It is easy," he continues, nodding to the sights, "... to see you here. To see it in you..."
     And my fingers curl, a slight grasp I cannot help. I want to taste this land on your skin. Feel the sun that is captured by the rocks and soil in the heat of your skin, in sweat. Taste her wine at your mouth, your blood.
     To know Spain, all I have to do is spend the night with you. It is everywhere evident, Christophe Phillipe Eduard Meurelle.
     Valan sits forward, the sun at his chest and torso wavering as fabric wrinkles in the slight bend. "Does this Alydar have fountains and gardens...tell me more..."
     And his fingers curl against your thigh again...

     You have his attention -- praise Allah that Edward does not need to see the dry road. He knows where he goes. "Yes, Alydar has fountains, and tile puzzles, and wonderous waters that trickle in rivulets along frecoed floors..." His grin is broad. "There are oases within the grounds, and each room is like sleeping in the Casbah."
     "Mm," Edward grunts, pulling his attention from beautiful you, to look as he needs to slow beneath the ornate gates of a courtyard. "You will see, ami," his brown eyes return to you, hand upon the Sauber's shifter, "...it is...nothing like you've seen before. And the people..." Edward just beams.
     "Just be polite, ami. They will be polite to you. It is as I have said. You will be treated as you treat others. Respect for elders and sages," Edward grins, knowing you know all of this, "...do not speak until spoken to, and know that you are one of the important ones of Alydar. Everything else will fall into place..."

     "And I will be myself," Valan repeats the mantra as has been told to him by you before. The wide grin as he leans in against you, the green-gold eyes sparkling past red-bronze lenses. Sunglasses designed for skiing worn. Summer's smile of defiance at December. "And they will love me, oui? It will be fine," he whispers, his mouth at your cheek.
     I love you, whispered as he turns to look at the passing courtyard...
     And what if I do not want to leave, Eduard. What if I fall in love with Spain like the poet. The poet says he was called by another land, he could not tarry long.
     But I have time to spare...
     Valan's fingers slide against your leg. A last grasp. A pat. A smoothening and then his hand lifts to remove his sunglasses. The sun is gone. We are here.
     "Je ne puis pas croire que je suis ici..."
     And on a breath, I speak it. Even as my eyes drift away from you -- hard to manage -- and onto the sights just past my window. The courtyard gate. It is a hint of things to come.
     Maria...
     I should have brought you a rose...

     "Senor!" comes a voice, hands whisking around the stilled car. He stole a last kiss from you, Valan, the last remnants of the north taken from your skin.
     You are Andalusian now.
     "Ai!" Edward shouts, pushing open his door and swinging legs out. "Look at you all -- " and indeed many come flooding out, standing around, gossiping, smiling, and waving. Edward twists to wink at you, and the suddenly stands, nearly invisible in all black.
     Words spill rapidly, a mesh of some local dialect twined with words more Eastern. Edward tries to move around the front of the Sauber to reach you, but it is difficult...everyone fills the space around him. Yes, we're good. Yes, it was a fine trip. Yes, it has been so long!
     Your door opens, Valan. Men and women stare at you, some of the ladies whispering as their eyes fix upon the young man accompanying their Eduard. A hand offers to help you, this one male, and greetings come in broken, polite French. Welcome! Welcome to Alydar. Blessings upon you! Please come out and come inside...

     Sunglasses folding...
     Sunlight all but a red and violet line at the horizon...
     The memory on his long-sleeved shirt...
     And upon his mouth. His smile spreads like dawn on the horizon. His golden hair like its rays. And his French is returned for French. And then he drops into Spanish...
     Thank you...
     Hello...
     Green-gold eyes landing upon each face. Oh, I will never remember all of your names...
     Warm hands, warm smiles, warm greetings. Ah, how could we ever leave them, Edward?
     Valan closes the door of the Sauber, even as he finally frees the hand of the young man who first greeted him and in courtesy gave him a tug out of the low-sitting car. "Tan hermoso..." he says at the sweep of his gaze at the few sights he can see, and then you.
     You are not so far -- but there is a sea of people between you and I, ami. Tan hermoso. So beautiful. You are, ami...

