I held him until his body went slack. With my hand upon your dark head, I tilted your neck back. I parted you. I laid you down, and in the interim quiet, with his blood settling in your pores, in your cells, in your veins, I lifted him, like a child I set him softly in the safe arms of a nearby chair.
     A father to so many...
     There have been no children that I have claimed in name. There has been no direct Issue from Dunross to Plantagenet, Plantagenet to the world. But there are children.
     I returned to the bed. I settled down there in the coverlets and linens so fine, only slightly bloodied. I laid my head down on the pillows and I thought of them all. The one with me now, the young girl my arms surround, whose head rests in the crook of my arm, whose hair I stroke. There is the one who lives nearby, with a son now of his own though he doesn't think of him as such. The one who was born, too, but never lived. For a moment, I even reflect on him.
     "I have something I must say," I say it, I do not ask it, and whether you are awake, Victoria, or whether it can be heard by any but the ghosts of this room, I must say it. "I want you to listen," I whisper.
     William turns his head, bending it to place a kiss upon the woman's brow. His eyes are lifted to the canopy of the bed. His energy reaches outward, spilling as easily as the mortal's blood had earlier. "I know... what it is to lose. I understand this loss," he says. "I have been where you are now, three times..."

     As she was pulled back from the young man, she did not fight. She at least had the presence of mind to lick the wound quickly, then let herself be pulled back. It was likely not a conscious effort as much as reactionary... instinctual. But it was done, nonetheless.
     Then she is cradled and she does not make any movements of her own, save to settle herself into a more comfortable position. As that dark hair finds its resting place in the crook of that strong arm, Tori's eyes close, hiding that freakish gaze from sight. She does not sleep, however.
     It is a subtle thing, but her presence changes, lessens as she loses consciousness...and it does not do so right now. At least some part of her mind is aware and listening, even if she might not entirely make sense of it right away.
     Speak and say what you will say, William... like in the dreamscape, she will listen somehow. She might not remember it all right away, but the Truth of your words will lodge deep within her psyche to resurface when it is ready to be processed -- whether that's five minutes from now, or five years.

     You do not argue, but in truth he was expecting no protest. Had it been given, it would have been quieted. His fingers move slowly, in the rhythm of his syllables. "...The first," he begins without skipping a beat, "... when I discovered my wife's body. Her neck was bruised where she had been strangled, where her neck had been crushed."
     ...When was the last time that I lost the decades and fell into madness at even the slightest remembrance of that night? Years. I may speak of it now like casual truth, so long held, simply recalled and nothing more. There is no pain, Ian. No blame. There isn't even any anger...
     William looks to the dark green canopy, head tilting on the pillow as he recalls it all, the night he found Catherine and his son he named William.
     "...And her body, knowing its own death, had gone into labor to preserve the unborn child. He, too, had been slain. In my anger and in my sorrow, I destroyed a church, and sought to destroy myself, from Normandy to Holy Acre, Arsuf and Jaffa. I was going to destroy myself at the foot of the God who had taken my jewel and my future..."
     The corners of his mouth upturn. A smile, William? "But I did not die," he whispers. "I was instead given eternal life. Resurrected, in a fashion." Turning his head, he closes his eyes, and he whispers upon her forehead, "I learned to love again...the one thing I thought I should never do or feel. That I did not think I was...worthy of such because I could not protect the one who came before. But I was so wrong, Victoria. I was wrong..."
     I was wrong, Ian. I was so wrong...
     "Many years went by, and I made many ... many mistakes. You know," a sigh. "You will make mistakes, too. You will grieve. You must grieve. But you must not let your grief own you. You must not let it... make you sick, like I let mine."

