No other space within the castle could occupy him. The walls felt too closed in, the wide halls too narrow, the ceilings far too low. The only place for him, the only room for him, was the topmost point he could find, his only ceiling God's floor, all the space in the highlands and the distance between himself and the invisible moon. Emotions that had been restrained for Davydd's waking were unpacked and let loose like a pack of hounds. His gut, his stomach, his heart are full of barking, howling, snapping creatures.
     But there is nothing on the air...
     Nothing to announce that he is sitting there...
     No crowding of majesty...
     No words to his beloved out there somewhere in the woods...
     William sits quietly, his eyes given to the world, but his attention turned inward. His brown layers of suiting glowing slightly against the backdrop of even greater darkness, the moonless highland evening. And in his moment when he believes himself alone, in this moment where there is no one to put a face toward, no situation to handle, the king puts his head in his hand, his thumb to his forehead, elbow on a bending knee.
     He sits with his back to the stone, his face turning up to the sky. Emotion lined clearly there, like smudges on an otherwise perfect face. Anger. Sorrow. Indignance. Betrayal. Love. They are all there, given freely to nothing but the air.
     He reaches into his jacket's inside pocket, drawing out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. The only ornamentation worn is the ring given to him by his mate.

     The hatch to the floor below lifts, and dark hair appears in the open angle. Eyes are brown, and the arm grows taller and taller as Edward comes more into view. He looks about, then sees that someone is there. No more room at the rampart.
     Just as quickly, the hatch begins to lower quietly. Apparently someone else needed a perch, and Edward's disinclined to disturb.

     Indigo eyes lower at the raising of the hatch, the placid expression descending once more and to the lowering of the hatch, an eyebrow lifts. "No," William says quietly, "...stay, Eduard..."

     Ah, he's been caught.
     "So much for finding my own," Edward grumbles, though a slanted smile comes. Cursory. Everyone needs a little space tonight. After an exhale, the hatch rises quicker, and Edward walks the last few steps up to the rampart. "Hey," his English follows on as he twists to lower the hatch flat once again. "What are you doing up here," he asks rhetorically, really knowing the answer. It's an intro to a conversation, if any.

     "Trying not to think," he answers in French, getting back into the habit. The dialect is from the Loire that you share. He gestures to you with his pack: want one? And he takes out one for himself. They do not appear to be the opium-laced variety, not even cloves, just your basic variety of blah-blah cigarettes. "It will be easier to do with you here," he drolls, his mouth attempting the first smile of the day.
     In truth, he seems happy to have a little company. Perhaps he needed reinforcements afterall. "I hear all the ramparts are full. There is no room at the inn for little baby Jesus..." William exhales the first breath of smoke. "I am glad you are here..."
     There seems to be nothing in that but what it sounds like and what it is. He is glad that you are here.

     The offer of a cigarette is met with arched brows. "Oh, best idea I've heard all night," he says to the pack, eagerly filching one. "Thanks, mate," he murmurs, moving down the wall to take a seat next to. Edward pulls his own lighter from his pocket, and begins to relish the familiar habit. "Should have thought of that myself. And earlier," he chides softly, closing his eyes as he turns his smoke to the sky for a moment for a deep inhale.
     "Don't let me stop you," Edward finally murmurs, returning to the insult at hand. Another inhale, and soon enough, a thick cloud begins to form around him.

     Oh, you make me laugh. And so William does, softly, barely, a pulling sound from his throat and he looks from you to the sky above. He smokes for a moment, saying nothing, needing to say nothing. "I occasionally have a good idea or two," he murmurs after a moment. "I try not to do it all at once. Once a decade, I do not want to make myself tired," he rolls out again. There is an exhale of smoke and that look again.
     A rush of anger, a rush of thought, the barking and the baying of the hounds within his soul. A shake of his head, and William looks away. "I think I am going to go to Chinon a little early," he says, ignoring the blue-painted elephant in the corner. "We," always in the plural, "... will give you a ride to London, or to France if you like. That is, if you do not mind staying a few nights until I can convince my spouse to run away with me."
     There is a momentary smile, a dash of warm humor. "Sometimes it takes a couple of nights to get him to see it my way, mais oui..."

     "Makes sense," Edward nods, pulling the cigarette from his lips. The burning end faces him and he watches a bit of ember fall into his palm. A moment of musing upon the light of burning tobacco. "I hear it's nice now," Edward offers. "Little rain this year," he explains. "Thanks on the ride --" Edward sighs, "I don't know...what our plans are now." A frown follows. Thoughts of Valan are foremost suddenly, now that the major emergency's over. "We...can't go back to London right now, I don't think," he continues in English. "We...talked about going to France..."