     Well, at least you're out of the car. Keys were passed on at some point, and the side panels of the Sauber are open. Bags are being retrieved. Edward's given up on reaching you, and instead turns towards the doors to guide the herd inside.
     So easily do they do as he merely thinks.
     It's been so long! And welcome to you, Senor Valan! You will love Alydar, you will love your room. We will bring you fruits, yes? And comfortable clothings. And water. Everything will be just as you like it, Senor Eduard, and everyone is thrilled you're here, even Senora Maria...
     Edward only laughs at that one, brows arching. He twists to find you in the throng, as hands guide and move you towards the door with him.

     Yes, that would be wonderful...
     Thank you...
     I am so excited to be here...
     Honored...
     Happy...
     Alydar is beautiful... thank you...
     About Senora Maria. There was only a smile to that, a ruddiness of complexion. An almost wistful look. Truly? Then I am doubly pleased. And you see it reach him. You see him laugh at it, even though he does not laugh aloud -- you see it work through him like magic. Remembrance of last year at this time. When first he met her...
     And now... he's really going to meet her. In the same room...
     Ami, will I survive it?
     And in the center of the throng, you feel his hand against your arm, your hand, your side. I would kiss you now, Edward, but for your earlier words of politeness and manners. I would kiss you now and fold you into a corner. A grasp that would not end for hours. I would brush your hair with my fingers and recall the words of the poet. I would whisper your own legend at your ear. And my love.
     And now I am dreaming of dove-stuffed matresses and golden pillows. A bath in clear flowing water. A tongue tasting wine.
     And my love...

     Alydar.
     Home of sages, scholars, and holy men. Such she has been for since the times of the early Ottomans, when they came and set a sparkling oasis in the middle of an Andalusian valley. A waypoint for the culture they carried with them. Between the ridges of Santa Ehjida, a mosque was placed, spiraling minarets warbled by the songs of her cantors.
     Such sounds still rise from Alydar, but this time in the form of songs and greetings for the guests, swept in on a wave of servants.
     Into a great room you are both brought, large columns bulging and twining their way towards the sky. A staircase wends down from a second floor landing, and as you are pushed forward, palms rise from open spaces in the floor, the tiles delinated by glass-covered rivulets of water.
     Suddenly, the din dies, and servants that once surrounded you, now pull back, their shoes softly scuffing the floor.
Set.

     Edward grins over heads at you, the northerner always remarkable in his unusual height. His hand reaches above shoulders, attempting to draw you closer, but as the servants fall away, his smile falls. Instead, a last wink is given you before he realizes where you both stand, and Edward's gaze lifts to the staircase.

     It is only by the insistence of the servants that I am moving...
     Otherwise, I should fall still, maybe even on my knees. Should I be so wide-eyed? My mouth gaping, the grins lost? What will she think of you, Valan? Open-mouthed like an uneducated barbarian. But I cannot help it...
      I hope that she forgives me...
     I do not even feel myself stop, I carried upon the river of servants like a leaf, utterly at their mercy. For I am lost in the ceiling and in the leaves of palms. O, Eduard. How is it you ever found yourself out of this place? How could we, seeing paradise, return to London's Limbo?
     Like a rube, a child and a simpleton I stare, confounded and amazed. Were God Himself to tap me on the shoulder and clear His divine throat, I do not know that I would hear him.
     Mon Dieu...
     Ah, I see you smiling...
     Ah, no...you are looking away...
     As the servants clear, letting loose of their hands, Valan Montague, the newest French import closes his mouth and begins to see the world around him.
     And he has forgotten to breathe. All the little lessons taught him fall away. For it is easy to lose one's breath when one does not need it.