     Despite her outward semblance of sleep, she hears everything. Maybe not all of it makes sense to her. Maybe she can't quite grasp all the meanings, but it is taken in, word by word and stored deep within the recesses of her mind. She will process it all later.
     Victoria hasn't lived as long a life... she has not been through as much as some, despite her madman of a Sire. Perhaps she's never mentioned it before, but madness is not new to her... it's happened before. Maybe it runs in the 'family'. Hm.
     As words are whispered against her brow, her eyes flutter open a bit, though they remain heavy-lidded. Feeding helped her, returning the merest hint of colour to her cheeks...considering she never had much to begin with. Her eyes blink, showing that she is at least to some degree aware. She hears the message... now, it's just a matter of time to see whether or not she will remember it.

     We are all mad, in our way. I am. I want to save you. Still, I want to save. Yet I know I cannot. In this, I am as helpless as I was that night I found her or worse yet... worse yet...
     The night I found Ian in his bed. "The night I found him, and the room was bloodied..." William recalls aloud. "After eight centuries of loving him rightly, wrongly, voraciously, greedily, deeply, carelessly and devotedly and he was gone." Indigo fixes on the dark green canopy. "I know what it is like when the ...light goes out. When you want to call out and have your love, or even just your voice returned. To hear your lover say: I am still here, I love you, I am still here. But he was gone. My blood could do nothing. It poured over his mouth like water." Just like water.
     "And I lost myself again, but deeper, far deeper than the Crusades, farther than Arsuf, I forgot how to do everything. No...there was just no point, I thought. No reason to feed myself. No reason to get out of bed. No reason to move. You made me, do you remember? Like I will do for you. Like I have done tonight. Finally, I am able to repay you. To truly thank you. Thank you," he murmurs. "I thought I had gone so far that I would never be me again. I would not recognize the face in the mirror. I would not be William. And even if Ian ever returned, he would not know this man. I was afraid that he was gone from me forever, whether he awoke or not. I was wrong."
     I was wrong...
     "I know what it is like, Victoria, not to remember your name or how you were before that day came, to wonder how it will be to live, what life means, or if it has meaning at all. I questioned it all. And at the end of the world, I found myself again. When I thought everything had been lost or forgotten or made pointless, when I passed through that, I found myself again and I stood. I simply... stood. That is the... benefit of this life. There is time in surplus, and when one is suffering that is truly all there is. Time. I will not lie to you, I will not make it sound easier than it will be. But I am here to tell you, as you did not leave me to my destruction, I shall not leave you."

     She remembers that time when she refused to let you just fade away, William. Even if she does not speak of it now, she does remember. Perhaps it was her stubbornness that just refused to let her leave it all be. She forced herself into the situation to help make right what she could. Not just for you, but for Ian, too. What she did for the two of you back then, she might not do for others.
     Tori remains absolutely silent, but manages a single, small smile... it is fleeting, but an outward sign that she heard you, William... she heard you, and at least something you have said pleased her or at least reached her somehow. But it is a weak one... and accompanied by a single blood tear escaping the corner of an eye, slipping down her pale cheek. There will likely be many tears in the future, promising that this will not be the last of them. But, grief must have its passing, non?

     There is the sound of a tear, he can hear it now. Ian and his ministrations, his teaching continues. He is given lessons in return. That is the nature of this love. It is learning.
     His hand is large, but the touch of it is gentle though it has killed so many, held so many, commanded so many. His thumb wipes away the tear. William is quiet now. He listens to the house. He can hear Ian's voice.
     ... I understood why you decided to sleep, why you did that. I finally understood it that night I came home, with a ghost of that woman and that child at my heels, and I saw you had packed your bags. You were leaving again. After all of that pain, after all of that sorrow, after all of that clawing back we had done, and you were leaving. If I had not been prince, I would have slept too. I would have laid my head down that night until you came to revive me. But you did not let me. You told this woman in my arms to keep me company, to keep me awake.
     Now we will do the same for her...
     My blood is churning. I can feel it, taste it at the back of my throat, even as I wipe a tear of blood from her skin. My tear is crystalline. The salt water of a living ocean. It rolls more silently, the liquid thinner than blood.
     "You will not be alone," he whispers. "We are not going to leave you." Or one another. Not even to part long enough to conduct some part of your lover back here for you. We...all three... will pack up to Strathfayr for the remainder of the winter and the spring. In summer, all three of us will go to Chinon. From garden to garden, we will take you. Like a child. Until you can find your way on your own.