     Blue-violet attention rests on you for a time, then finally to the moonless sky. "I expect that this," this event, "... will dissolve soon enough. There is no advantage in airing it out," you can hear it in his voice, the timbre of the king. And the sound of his own emotion. William shakes his head again, releasing a large exhale of smoke, watching the plume drift away like the three witches' fog and he flicks ash (very decisively) to the stone of the floor. "You should be able to return to London. I still do not know what will come of my little murderous mayhem in...where was it?... Hockley?" Eyebrows quirk upward.
     Hockley. Forever now to be known as Urinetown...
     William's nose wrinkles slightly. What an unpleasant week...
     The Olympian face, that mouth, shows a slight frown upon the curl of his lips. "I have always firmly believed in my father's 'change of venue' strategy. Location, location, location. So, maybe you and Valan going to France," he looks to you again, "... will be a nice change of pace. Look at me," he suddenly drolls, "...finding the silver fucking lining...who knew I could be such an optimist..."
     It is a vulnerable moment. The next pull of fire and smoke, another shake of his head, the shadow the descends on those deified features. "I have given him everything I could possibly give him," William murmurs suddenly. "My job here is done. It is time to ... tend to other things. Be with my mate...that's all there is." Indigo flickers toward you. "If you are to be in France, I would like to see you. Happier circumstances and all. Would you be at Fleurlil?" he wonders suddenly.

     "No place else," Edward responds quickly and easily. But another frown comes. "What's with you?" Edward looks over, putting the cigarette back between his lips. Despite it, he continues to talk. "It's done. Call was made, it was executed. Davy seems none the worse. It's his problem to bear," Edward sums. He's moved to an even keel on it. Let responsibility lie where it should. "You should go to Chinon," Edward smiles, nudging, "...and have a good summer." End of discussion.

     "I would like to visit while we are both in the country. I have not seen Fleurlil in a few years." He rolls his head against the stone wall, turning to look at you, an eyebrow lifting. "Maybe we should do some fishing..." Like real people do when they go to the Loire and the Vienne. He smirks a little at that, but it is said that kings crave life's simple pleasures...
     The cigarette is nearly done. It will be followed by another. The nudge was met by solid, Loire earth, stony as limestone plateaux. "What's done is done," he agrees, but the way he says it, maybe it's not what you meant. William lets loose the last breath of the current cigarette, long and slow, and he crushes it to death on the stone, face illuminated by the sudden, tiny sparks. "Thank you for your help, Edward."
     Silently, your hinted advice is tried on for size. Let it go. What's done is done. But his anger is never so easily soothed once stirred. William does, however, resist the urge to be indignant. His expressions bear it for now. You see it, hurt and betrayal, anger and concern. And love. And even understanding. And annoyance.
     "I will have a good summer. I am going to spend some time in Tours and Poitiers. I may even go to Paris. I will relax." He smirks, looking over at you and remarking: "Eventually..."

     "Come to Fleurlil?" Edward grins. "It has been centuries since Anjou has come to Orleans. It's best we leave it that way," he smiles teasingly as he finishes his first cigarette of the night. "I'll visit...Chenonceau, hmm?" A plan left on the table.
     Edward watches for a moment, finding comfort in the familiarity of a smoke in his hand, in his chest, filling him. "Paris," he finally says, a solitary thought. "Poitiers and Tours." Two more. "A tour," Edward concludes. "Sounds like more than a summer. Think that will make you leave this all in Davy's court?" he smirks. "You should. I have," he nods, reaching for another cigarette, despite it being on your person. He exhales, as if making his point again.

     A second for you -- you take it from him first -- and he follows with a second for himself. There is a smoothening look, such a charming look, such a winning look at the mention of Orleans and Anjou. "Chenonceau..." he nods, he pauses for the lighting of the cigarette, the first breath of smoke and fire. The cigarette is held by that mouth quite securely, even as he speaks. "Orleans should not be worried. Anjou only ever comes in peace," and then he grins, sudden and full of fire, edged with smoke and followed by a short laugh. "Chenonceau it is," a plan agreed.
     "As for ...touring? Hmm..." he shakes his head, "...not so much. In Tours, it is business. In Poitiers, to see Alire... have you heard from him? He is busy it seems these nights... I go to see a friend then. Paris...I cannot remember the last time I was there for more than a quick lay...over..." He winks. "But... it is time to put the past in the past, mais oui. And let the future have a chance to be something else..."
     William exhales smoke again, an artful plume, curling upward from his mouth. Eyebrows lift and lower once, quickly, slightly, and he glances to you and then away. "I do not know. A tournament some night perhaps, to prove his love to me." His mouth makes a slant, as if it were a joke. It is, in its essence, deadly serious. "I have given him Everything. It is true, you are right, Eduard, it is up to him, it is in his court to prove it out. I gave him what I have given ...would give to no other..." Indigo fastens onto you then, and emotion rings through him. "I gave him Ian... his life... I asked of my mate the one thing we both swore we would never do. Because Ian loves me, it was done. Davydd had better make good use out of it..."