     Follow your lover's gaze, Valan, and you will see what may be the true gem at the heart of Alydar. For at the middle of the stairs now stands a vision, wrapped in a cloak of silk and velvet. Iridiscent crimson frames her face, a stiff shawl that contains a petite figure. So much so that the cloak hides where she must touch the rustic stone stairs. Peering from the hood is a face of Spain, a beauty of tanned olive. She is not African, that is true. She is of Spain, but a Spain where men and women spend much time in the radiant sun. A hand clasps the cloak at her throat, a delicate set of fingers spidered by an ornate fashion that gathers at a reddened stone at her wrist. Her eyes are dark, as are her long lashes.
     She takes another two steps downward, crimson in motion.
     "Ha tomado mucho para conseguirle venir a Alydar, Edouard. Cuando usted lo hace, usted no viene solamente," the woman's eyes landing upon the visitor. Her voice? Much like a easy breeze that moves the palm frons. "Explique esto a m, Edouard."

     The man you know does not follow her fixed gaze. He knows where it lands. "Perdone, el hermoso, para mi han sido asi que desemejante usted me ha ensenado. He sido demasiado largo ausente, y en mi verguenza, tengo convertido sin maneras, ning un respeto para uno quien me ha dado tal honore. Este es Valan, el mas viejo hijo de Senor Montague, un gran vintner de Touraine. l es el que llevo a cabo querido sobretodo..."
     Have you ever heard him speak so? Edward moves away from the crowd, towards the woman ahead of him. His face is uplifted to her, as if a suppliant to the grande dame's will. "Ahora lo he traido usted, el hermoso, y espero que mi comportamiento pobre no altera su honor y belleza en sus ojos." That said, your lover, Valan, comes to a halt beneath the stair where she stands, his escorting hand given out to her, palm facing upward.

     And I, Valan Montague, beloved of Eduard of Blois, this son of the vintner...
     I am speechless...
     And I pray my Spanish is not too rusty, unused as it has been. Now, like my soon-to-be-forgotten English. Now, immortal. How unimportant English has become. With you and I dropping into the easy ways of French...
     And more than with Alfonso, I wonder how my body is moving. How I am holding myself. What will she think of me? Even though, I know, I should be myself. But she... she so powerful and you and she... so graceful and so gracious. I am too modern -- I do not have this kind of grace. This, only centuries of passing can give. And me, in my reds and oranges and golds and browns. With a sun painted upon my torso. I have come dressed not to meet this Senora, this queen of scholars, but as if I were meeting a college chum.
     Unconsciously, I straighten.
     I, this Valan Montague, this son of a vintner of Touraine. The one Edward adores above all others.
     My gaze cannot help but lock to you both. To watch this. To wait. To stare openly at such Beautiful Ones. I cannot help my look of wonder...
     Call me a barbarian, if you want, Senora...
     I cannot help the softening warmth of my face and of my eyes to hear him say this.
     Valan takes in a breath, a sudden remembering to do so, and gold-flecked green sparkles as he looks to you both.

     The woman does take Edward's hand, after giving him scolding gaze. Nothing so harsh, yet she acknowledges his words as correct. With joined hands, they turn down the stairs towards you, where you stand out, alone.
     He was meant for her. Is it so obvious now? The crimson hood falls from her face, and beneath it rests a mane of blue-black hair, pinned around her face. Her eyes are painted a crimson violet, and as they walk, there is no secret about what They Are.
     The cloak trails behind her, and beneath it appears a gown of velveted violet, speckled with an black, sheer overlay. The pair reach the bottom of the stairs, and though he towers over her, she remains the Queen of Alydar.
     "Ami," Edward smiles, closing the distance between you all, "...I am honored to present my Sire, the one who brought me forth -- Maria-Felicia Angelique Ramirez de Moya, of Andalusia. We..." Edward smiles, "...who are so fortunate, call Bella...Maria."

     I though I knew what there was to know...
     Cavalier, I thought I knew the world and my place in it...
     Now, I do not even know where I am. Let alone, ami, where I should be. The woman, the queen on your arm. How is it she did not keep you with her? How is it you were not here all along?
     How brazen, Modern Man, are you to think you can keep him. Cocky! Dieu! You think you can win the world with your smile, Montague? What shall you tell this Queen of Heaven? How shall you explain how you came here and how you have his love? The poet you read has no words for this that you can steal. And your own?
     You would have to have command of your tongue and mouth to use them...
     And sometime amid it all, Valan Montague has forgotten to breathe again. His eyes are fixed. It is only when you near with her that his gaze drops slightly, halfway to the floor, his head already in motion as if he had been given this lesson years before. So natural this show of deference, from this one who is not a courtier trained for this.
     But Modern Man...
     You lift your gold-green eyes even as you bow...
     "Senora de Moya, el honor es la mia. Y mi esperanza de ganar tal fortuna..."
     Did I say that?
     His Spanish issued smooth as her velvet upon the floor...