     As the tear is wiped away, Tori closes her eyes once more, still unable to speak. For now, she is quiet...lucid...silent...still. All the things she was not when Davydd and Sandrine watched over her. There was no familiarity there. Here, there is, whether it is you watching over her or Ian.
     But her stillness is broken briefly as she curls up a little tighter, hiding her face against the broad chest nearby. Hiding as a child might hide against her father after having a horrible nightmare. Daddy, I had a bad dream! Make it stop!
     And then she is still again. Your words have not fallen on deaf ears, William. There is relief in that tear you just brushed from her skin. Relief and yet the deepest sorrow. Even now, she fights off the voices that have started to sound within her head, uncoiling like poised vipers, waiting for a sign of weakness to strike at. Even now, she fights to desperately hold onto this reality, as painful as it is.
     Because she knows in this reality, she won't be alone, even if He is not here.

     The door opens and Ian appears shadowy, backlit from the glowing embers and light of the sitting room. His footfalls should have given him away, but the voices raised in departure were the more sure sign.
     The light fades as he pushes the door closed behind himself, benefitting only from the dim light hidden in green and grey sconces around the room.
     "Davydd has left," he says quietly, as if in a library. After an exhale, Ian moves around the bed and comes to a halt at William's side. "How are things?" he asks, knowing the answer well enough. While waiting for his reply, Ian removes his phone from his pocket, and turns it off for now. There. Attention returns to the situation at hand, and he shoves the small silver device back into his pocket.

     She is curled against me like a starfish to the cliffside, holding on and bracing for a wave. And I, I am feeling like I am going to be sick. Dieu. Why did you let me smoke and drink so much, amours? Amours...
     ...And as if he was able to call you to him, to summon you, you appear. "She is sleeping, I think... well...she is resting," William says, he turns his head to look to Ian. "I have been talking to myself," the sensuous mouth gives a smirking twist, "... and am in need of a brandy and a cigarette." A pause. William swallows. "I think I may be sick...but..." he frowns, "...it is so unpleasant, I think I will.... fight it off..."
     Vomitting is a rare practice. Rare, because it's horrific. The body not knowing how to move properly, then in a split-second recollection strikes and the gut wrenches...
     Indigo fastens upon silver. "She has been quiet. She has fed. The young man will be alright after a long nap." Those are the highlights.
     And William's face shows the mark of tears, but his expression is placid -- not without emotion, simply...accepting of what is there. "Did you find out anything..."

     Ian looks at you both, suddenly concerned that perhaps he should not have left you both alone. "Just the circumstance under which he found her. Him and deRancey." He rarely calls him Sebastian, save when he's mocking him and purring at him to his face. "I can give you details later. I would hate if she could hear."
     Ian's hand comes to rest on William's arm. "Are you alright?" he stops and asks, changing where he was about to go with the conversation. A look at Tori brings a frown. "She...well, I wish my abilities were better. But, I am not...understanding what is going on with her now. She's not just fitful." Oh well. Maybe a professional is needed.
     But back to the point. "How are you, Will?" Ian seems quite well, actually. Not surprising, considering his nature -- difficult situations tend to bring unusual calmness. His fingers massage William's forearm, as if the response should come from his skin.

