I have narrowly escaped being a midnight snack...
     Did I even get her name? The apparition is now gone, the Lady That Was has wandered off through one of these seven doors and I am alone again with my thoughts and with this art...
     Whoever painted these... man or woman... it has to be some recall, yes? From some life lived before. Who could think that such old kings could have such life...
     But then, Valan, who would think but half a year ago that you would be in love with a vampire knight and wandering through the private quarters of several castles. Seeing what no mortal sees...
     I have eased my gaze from left to right, from King Henry to the only face up there I recognize. The one who smokes the killer cigarettes. I can see parts of his father in him. More... I can see his mother in him. Funny, were we not speaking of Medieval beauties not long ago and Aelinor was mentioned?
     Valan stands before a row of seven doors... in the middle of the vast hall. A glass of wine is held, and when it is remembered it is lifted. When it is lifted, he sips. His golden hair is in some disarray. And his shirt of crimson linen is unfastened. The suede pants that indicate him so well hang at his hips, fitting both close and loose. And he is without shoes. Warmed by the large fire at the end of the hall. And he tilts his head back, and you can see him shake it.
     It is a kind of dual amazement...

     "Amazing, huh?" comes the familiar voice, returned to French. Perhaps you have heard his English gripes since things have calmed. But with you...well, his native tongue seems to flow. "I bet it's just...mind-boggling, yes, ami?"
     He is clean now, dressed in a robe borrowed from the master's closet. Damp hair is drawn back, and Edward seems a shade lighter. Removing a muss of blood will do that. Once more, he is the very image of a working knight, class be damned.
     "I should have found you before I disappeared into the bath," he smiles, feet sticking to the stone as he walks towards you. "But I was such a mess, hmm, might as well head straight for the water. You alright, ami?" he wonders, hand coming to your shoulder and eyes lifting to the nearest portrait. Is this what occupies you now?

     I will have to get used to blood. I could not look at it. Soon, it will be my life and I will have to adjust...
     Or perhaps it has nothing to do with my stomach, and everything to do with my heart. I could not stand to see you in pain. To watch William pull the bullet from your arm. William. The child of Eleanor and Henry.
     He turns his head toward you. A smile, and an instinctive look to your shoulder. "A beautiful mess, oui... you were that. I should have been in there with you..." But I needed a moment. Free of the thoughts of you in pain and shot. "Who... did these?" he wonders, one hand to your side as he eases into your grasp. His other hand, holding his wine glass, gestures upward to the portraits. "I would say it is as if they lived, but maybe I should say it is likely as he remembers it. Richard Coeur de Leon..." All of the stories, ami.
     "I would not have even guessed it... if I had not seen them all together... I suppose it is why he has them this way. He does not mind the occasional guess?" Hazel eyes sparkle to you.

     "I guess he doesn't mind," Edward smiles, his shoulders rising and falling obviously under the bulky robe. "I mean ... really...who would think anything of it?" he grins broader, arms wrapping around your waist. "They..." a hand waves, "...are but the paintings of a collector who knows the history of Chinon. Why would anyone think otherwise? Everyone," Edward reminds, "...knows death is the end..."
     "As for who did them...would you believe me if I told you...that he did?" Edward chuckles, chin at your shoulder. "I...have no such talents. He...well, he was blessed with many -- or so they say..." the double entendre intentional.

     Oh. Yes. Everyone does...
     But me.
     Though his laughter is quiet, here in this hall it echoes. "I am already starting to forget, ami..." What it was like to know everything. And Nothing. Valan leans back against you, but then you feel him tighten. Forgetting so easily that you were hurt. The body freezes... is it alright? And the seconds that follow find him relaxing again. The rise and crest and fall of human instinctual compassion. What marvelous creatures they can be.
     "Non... I would not believe you," says Valan, a grin claiming his mouth. A slight turn of his head and you can see it for yourself. Slanting. "Not that he did this and not that you have no such talent. Mon ami is... exceedingly talented... did he really?" he begins again.
     "We should have him do something for us... for the house that we shall share. I think this would be... a very nice addition, yes?"

     "We could ask..." Edward grins, revelling in the littlest things you do. Mortals are beautiful and you are particularly so. "But yes he...well...he had...interesting associations in his time. Teachers..."
     The embrace tightens, as if to reassure you of his health and vigor. Edward's smile leaves so that he might kiss your throat and collarbone, listening as he busies himself with other interesting elements. "I don't know what he'd want to do at Dannerly...it is but a home, ami, not...a palace," he chuckles, even though it is his castle, as he likes to think of it. "William...ah...well..you should ask him sometime of his story..." breath lifts as if he's looking to the paintings.

     "Does he only do palaces?" comes the soft inquisition. And then the curling of a smile. "You do have some empty walls at Fleurilil, ami. I am certain we could find him something to do..." A roll of French, how his words hang upon his tongue. Curled there against the lilting tongue until they are dropped from his lips.
     And I am reminded. Not only of how strong you are... a little lighter, ami... I still have to breathe! But of how... amazing you are. My love has rescued the home of his friend, taken a bullet in the arm. And it is as if... nothing happened. You do not even seem in pain...
     "Does it hurt?" And Valan turns in your hold. Turns from the paintings. There is a sparkle at his wast. The open shirt reveals the belly chain you bought him. Yours. Chained to you. Ah, oui... and thankfully... literally as well as figuratively. Upon his skin you smell his last shower, the honeyed soap, the light cologne. Lagerfeld? It is more spice than sweet. "Can I do anything ... hmmm? It is healed?" and he leans in, a light brush of his mouth to yours. The first kiss of this evening.
     And there he smiles. A brushing pull against you. "Ask him of his story? Do you think he will tell it?"