     She is perhaps five-three, Maria is. Hand leaves Edward's, and both rise to lower the cloak to her shoulders. Maria is quiet a while, her brown eyes wandering your face, Valan, your hair. They touch your nose, your chin. Lips. Your own eyes. Downward. Only once she reaches your feet does her gaze return to your face.
     "You must be the most beautiful man in the world, Valan Montague of Touraine," a slight motion of her eyes at Edward. "Welcome," Maria bobs her head, "...to El-Adar..."

     And I, even though I stand some six feet in height, I am a small thing before such a great beauty. It is she who towers, not I. She who calls me beautiful, and maybe she means it as it is said, but simultaneously I know the jest. For a man to capture Edward of Blois, despoiler of women, he would have to be the most beautiful sort of man.
     And so, I blush at it. Just a rise, thank god. Not much. If I were mortal, I would be as red as her cloak. I say a thanks for her welcome, I lift my eyes...
     I see that I am out of my league in so many ways...
     And yet, am I not here? Am I not loved...
     There is just a flitting of eyes to Edward, as if -- perhaps -- for a cue, but Valan does not linger and stare at him, nor speak fluently of Nothing. Warm and polite are his words of thanks, his Spanish polished -- of what he knows. He neither claims to be beautiful nor praises her on her good eyesight. He, golden, seems merely gracious and honored that he is being addressed at all. By either of you.

     Maria smiles, seeing the silence. "I think...you have brought home a mute, Edouard," the hood now gone, her hands folding along the vertical close of the cloak. Maria laughs a little and looks at Edward, lips closing in a broad, self-assured smile.

     "He is not a mute," Edward says, rolling his eyes faintly towards the sky. Whatever. His outside hand lifts, motioning to a servant standing near the outer door.
     Had you noticed, Valan, that the people behind you were gone.
     Edward leans, placing a kiss upon Maria's cheek. But the servant arrives, and already your companion is wriggling out of his jacket. Formalities are over.

     "So, tell me, Valan...such a name that...what think you of our Alydar? Did you both have a good trip?" Maria's hands unfold, and as Edward is done, he reaches over to take her cloak. Servant stands at the ready, his eyes moving to you, Valan, expecting your blazer as well. "I cannot believe you drove!" Maria murmurs, hands free and waving. A twist, and she places an absent kiss upon Edward's cheek in kind, the drama of earlier...instantly evaporated.
     Oh well.

     And then, I take a breath.
     Wait, that was a joke...
     And a smile crawls across his features, summer reborn in it. aughter at myself. I share in it. But speaking not of mute or what stole my tongue, surely you must know it, Valan turns out of his suede coat, revealing the casual, if colorful, shirt beneath it. He, dressed in the spirit of Spain, a long-sleeved thin fleece shirt, almost like a t-shirt but a bit more fashionable, and a good deal more expensive. Red at the torso, orange sleeves, a sun of gold emblazoned on his chest. This, over brown suede pants. He, thoroughly modern.
     In the dropping of formality, Valan, relieved, shines...
     "El-Adar is magnificant," he says, his eyes straying to his surroundings only briefly before returning to you, both of you. He shakes his head. I do not know what to say.
     For once, I have nothing to go on about. I, who normally talk to walls...
     Dieu, I am a mute...
     Valan makes a motion at his surroundings. "I do not know what to say. Beautiful. Heaven. Amazing. What do they mean to this?" Pivoting, Valan smiles, "It is hard not to be a mute surrounded by this." And you both. "All of this."
     And then I go a little flush again...
     Better to be a mute, I think, than a blathering idiot...