     "You helped me once, and you knew less then. I am sure you can help her. It is ... strange. Once she helped us, each of us, when we were lost, and now she is here, as lost. And we are here to help her. A rare moment of symmetry in a long life." He pauses, he says nothing for a moment, he reflects on that. "It, this all reminded me of a few years back. I have been telling her stories," a corner of his mouth upturns. "So that she will understand she is not the only one who has had to walk this road. And that we will walk it with her now, until she can find her own way."
     Slowly, his hand upon her hair lightens, then draws away. Slowly, he begins to lift, to sit up. Maybe sitting up will help. But he does so very slowly, very carefully, trying not to wake her.
     "I understand where she is. I've been there. When I came home that night after we argued, I returned from Chinon to a call from the boys...Phillip, Stephen. I do not remember which one now. So..."
     And he leaves it there. Maybe he should not have been left alone to think, but for all the emotion, he does not seem upset. The emotion is what it is. "I think the opium is not settling well. I should have something to drink. deRancey." There's a snort. The old blonde Norman. How does he fit in? Snugly is the punch-line, isn't it? Or is that mine?

     Lifetimes ago, it seems. That night can be mentioned, and Ian shows no emotion. Different time, different place, different people. But, he can sense that, at least for William, there is still charged emotion.
     "Maybe she heard your stories," Ian assures, hand moving to touch William's hair. He smiles then, letting black strands flutter at the sides of his fingers. "And she knows how you feel...and how we both feel...about her. Strange, isn't it," Ian says softly, "...how fortunes work?" Hers and ours. One would have thought a night like this should have happened in reverse.
     "Do you want me to stay with her, if you want to go out for a while and get some air?"

     He has never talked about how he was. Always, it was about how you had suffered. How he had made you suffer. How he had carried you with him to Scotland. How in the face of all that swirling darkness he went to your sire's manor and tried to offer his own blood in recompense for your life. You heard that some time after, a story told matter-of-factly, a surface recollection. But when you left him for the deep sleep, he had no idea how he came to stand up, but for the fact his friends kept propping him up until he could stand on his own. That is what they did. Davydd. Victoria. Donal. Nasr. Meurelle.
     There is much William has not spoken. Things he could not, for darkness sake, say. Now, when he speaks there is no spiraling darkness, no ...losing himself, or Time. There is no sickness. There is memory, memory that is still keen, but the darkness is gone. Indigo lifts to you. It is strange how fortune works, amours. "If she did not, I will tell her again some time. In repeating it, the words hold less weight. It all holds less weight than it used to." William straightens with a breath, exhaling it with a nod as he stands.
     His arm comes around your waist and he draws you in. I love you. Words do not need to be spoken. It is there in the hands, in touch, and in the charged air. "I think I will be better... after a little air and a smoke," William confirms.

     As William shifts and moves, Tori does stir a bit. But it is not to get up or roll over or anything of the sort. She merely nestles herself more snugly within the covers that surround and envelop her. There is safety there. There is safety here, among friends.
     Her eyes have re-opened again, but once more they are heavy-lidded. Tori's gaze is distant, focusing on some spot on the nearby wall. But she is still here. She is still, to some extent, aware.
     The blood she has fed upon has calmed her down greatly... nothing like Davydd's offering. That just about sent her for a loop and likely didn't help her shattered psyche much. But mortal blood.. it is calming, soothing to her. It is.. normal. She hears the second voice in the room and recognizes it... in fact, her eyes opened as she heard Ian's voice, heard him enter the room. She does not reach for William as he shifts. She knows he won't be gone very far.

     "Victoria," Ian says, hand at William's shoulder. A greeting. Then, as an aside, Ian adds, "If you want to go, I can stay here. Why don't you," he agrees.
     Ian smiles as he turns his face to the woman again. "You will soon tire of hearing me call your name," he says. But, it is the only way to assure her that things are alright. Well, as alright as they get in the waking world. Someone who knows your name.