     You always ask things so quickly," Edward chuckles, his brown eyes sparkling even as they roll in mock lament. But he loosens his hold as you turn, making sure his touch with you is ever constant.
     "Maybe...he will tell you one tale," Edward thinks, eyes lifting to the paintings now at your back, "...if you seem genuinely interested. He is...not a total recluse. I think, maybe, his story is very personal?" If that makes any sense. Of course not. "I mean...all stories, of course are inherently personal, but his, ami, it is...a long story of war, his talents, and his loves." Then a laugh, "I am not so beholden to my own tale, not like that. It is nothing so grand..." and he pauses, cocking his head, "...nothing so personal to me, if that makes more sense. It is just a story to me. He..." eyes narrow, his jaw in motion as muscles and mind work in concert to find and utter the words, "...it is more of an epic tale that a person could get into. It makes a good romance," for all that word is worth.
     "And me," the squeeze snugs, his arms fitted into the rises and falls of your well-known waist, "...I'm fine. It hurts a little, oui, but..." he snorts at himself, "I have had much worse, hmm? Not to speak grandly, but just...yeah. It's been worse," and Edward's grin is warm. "Now, this little idea about Fleurlil..." and Edward's face lifts to the ceiling, his head tossing back as he thinks of what you and Will might do to his ancestral home...no way!

     "I am just saying... if your friend and cousin has to have a grand surface... like his grand life... to paint grand paintings," a gesture to those above. "...you have such a house, oui? You know him better than I..."
     Maybe I should not make fun. He is a man of obvious talent. But... I am a man of infinite... humor.
     Or maybe I am just flippant...
     "Hmmm... I will speak to him then. He does not seem... reclusive. He is just..." Valan pauses and tilts his head back. "...He chooses his own council? He is not like me..." Who could not laugh at this? "Who would talk to a wall if it showed even the slightest," his forefinger and thumb are just spaces apart from one another, and he laughs, "...bit of interest, oui? So... I will be mindful of who he is and... ask politely." A pause and golden brows open upward. The smile is instantly broad and warm. "Should I bow or something... or call him sir?" Hazel flickers in a wink.
     What shall you do with me, Eduard Meurelle? I am a modern peasant in comparison...
     "Ami... I have not that sort of talent either. This reminds me," and he turns back to you, a lean into you to brush a kiss along your lips again, "... I shall have to figure out... what I am going to do with the rest of my life. Apart from being a lovely attachment..."

     He laughs brightly, face astonished. "You're learning...and you aren't?" Is that how to think of it? "What makes you think you should do such? Non, ami...don't think about such things. Think about...each night. Surviving. Enjoying," fingers skim at your back. "Much more...and you will confound yourself. The answers are no easier in death, than they are in life."
     And that is about as profound as Edward Meurelle will get.
     "Laugh, mon ami. Exist. Learn ... think ... experience...and then maybe how you might occupy a few years may come to you. But much more than that?" Edward's head shakes negatively, "It is not worth the agony within it shall cause. It's no way to live, sweet ami," his fingers finding familiar places to caress. He worries about things just as what's happened. For him, such is insanity. He will never carry plans and intent as Ventrue do. In fact, every fibre of him is against such pain, as he says.
     Brown eyes soften and Edward's head tilts. Worry. "You have to have no goals, ami, remember, please?"

     "Laugh," Valan says, eyebrows arching again, and the smile returns. "This I can do. Live in the moment? This is all I know... if this is all I need..." his voice trails off and ends in a smile. Brilliant and warm. His eyes full of sudden gold. Then it shall be a glorious existence...
     "I will not worry about it. I will drink, fuck, fight and dance..." And his hands gesture. There! It is done. "And the rest will be as it may, oui... Eduard..."
     Planning. This is not for me. Before I met you... and since. It has been a matter of whim and desire. And this is... what I know...
     "So... I will talk to Robin Hood's uncle," mixing his legends there is he not? "... some other time. Now... I think I should take you up to the bedroom... and treat you like a king..."

      "Ooh, does this mean you will fetch me slippers?" As if he has ever had such. Edward chuckles and lifts you in the cinching of his strong forearms. "Oh, Valan, what times we'll have..." observation as much as wish and promise.

     Again...
     You lift me like I am nothing. Light as air. With such casual ease. As if I were a wine glass... lifted to your lips. Ah, shall you lift me to your lips tonight?
     "I was thinking more along the lines, ami, of something less... wholesome. Though, if your feet are cold... maybe there is something I can do for that as well..." Valan laughs as you lift him. "Come... let's go upstairs... the bed is huge... it will take us the rest of the night to find our way around in there..."

Posted by rowan at February 10, 2001 11:34 AM