     Edward grins, turning to stand at your side, leaving you between himself and Maria. His hand comes out, motioning ahead to what appears to be a colonnade. "See, what did I tell you?" Edward pokes at Maria, bending behind you to tug at her elbow. He chuckles to himself and then leads on.

     Maria keeps the confident smile, she now sizing you up together. The servant heads off, sure to place items in the right rooms. "Thank you, Valan. We are all quite happy here at El-Adar. I do not know what Edward has told you," Maria slipping into a casual tone, "...but it was a mosque for a few centuries, later abandoned by the Turks as such. We have kept that aspect, but it has been a home for even longer than it was a functioning mosque." She walks on, the tail of her gown trailing upon ruddy stone ground. "But, you will learn much of Alydar during your stay. There is no need to get into all of this evening."
     How her eyes never leave you. Maria grins and walks onward, a breeze now rushing upon the skin. "Ah, a glorious evening for your arrival," she smiles, hands extending to the world. "You have come upon the night wind, a soothing balm for us all here." Spinning about, Maria looks at you both, seeing you finally as a pair. Her lips close and she nods, smile widening as her stare lands at Edward. "And you, nino," Maria whispers, "...are no less handsome than when I saw you last. Really, you are...more so now..." her brown eyes moving to see you, Valan.

     Edward comes to a halt, just within the colonnade. He seems a prize; his own grin slants as he looks down at his shoes. Hands slip into pockets. The blush of a mature man. "What can I say?" Edward whispers, eyes following Maria's. He cannot help it. It is obvious, the reason why.
     As quickly as hand disappeared, one reappears, reaching out to take your hand. Two fingers pull at yours, and Edward seems to sway in the breeze.

     He gives me too much credit. He was this beautiful when I first saw him, before I was so lucky as to spend a night with him. A night that turned to a week that turned to months and now a year with forever ahead of us to walk it as we wish. But I smile, wide and warm, taking no credit and yet not denying that he is beautiful. Who could deny such a thing?
     They would be a liar who would try...
     Without a moment's hesitation, the hand that is offered is met, and fingers interlace naturally. They are supposed to be this way, joined. "How well he wears Spain," Valan murmurs in Spanish, his smile wandering, his gaze moving from the man beside him to the woman before him, "...as soon as we crossed the border, it was like... God switching on the sun." The fingers of his free hand make the motion, the fingertips of all gathered upon his thumb and then opening outward. The universal gesture for beaming light.
     "And the trip was lovely. So much snow, I did not know if we would make it so far. I am glad it is on the other side of the Pyrenees. Andalusia... is so beautiful. This is my first trip to the Spain that exists beyond Barcelona and Madrid."
     And I chuckle at myself, expecting that she will too...

     You are right. Maria does chuckle, dropping the stare that had wandered back to Edward. "Switching on the sun. I would think you are so brilliant, Valan. Edward, he is like sunset, hmm? When day has gone dusky, when shadows grow long."
     She laughs suddenly, richly. "See how you make me talk? Tch," Maria clucks. "Andalusia," back to the point, "...is the best of Espana. Madria, Barcelona?" Maria waves a hand. "Maybe southern Valencia is so nice," east of here, "...but no place else. You have come to the heart of it all," Maria warbles, her French liquids rolling more southern. "You will like here," Maria grins, eyes narrowing as her hand comes to cup your cheek, "...this I know." A feel. She needed that of you, Valan.

     Edward is quiet now, looking beyond Maria at the railing to the open countryside below. In the distance, the rise of dust. Horses on open plain. It is not that he has left you, Valan, he has not. Fingers that squeeze yours speak of his presence. But he has not seen Alydar in so long, and already, he looks beyond the walls of the sacred mosque.

     His skin is not warm -- he has not learned this...
     But his face, lovely, with its jawline and his creamy complexion. Beneath your hand you feel the softness that is there and the strength that is there. And the touch brings a smile. "He is the best of Night that I have ever seen," and I have seen such things, such others who for others would be so beautiful. But in comparison to Edward? Non, I have the finest of all of France. "From the stories he has told me," Valan murmurs, fingers curling around Edward's own, "...it was your guidance that made him so. Polished like a gem, as he is."
     Do you hear this, Edward? I have been around your silver-tongued friends too much! It is starting to wear off on me, ami. Or maybe it is something about Maria herself...
     "I already am enamored of this place. Eduard," Valan grins, "how did you ever leave?"