     A pat of his hand conveys it: I will be right back. Already, having said his peace, his blood begins to still itself. Self-control exercised, and the imprint of William upon the air around is less noticeable. Withdrawn from when it once spilled, to fortify. A gift he learned, toning down the majesty with obfuscation.
      But William does not go far. In fact, he does not leave the house. Stepping past the door and into the sitting room, he pours himself a drink and reaches into his pocket for cigarettes. Something plain, simply clove. Not the usual hashish, cinnamon or opium. There is the smell of cinnamon and cloves from the sitting room, a pouring of brandy, the symbol-sounds of the glass decanter being unstopped, liquid pooling into crystal.
     William takes a seat on the sofa and exhales clove smoke. He tips his head back, he sniffs to clear his mind, his glass of brandy rests on his thigh.
     He worries for her. It is palpable when he is not in the room. His concern. His worry. But when she wakes he will draw that in, too. In the sitting room, William stretches his legs in a lordly, decadent sprawl and his energy is given its space, to unfold once more and make itself known. A servant is called. Another one. The other valet rests sleeping in a chair in the bedroom....

     "Well," Ian says, picking up the task. "William was telling stories." He had slipped into William's seat, letting the woman rest against him, albeit a bit awkwardly. Women are so difficult to...arrange. Ian shakes his head and settles against the headboard loudly, a great task finished. "So, where was he? Probably talking about exploits in Harfleur. Nice place that. Well, once," Ian grimaces, looking around the room now. A drink would be useful at a time like this.

     Tori hears her name, then the sounds of William leaving the room. But there is still the presence of another... Ian. It takes a moment, but she does respond a bit as William's body is replaced by Ian's. The response is her shifting a bit to get comfortable once more.
     Her eyes are open, though unfocused. She's listening, Ian... can you sense her Awareness? How far have your abilities progressed in this area?
     You asked where William left off, but unfortunately she does not reply. You are left to figure out what you shall talk about. The voices in her head are getting louder -- can you hear them? But, she is trying hard to keep them down. Maybe a story would calm them. Who knows?
     Although her relationship with you has not been the same as her relationship with William, she still feels close to you. Your presence is just as reassuring to her as Wills' is. What shall you you talk about?

     I was not telling stories per se, more like giving unwanted advice. It is what I am good at. A slight smile curls around the body of his cigarette. Summons ended, William retracts his energy once more, pulling it in with the drag of clove smoke and fire. As he breathes out, only the clove crystallizes on the air. I was telling her how she will not be alone. How you and I ... understand what it is like to lose someone ...
     Maybe a story about Harfleur would be better, come to think of it.
     William exhales smoke, indigo eyes glancing up as the door is opened. The servant, another young man, finely dressed and impeccably mannered, comes in. William puts his finger to his lips, then gestures for the young man to come near.
     You, too, are a child of mine. All the mortals who work for me, I care for them as I would a child borne to bear my name. I crook my finger and he comes to me. I tell him: Come join me, it will be alright. I sit forward, I quench my cigarette. I set aside my brandy for a better drink. Dusky blood, full of copper and mortal smoke, the breath of Life.

     "Actually, knowing him," Ian says, looking ahead since no drinks are forthcoming, "...he was perhaps discussing serendipity. Irony," he smiles, looking down at you.
     Yikes. Eyes are looking back.
     "Oh, well. Greetings," Ian says off-handedly as he looks at the foot of the bed again. "Maybe you're not up for discussing irony. Maybe it's a talk better had in a couple of centuries, while we are watching snow at Gstaad, hmm?" Ian pauses and looks down again. "He probably also discussed the pain...and value...of Passing Time..." He smiles a little. "I won't preach to you on the subject. I am sure you have your own thoughts on it."
     "I have this piano," Ian goes on, blonde hair framing his face, "...that I was considering sending you. Well, in truth," he waves his free hand, "...it's a harpsichord. Nothing early, mind you. A late piece. It is in a room at Strathfayr, but I was considering sending it to Chenonceau."
     "Oh! You haven't been there yet, have you?"
     "Well, too drafty for the harpsichord, so I was going to have it shipped to whereever you liked. But, about Chenonceau...you will love the place, when you see it..."