     There's a long quiet as Edward lights his cigarette and resettles himself. In it, he knows you will not speak. It is his time, and he shall take as long as he desires in his move. A breeze picks up and then squirrels away, taking his first exhale of smoke along with it.
     "What if..." Edward says, his English flawless from a century and a half of practice, "...I told you...that Davydd..." he frowns, trying to find the words, then smiling in success when he finds them, "...is not long for this world?" Brown eyes loll over. Something serious, something humorous. He does not leave long to explain his dark statement. "The Never...has no place here," Edward begins, not really sure of where he goes with this. "To walk among the Quick...or Dead...is no easy feat. It is a particular Kind that can Become..." what we are. "In this world," where we live, "...there is but the Quick," left hand near you opens up, exposed to the world, "...and the Dead," his right hand mirrors, with cigarette in hand. "Everything else...is Everything Else."
     "And Davy," Edward smiles, thinking of his friend, "...is part of Everything Else. Maybe he should never have been Here, among the Quick," left hand waves, "...or the Dead," the right wiggles. "But now, most certainly, he continues to be...Neither."
     "And so his Time Here," Edward circles around, hands closing onto his knees again once the cigarette's at his mouth, "...oh, William, I don't even think it matters much anymore..."
     "And I am...alright with that. When he goes," Edward sighs, looking up, "...I will miss him. But I know now," he smiles and shrugs, "I know in my dead, cold heart -- for I have one -- he should never have been Here in the first place..."
     "He'll go...whereever it is...he should have been from the Start..."

     But he has lived. He has lived for eight centuries. Among the Quick. Among the Dead. And we believed him. We all believed him. Perhaps we are not so quick. Perhaps we are not so dead. William listens. There is no interjection, no argument. You may even be right. You may even be surprised that there is no argument.
     William's head turns upon the stone, rolling over to keep his eyes on you as you finish. Indigo is direct; there is no shifting of his eyes to keep up with your logic or your motion. His eyes move away as you speak of yourself, of him, and William looks into the space of the tower's turret and all the open air, now crowded with All Time, with motivations, with implications and with sense. And he blinks at it, slowly.
     He says nothing in this moment, nothing to follow those words, that sentiment, that truth. But you see that he agrees. You feel and understand more by the simple pat upon your nearest shoulder. "I think I need a drink," he murmurs suddenly, French again for your English -- he doesn't even try. "My conscience," he calls you, "... allow me to open the best of my stores." You're getting the alcohol he usually reserves for himself and his husband, you might correctly assume. "You can take a bottle with you to your Montague," for he knows you won't be sitting up with him all night.
     William rises, cigarette held in his mouth, lighter stowed for a time, exhalation of smoke billowing out briefly. A hand brushes stone dust off the nice suit and he holds his hand out for you. In his face, you see it clearly. I will miss him, too. But the next moment, the very next...
     With the inclination of his head, his face becomes the face of a king. A king who keeps you in the fullest of his counsels, but this business is done. Placidity reigns with Beauty once more. "Just one drink," William says. It would be hard to deny that wish, though there is no Ventrific Obligation placed upon the phrase.
     It is just us. You and I. In our lives, we have loved this specter. We have bled when he asked us to. We have cried and we have laughed. We have battled with a god. We have had pints with the almighty. We have supped and slept with Mercury and Mars.
     We are mortal...
     It is Davydd ap Owain who is Otherworldly...

     He was going to pass on the drink, already not thinking much upon his words. Edward peers, then smirks. "You know I don't need it," the special stores opened. He feels he's done nothing special, particular, or important. "Besides," the cigarette is finished and stamped on the stone between you, "...I have someone waiting, I think." That's where his attention now turns. "He needs to hear from me," Edward says softly. The rest has become less consequential.
     "We'll get to France ourselves, eh," Edward decides lastly, beginning to rise. He must do all things on his own. "Thanks though, boyo. We appreciate it." Two, walking solitary together. Dead, but never Merely So.
     "Let me know when you're all in. We'll do something about..." Chenonceau, unsaid, hand waving.

     "You're here," is all he says of the special stores, but with a slight bow of his head he lets it go. And will attempt to do so with the rest of it. "I will call you when we get settled," he says quietly, warmth there in his tone. A family on the move, and he at the head of it. It is a husband's voice.
     Bending, William opens the hatch, gesturing for you to go ahead. "You and Valan are welcome to stay here as long as you like, whether we are here or not," he says. "You do not have to make immediate preparations. We will likely not be leaving imminently," unless there is sudden need to pick up and move. You know how he can be.
     The rest is left where it was laid. Davydd. Invitations. The future. He even smiles a little at his own nature, the hands of the structural engineer ...wanting to get in there and fix everything. He has done the best he can. The rest is up to things greater than himself.
     "Have a good night. And...in the off chance you leave before saying vaya con dios," William grins, "... have a good and safe trip to France. I will see you soon..."

     The Spanish gets a twist of his nose. Edward heads on first, bending to slide onto the stairs. Before he slips down to the sixth floor, Edward looks up and winks, allowing himself to drop into the floor below.

Posted by rowan at June 21, 2004 02:27 PM