     What a bright young man! Maria grins, hand lowering from your cheek. Her eyes? They immediately turn to Edward.
     Yes, how did you ever leave?

      Edward's attention returns more obviously. He grins, seeing your honest interest and Maria's 'I have to hear this' smirk. "Let's just say," Edward offers, "...that there were things to see...and I needed to see them."
     A good question, ami, Edward's fingers pulling softly, encouraging you closer. But another time. When I can speak my mind.

     It does not take much encouragement...
      It never has...
     He walks with Edward, easily folding against him. How well we fit, ami. "If you had not, I would not have met you. And so, for France, I say I am glad. But... I have to say, ami," his words warm and his eyes lifting to his somewhat taller partner, "...you wear Andalusia well. It suits you. And I... I could become accustomed to it."
     Brilliant, bright laughter, though soft. It lights him golden as he looks from both of you to the halls through which you walk...
     When you wear France later, I will think of this...
     "He has told me," Valan begins, laughter at the edges of his words, fading, "that you are host to poets and scholars from all over Spain... such a venue for learning. Its libraries must rival most of Europe's..."
     Not hard to do, with 'Northern Barbarians' burning them...

     "Better," Maria walks, the colonnade still filled with the breeze. "But yes, there many with great learning here. The finest of Carthaginean lineage." Of North Africa. Of places East. Of Brujah. "You will meet them, I am sure." She watches as the two of you meld together, but speaks not on this. Instead, eyes lift ahead, along the open promenade.
     "Edward," Maria murmurs, "...will you see that Savion has your rooms prepared, please? He is getting older, you know." The man with the cloaks. Her hands steeple together, but Maria keeps her gaited stride.

     I was looking at you, ami.
     My arm where it should be, slithering at your waist.
     My mouth at your ear.
     But she saw as well. And I stop.
     "Savion." No confusion, simply a point made. I need to go see? Edward's arm tightens for an instant before it lowers.

     If it were not impolite, I would kiss you now, Edward...
     Here, softly. And I would let it wander.
     Tell me we will find one another tonight, while there is still a little darkness in the sky. When I feel the approach of the sun, I want to be exhausted in your arms.
     And now I see how well amber and garnet suit us. Both colors that suit this land, this land that fits us as perfectly as we fit one another.
     Now I see why Spain is your 'home'...
     Valan turns to you, Edward, letting his gaze linger as it has not since arriving. I will miss you, but I will feel the echo of your arm and your mouth long after you are gone. So, you will not truly be leaving.
     I should kiss you now...
     But out of courtesy and decorum, I simply smile. It will have to be virtual for now, ami...

     Later. The word is upon his lips as he kisses your ear.
     "I will...see," Edward replies, statement said as an acknowledged command.
     You can almost hear the click of his heels.
     A last squeeze, and Edward lazily does a full spin, walking backwards down the colonnade. A kiss is blown at you, a sneer given to Maria, and quickly enough, he disappears within the great room again.

     Maria? She continues on, not missing a step...
     "So, where were we, Valan Montague..."

     Missing his partner's hand, the Eternal Hipster laces his fingers behind his back. His stride dropping to a stroll with you. His eyes drifting back just once to watch Edward going. My, how he does go...
     But as you continue, Queen of El-Adar, the young man follows you. Interested and curious, golden and thoughtful. "We were speaking of libraries. I said 'rival' -- I meant to say, how I imagine the libraries of Europe envy your own. Alfonso... although I have only briefly made his acquaintance... mentioned your library as the envy of his existence. And his library better than Universities in Paris, Lyon or Florence. It is such an interest to me. The knowledge..."
     Valan smiles, flushing as he moves still slightly behind you. "I, who have so recently learned that there is ... so much more to the world than I ever imagined..."

Posted by rowan at June 21, 2003 09:43 PM