     Tori shifts a bit again, lowering her gaze without closing her eyes. They're not as obvious to you now. Perhaps she senses how her appearance must bother you or anyone else...not that she's really looked in a mirror lately. She's got some idea that she doesn't exactly look very pretty right now.
     Serendipity. Irony. These are all things that she would likely appreciate at another time, but for now, her appreciation for such things is a wee bit lacking. You are right. She needs time. But that's alright.
      Her eyes were beginning to close once more, until you mentioned the piano. She perked up. Then you pointed out it's really a harpsichord... and she actually looks back up at you. Her expression is flat, passive... but her eyes show much more. There is interest in those strange eyes. It's a bit more of a response than even William got... but this is a distraction. A distraction from everything that is happening right now. It is completely off-topic. Even the promise of Chenonceau perks interest.

     Ah, ha!
     "I see you have a passing interest in harpsichords," Ian smirks, nodding. He clears his throat, continuing, "They are fine things. This, however, is from Saxony...rather ornate. It is red and green, with a..." he tries to find the words, "...black applique on it. Like a ribbon running around it. Very interesting."
      "Now, I cannot say whether or not it plays well. That, you will have to tell me." Ian's brows arch as he looks down again, "If it poor, we can have someone make repairs."

      It is many moments. A soft, male sigh. Perhaps it was heard. The tinge of copper. Perhaps it was detected. And then quiet. Softly after, a voice: Will there be anything else, sir?
     "No," William says, "...just the plum brandy, Edward, thank you..."
     "Yes, sir..." The boy wanders slowly. He will have it sent. Something will be "going around" the castle. The ...Plantagenet flu. So to speak.
     There is rustling from the sitting room. William rising from the sofa, finishing the aged brandy he had poured. Taking up his cigarette again.

     Straying from the matters at hand seems to be working with her. It doesn't seem to completely pull her out of her funk, but it's at least getting a bit of a response out of her.
     Her eyes focus on the blond who lets her rest again him now, blinking from time to time. She focuses on the harpsichord discussion intently. Music. Music is her first love. It speaks to her as nothing else does. Congratulations, Ian, you've managed to get through...for now.

     "Have you been to Saxony?" Ian asks. He shudders. "Dreadful place. Take my advice...the harpsichord is perhaps the best thing from the region," he nods, affirming that it's really true. "We will need to go to hall and dig it out of storage," Ian recalls, finger to his lips, "...but it shouldn't be too difficult of a project."
     "You know," he goes on, "...it would be nice to have a salon or a recital! Some music we have not heard in a while, yes?" A nod. "Have you noticed," Ian looks down, "...how I have the ability to make you work and agree to things?" He grins then and winks, then glances at the door in preparation for William's return.

     "Lord Gloom et Doom has arrived," comes the murmur, jokingly lordly, elongated and warmed, made vibrant with the blood that has passed his lips, a counteractive agent against emotion and opium alike. Or maybe it is due to the combinaton of cigarette, brandy and distance. As brief as it was.
      Pivoting, William half-closes the door between bedroom and sitting room. "I am having some brandy delivered. I should have asked if either of you wanted anything. My apologies." But neither of you eat, and only one of you really drinks.
     William pauses by the chair, the sleeping servant, little Adam. He will have to take care of this one too. But in a moment. William draws to the bed, leaning against the post at the footboard. Indigo passes between Tori and Ian. "I think a recital would be grand. Music is the best way to pass the Winter."

     At the question about Saxony, Tori actually shakes her head a bit, then goes still again. Her gaze is focused intently on Ian. He's hit a trigger with her. Something to hold her attention, perhaps. Her expression lightens just ever so slightly, but still she doesn't smile.
     Then William's presence fills the room and his voice can be heard. This time, her head swivels in his direction so she can look toward him. Progress!
     There is another nod as William agrees that a recital would be a good idea. Deep within her, she longs for the music again... something to give her focus, something to help her express what she is going through, even if she's not sure she knows how.

Posted by rowan at July 03, 2003 03:58 PM