After a while, Edward had gotten up from the bed. After his collapse, his mood had changed...from the delight of being with the one he adores, to something far more pensive. Time had passed quickly, and a different stage was approaching. Even his time in the shower, where he does most of his thinking, was a sobering event as Edward stood beneath the scalding hot water with his eyes closed. He'd successfully waved away this night for three years, and despite all his bravado and influence, he couldn't make the night disappear for his love's benefit. And it upsets him.
     And now? He stands near a mirror, finishing up the last parts of his girding. A knightly process resumed. Has he ever appeared such? Perhaps not. It started upon the shower's exit. The slow walk. The ponderous motions. The retrieval of perfectly black shoes, jet black suit of tailored Italian linen. A shirt of lavender French silk, and a deep violet tie. Cufflinks with stones sparkling and of purple haze. A stunning coat of fine black wool. These were all set out, and if he had a squire, Edward would perhaps let himself be dressed.
     But this is not the 14th century. And no squire will come. It is a Vicomte who, in silence, prepares himself in impeccable style, with his own hands.

     Valan can appreciate the gravity of the situation. He has had the benefit of your experience -- and your friends. He has met two vampire princes and one Council Member, been in the proximity of a Justicar and has had tea with former kings (and the sons of kings). It has been weighty company. He cannot imagine what a night like this must be for a total neonate.
     He showered before you (or you would have been late for the meeting) and he spent the whole of your shower drying and tending to his golden hair (a nice honeyed tone in the smoothened layers of it tonight) and to his clothing. He must have brushed his suit for a good fifteen minutes.
     A linen suit, but with a Montague twist. It is black, but with a subtle (very) pinstripe of red through the cloth. It adds a shimmering touch to his motions. Jacket of the same covers a red silk shirt. There is a tie, loosely tied (Mod fashion) but with a perfect dimple -- the tie is Hermes. The shoes are pointed, black, Italian. The lines on the suit are very Art Deco. The crease and fold and tailoring are immaculate.
     He is a shock of something Beautiful in this world...
     He was fine, really, until he saw your suit. Then, did he become nervous. He poured a drink for himself and for you. Whiskey. And he has smoked at least one of the cinnamon and clove cigarettes sent by William. "Vous semblez etonnant. Je ne crois pas que je vous ai vu plus beau..."

     Blancheflor's once fiance matched her beauty. Edward smiles lazily, appreciative of the comment, though it does not lift his mood. His dresscoat remains hanging on at door, while he finishes with his cufflinks.
     "I guess I clean up alright," Edward says softly, mostly to himself. "You chose okay," he replies, looking in the mirror to see the young man behind him. "I'd hate for you..." Edward looks down, "...to think otherwise, when we are standing there." The beautiful dressing is not for a prince.
     "So," Edward exhales, picking up the drink with gently manicured hands, "...do I need to go over anything with you? Your Grace or Excellence," he waves a hand for either, "...I'd say speak when you are spoken to, but..."
     "...you are...a grown man, Valan. And I cannot," despite his mind saying so, "...tell you what to say." That fills in for the rest of what he was about to speak. Edward looks in the mirror again, but his gaze goes over his own shoulder.
     "Just be who you are."
     The rest will happen as it happens.
     "He will ask you of your Sire, maybe, and your Sire's sire. He may ask you beyond that, but it is not likely. Of what it means to be What You Are. To see if you are," Edward shakes his head disapprovingly, "...worthwhile." Someone else's word, that. Not his.

     "I hope he does not wish me to recall her entire name. I'm not sure I remember it in its entirety," a soft tone, but still lilting a touch of humor. Dry as it may be. Valan smiles into the glass as he looks at you -- the smile is also for you. "I am not nervous about my fashion. I am comfortable. I can only be myself," a roll of his shoulders as he moves to stand before the glass.
     He is wearing some of the finest cologne in all of Europe. It works for his skin, his chemistry. Gold-green eyes shift to you, reflected back at you, the smile lingering. "For I am Valan, and I am the man you love."
     He looks to you, his eyes unfocused on himself for the time being. "I will be the educated and polite man that I am. But you are nervous," he notes. "Are you afraid of my... penchant for speaking the truth? Truth, I know, ami... is not diplomatic. But..." a clearing breath, "I would invite your advice. If you wish to say more, ami..."
     "I hope he asks me questions about my sire," Valan says suddenly, "...for I could talk all night about him." He leans in toward you, mouth near your ear. "It will be okay. I will only have respect for His Grace, he is a man of position. He has earned it." I was not born in a barn, ami!

     "No, I have nothing else to say," Edward shakes his head again, keeping his own paranoias and screaming voices to himself. He smiles. "I worry not that you will be you, ami. Just...I know how arbitrary this all is, really. That's all. And due to nothing you may do or say, things will be as they will be."
     "Kiss an old, already annoyed man, will you?"

     A hand comes to your face as he turns. His smile given to you for a moment's space and then the kiss. The kiss is radiant, exuding warmths and light and the taste of whiskey and cinnamon and clove.
     "I do not believe in predestination," Valan murmurs at your mouth. He kisses you again. He does not set you free until he is satisfied. Not until after he has breathed for you and you for him for several heartbeats.
     Valan smiles, the Sun King once more, and he lowers his hand from your face with a last brush, leaning back with a light nibble at your shaved chin. "Where does the prince hold court?" Is this court a place, or merely a state of mind?

     "Near the Mod," Edward breathes, needing to share the space and the air you both occasionally breathe. "Maybe twenty minutes. The car should be outside."
     "I don't believe in much, ami," Edward says, nose to nose. "You know my list. But it includes you. Being yours." An admission. Edward grins, knowing it. "And what we have," he explains, "...is even more than I dreamed. So much more, Valan..."
     Edward's eyes close, and he stands in the aura of his other. Feeling it around him. "I was right, for once." He smiles.

     He stands as you in the center of the space that you, together, create. Breathing one another's air, feeling one another's existence. Valan's smile is an echo of your own and his hand pats your side. "You are right more often than you give yourself credit for being, I think," he notes. "And we will have a wonderful evening. I do not know much," Valan murmurs, winking in a gold-fluttering instant. "But I do know that I love you, and that we love, and in the end of all things, the rest isn't important at all. I am still wearing that smile, like I know something the rest of the world does not. Remember..."
     When I was in your bed the first night. I said it was like seeing and knowing and experiencing Truth. And once you have seen it and known it and experienced it, you can never go back to the other world you once lived in.
     Valan kisses you again, a pull of his mouth upon yours as he leans back. "You look good enough to eat. And if we do not go, it will be all I can think about," he chuckles. He steps away, his hand reaching back. Walk with me.

     Ah, yes. The literal eating. It'd crossed his mind too. Edward slips his hand in the offered one and reaches for his topcoat with the other. "Been to the Tate Modern yet? No matter," Edward smirks, "you won't see it tonight, either..."

     "No, I haven't. Will he be offended that I have only gone to The Abbey," William's, "... gallery since my arrival?" He smirks. "I will not say anything. But.. maybe one night..." He doesn't finish the thought. It's not likely that you and he will start roaming art galleries any time soon.
     Valan heads out of the bedroom, slowly, curling your arm around his stomach so that you and he must walk in concert toward the stairs.

Posted by rowan at October 19, 2003 09:58 PM