There are times in the year, as you are discovering, Sandrine, that the old manor is full of life. Living life, not just a matter of increased activity. Summer and Winter. Ah, but if you were a pagan, you'd know it by the Beltanes and Midsummer and by the Solstice and its longest night...
     But this is your first full year...
     The leaves sprout on trees differently here. In spring and summer the gardens are full of tourists. And in the evenings there are guests. Mortal guests. There is the sound of a child's laugh like the tinkling of keys on the piano. These are not ghosts of fat Welsh babies past but the laughter of a fat Welsh baby present somewhere on the old, hallowed grounds.
     Short nights are crammed full...
     The music room, the grand ballroom of Powis Castle, is as much a living room as any chamber in the entire castle. It is rare that a night passes without music. Rare that his voice is not heard. Rare that he doesn't spend a few good hours meditating in peaceful contemplation as he tunes each instrument. And then the concerts. The windows are opened to let the mild air in, sweet with the blossoms of the gardens just past the stone. Sensitive hearing can pick up the sound of water, the nearby fountains...
     Davydd is sitting not at the piano but upon one of the many benches, the last note plucked from the Strad still reverberating.
     "I love summer," he remarks. To himself. To the air. To the instruments. To the daughter beside him. Who could mistake it, the resemblance. Is it merely Wales between them? He turns to Gwendolyn, lifting the Strad back to tuck it beneath his shaven chin. "Any requests?"

     Sitting next to Davydd there is no mistaking it, no. Even if the two were across the room, it would still be remarkable. The long fiery locks unhindered by any ties falling down her back... the dark green eyes... even he height. But she is fairer than him...like that of her mother.
     Smiling gently at Davydd, Gwen, as she is known, murmurs, "Something... beautiful." It is a simple request, but so complex. Would anything that Davydd could play be anything but beautiful? Then she murmurs, "Something... of the season... or the passing of seasons... or something of the night.... I dinnae know. You could play anything, and I would love it."
     Sitting upon a chair pulled over, Gwen's gaze settles on her father for a moment, then sweeps through the room... looking around, taking in everything in it, everyone.... settling finally upon Sandrine.

     "Sibelius' Spring for violin and piano, hmm?" Sandrine offers, standing at a near table. She pours another glass of cordial for Davydd, then turns to hand it to the violinist along with a small plate with a lemon bar on it. "Though, I guess," her saffron yellow dress fitting off-shoulder to her knee, "...it is summer already."
     "Can I get you anything," Sandrine turns to ask Gwendolyn. She's still getting used to this notion of children who visit a parent.
     And said parent is her other half.
     "There are pasties today too," Sandrine notes, for the record.

     "Sibelius's Spring for violin and piano? No pressure," Davydd cracks in a smiling murmur. He takes a breath, he looks between the two of you and with the turn of a key, a slight tuning to his sensitive -- and accurate -- ears, he turns, taking the cordial with a quiet word of thanks-endearment with a dash of I'll be looking for a roll in the feather bed a little later, he smiles, he sips, he turns and sets the cordial on the nearby windowsill.
     The perfumed lure of pasties...
     "See, what a life I have. The kitchens," gourmet, rather, "... in use again, the halls are filled with laughter and I am surrounded by my favorite women. And one in abstentia," that would be his other daughter, Argoel, on business tonight in town. "I am a lucky man," Davydd rumbles.
     Very lucky. Upon the introductions, it could not be missed. Daughter introduced to Queen. One life getting to meet the other. "Very well, Sibelius' Spring it is..." Davydd twists, turning to take another sip of the cordial and he rises with the violin, a wink to his daughter. A kiss placed upon his queen's own temple. A press of his mouth and a brush of warmth.
     The song begins, plucked from the aether of memory's keeping. Such a mind for music! It pauses here and there as his memory refreshes itself, but the song is otherwise sweet. Solo violin, softly bowed -- the perfect instrument for this former archer, no?

     Dark green eyes so similar to Davydd's hold onto Sandrine's image for a moment as Gwen's smile gains a bit more warmth. "Ach, dear lady, you've no need to wait on me. Thank you, but I am fine for now. Mind, you might'n find me poking into those pasties later..." Her smile turns into a grin. It seems she has similar tastes even.
     She chuckles a bit at this. Pasties. How long has it been since she's had those? Well, good pasties, anyway. Gwen seems to have no issue with the Queen so nearby. In fact, she seems quite at home and relaxed. Well, the woman did offer her one of he favourite foods just now, did she not?
     Straightening her light green skirt over her knees, then adjusting her cream v-neck blouse, Gwen settles in her seat, glancing back at Davydd as the song begins. "Ahh... good choice," comes the quiet comment before she falls silent, letting the music wash over he like waves.

     "Lucky?" Sandrine stops, turning from the serving table she has arranged. That's a choice of words. She'd suggest it's because problematic items have been removed. But Sandrine's too polite. "You have worked for the life you have, yes?" she asks, arranging glasses and plates for future serving.

     "Work? Me?" Davydd turns, grinning. The notes move smoothly up, smoothly down. The strains of spring coming and spring going move quietly on even as he chuckles, more sound than motion -- else he'd dislodge the Strad. "Bah... well... I used to work. Now," a brief pause, "I am living like a fat king. Speaking of fat, are they beef pasties?" As if there's any other kind.
     Well, there might be, but he's no chef...
     "Past laurels or no, I will tip my hat to Fortune. At least to hedge my bets, cariad," he says, he smiles, he switches songs. The song is a good deal more jaunty. A recognizable song in this household, particularly to Gwendolyn. She's heard the story. "And they say that crime doesn't pay," Black Jack Davy sings out in a clever Stradivarian warble between Davy's words. "I liked my work, actually," he notes, suddenly remembering, fiery eyebrows drawing together in the thought. "Too bad highway robbery's out of fashion..."

     "Mmmm, pasties..." chimes in Gwen, grinning like a fool. For a moment, she loses he usual 'lady-like' grace and becomes he 'father's girl'. Chuckling, she grabs her stomach and groans, "Ach, look at what you are doing... making me hungry." She reaches out and pokes him in the shoulder lightly.
     Then the song changes and she smiles even wider...nearly devilish. "You are terrible," she grumbles jokingly. Shaking her head and casting a glance to Sandrine, Gwen asks, "Is he this bad when it's just the two of you?"

     "Always," Sandrine murmurs, returning to take a seat near Davydd. "And robbery's not out of fashion. They call it 'finance' now," she adds drolly, drinking her cordial.

     "It was more fun at gunpoint." He lowers the violin. "And swordpoint." Those were the days! Cloaked and masked, pistol and rapier, horse and full saddlebags. And shoes of spanish leather. "Now, bah... numbers, spreadsheets. It's accounting. Who needs accountants? That's why I have children," he laughs.
     And he's serious, in part.
     There's a flash and a flush of red at the notion of his behavior, eyebrows cock up and he smirks. "And to think...I thought I was being polite..." He knows the difference, believe it or not.
     Davydd exhales, turning to set the violin in its case upon the next nearest bench. It isn't a signal that the music is ending, but there's drinking to be done and pasties to eat. "I'm a horrible glutton. Money, food, love. It doesn't matter. If I have it, I want more of it. Especially when it comes to pasties." A pause. "And lemon tarts." Such reverence! Davydd moves to retake his seat beside Sandrine. He smiles, he leans in toward her, green eyes lifting to Gwendolyn at the edge of his smile. "I'm content. Give me a warm hug, a plate of pasties and tarts and I've no cares in the world. Gah, what a simpleton."

     Gwen's laughter fills the room... full-bodied, rich and deep. Definitely not a laugh for a dainty woman. Then again, she certainly can't be called that. Grinning, she replies, "Da... I think you hit the nail on the head there for the whole family. Gluttons for various things...though I'm with you on the pasties. The tarts, well, I have a figure to watch, even if you don't." There's a wink. She's not the only daughter who likes to tease.
     Looking back to Sandrine, she grins, "Well, at least you know how to get to him... just keep him well fed. When he's not being a slave-driver for pasties and tarts, however, I do hope he spends some time appreciating you, lady. Afterall, it takes a very special lady to put up with our family."

     Sandrine smiles, glancing askance at Davydd. "If all it was, is to feed him, I'm not sure why anyone didn't figure this out." Self-deprecating as usual. A shrug and Sandrine offers as explanation, "I am glad that...I can do something little." That bring enjoyment. How few care about handmade snacks and meals.
     "I guess I should go get the...beef...pasties," Sandrine smirks, standing and setting her drink aside.

     "I like the little things... the thousand little things," he notes, sipping the cordial again, and then it is done. Leaning back, Davydd rolls his head against the wall, looking to Sandrine. It is simple and it is meaning-crammed. Eyebrows open outward. "There are little touches of you everywhere. Just... like I like it..."
     As to why no one ever discovered the easiest route to his heart, he has no answer to that. But he wouldn't have it any other way. "The simplest answer usually unlocks the riddle," he notes. You came to my apartments. You came to see me. You smiled. You said 'hello'. A thousand subtle touches, like moving a mountain by simply calling it by name.
     Green eyes settle on his daughter then and Davydd grins. "You, my apple, did not fall far from this old tree..." As Sandrine mentions going for the pasties, Davydd looks to her, the grin turning to a wide, warm and satisfied smile and expression. "You're a dear woman and I love you."

     Sandrine stops in the doorway, half-turning about to see the both of you. She grins at Davydd, shaking her head, then flashes a polite smile to Gwen before she heads off to find where she left that tray of pasties.

      Once more, Gwen laughs, shaking her head. Slipping off of her stool, she says softly, "Well, regardless of the "whys", it worked out... and that's really all that matters." Stretching a bit, she adds, "Well unfortunately, I should slip off for some sleep." Glancing at the retreating Sandrine, she calls, "I'll be back for some of those pasties later... I'm not letting them go that easily." Shooting Davydd a look, she teasingly chides, "And don't you even think that you get them all to yourself..."

     He had thought that. In fact, he's still thinking it. The calculations are still in progress, sparkling in those eyes of his. And he says he couldn't go into finance. The smile is as smooth as the king of pirates and then he laughs, a hand to his stomach. "I'll try to hold myself back," he notes, inflection lifting in the tease. "But you know, I'm not a creature of restraint."
     Truer words never spoken and both of you can attest to that. Well, in different ways of course.
     Davydd watches Sandrine turn to leave. And then he watches the full progression of her exit. The edges of his mouth creep upward. Pasties be damned.

Posted by rowan at September 18, 2003 11:44 PM