The sound is sweet... penetrating...
It passes through the archways, and echoes within the chambers of the king. The sound of a guitar, electrified but with a throat acoustic, rich like a twelve-string, is loud and clear. It serenades the early evening.
Balthazar walks the terrace, his fingers moving deftly, beautifully over the metal strings and metal frets. He does not look at his hands, but at the view, past the view and into his own thoughts. The light linen he wears moves in the warming wind. It is cream, that makes his caramel skin all the deeper seeming. His hair is mussed, thick and wavy, standing on end here and there.
The song is complex, and his. It lacks lyrics, but they'll come eventually. He thinks. In his element, in this element, he appears more at ease. But there is that quiet uncertainty that lingers around him still.
There is nothing, and then there is something. This is the way your uncle works - by surprise, sometimes gradual and sometimes immediate, but where there was emptiness, now it is filled.
There is nothing, and then there is something. Gwilym Gwyn Garu smiles with thieving delight as he appears on the terrace. If you were not my nephew, I would make you my own. But you do not need to know that; you do not need to learn all my darknesses. It is better that you do not.
He appears, and he steps from shadows to reality, dressed in the black armor of shadows, waiting until the strings are silenced, all the last vibrating ring of them. It's only then that he speaks, puts forth words where you can hear them.
"You look more complete than you were."
The fingers still on the strings, and the notes trail off into silence and the sea. Balthazar turns to the sound of his uncle's voice and he unslings the guitar, holding it a moment before setting it aside. He nods. "I am feeling a little better, uncle, thank you. I feel a bit stupid," his smile suddenly appears and it warms his face, though it is slight. "...but it's not fatal."
Setting the guitar in its stand, he leans against the marble. "My sister was very pressing and unrelenting," he smirks, his gaze lowering to the floor in his thoughts. "She helped me... as you... put some things into perspective. It's a bit embarrassing, actually. To realize that I conjured it all. But," he shrugs as he looks up at you. "...I am probably not the first to think someone likes me when they don't..."
"Love makes fools of us all," Gwilym answers philosophically. He takes a seat on the ground, comfortable there as anywhere. He props his chin on his fist. "To be fair, women make fools of men even more often than that. They aren't good at saying no." He smirks. "Except when you really want them to say oes."
He looks up at you with some sympathy, then pats the floor. "You do realize that it wasn't you, don't you?" Gwilym inquires candidly. "Because I can just about guarantee it was nothing you did wrong."
He hesitates a moment -- in thought more than in Hesitation -- and then he joins you. Balthazar settles beside you. He is quiet a moment, looking to his hands as he sits crosslegged. He unwinds his legs and then folds them against his chest, his bare feet against the marble. Winding his arms around his legs, he looks to you.
No, he doesn't believe that.
"How could it not be? One moment, she is wanting me to chase her. The next, she's on the run. I'm... really not sure how else I can take that, uncle."
"Women flirt with men. It's not just interest - a girl can flirt with a bloke as a way of saying good morning or hello or you're handsome without it ever meaning more than that. It's a way of saying they like you well enough to chat with, without committing," Gwilym explains patiently. He waves a hand, and wine springs up, and chocolates with red pepper flakes and cinnamon dust. "She thought you were good-looking, boyo, and so she smiled at you."
He lifts wine in one hand, chocolate in the other, feeling briefly very old. Io, I love you as a brother, but what did you teach this boy of yours. "It's a defensive thing as well," the Holly King continues. "If a lad likes a lass, he's more likely to treat her well; less likely to think of her as a mark, something to be tormented or tossed aside. There are, in other words, many, many reasons why women flirt. Doesn't make it sting any the less to realize that it wasn't intended as anything more serious, when you felt it more keenly - just doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you."
"Here, give me that guitar of yours for a minute, will you? I think there's a song I could play for you."
"It was a bit more that that, uncle. I'm not a virgin. I know the difference between flirting and take me home with you." He lies back on the marble, his face to the ceiling. "She went from sitting on my lap, making out in the Range Rover and clawing my chest to there was never an Us.
Rolling up, Balthazar reaches for the guitar. "I have never had someone run from me so fast, so soon." He hands the red and gold guitar to you. It's a wonder. "I am not feeling particularly suave. How could I have missed signs that large? I've never had any complaints... but maybe they're just being kind because I'm the king's son."
"Then it's likely that she got scared. She went further than she'd meant to go, pulled back, and ran like the wind." Gwilym doesn't seem surprised; he finishes off the chocolate, washing it down with a mouthful of chocolate. "Americans run hot and cold, in my experience. So she was caught up in the moment - it happens. She got cold feet - that happens too. Better she run now than further on down the line, oes?"
He wipes his hands off on his trousers, taking the guitar gently, strumming it once or twice and running his fingers over the strings to get the feel of it. "Lad, if you think ladies are kind in bed, then you've been sleeping with entirely the wrong kind of women. Did she give you any indication that she didn't enjoy whatever it was you were doing? Or any sign instead that it went too fast, too far for her, that maybe she was less experienced than you?"
His hands prop him up, his heels to the marble, Balthazar stretches out. He looks to his feet and to the unending space ahead. "I've been sleeping with decent girls," he smirks. "Lovely, young... well-bred. They've been relatively appreciative." There's a flush for that.
Cinnamon brown eyes turn to you as you strum the guitar. It sounds like an acoustic, a twelve-string in your hand. "I really don't know, uncle. She seemed to enjoy it. She did run out of the car. Actually, she leapt off my lap and then ran," as he recalls it. Sighing, Balthazar looks to his feet, his legs stretched out long in front of him. "And then she dumped me. So....I don't know..."
"Americans are all fucking Puritans. Except when they're not." Gwilym grins at you. "She likely did enjoy it. And she got scared. You're not a girl, so you don't know. Why don't you ask a girl? Not your sister, of course." No, he isn't interested in that comparison to Bran. "But surely you know some other girls you could ask?"
He strums the guitar again, then segues into an actual song, the strings making honey-like notes under his fingers. He chuckles, cocking a wry eyebrow at you, then croons out lyrics in a warm tenor.
"Sally, free and easy,
That should be her name,
Sally, free and easy,
That should be her name,
Took a sailor's lovin',
For a nursery game..."
He stills the strings, then grins at you, not without sympathy. "She sounds to me rather young, rather immature," Gwilym tells you candidly. "People all age at different rates, you know? Over here, over there, makes no differs. Your da - the one that's not my brother - I think he was born aged, oes? But Io and I - we're not so like that. Your kingly father struggled under his crown. I struggled under mine, if it comes to that. And it sounds to me as if she wasn't quite ready to risk her heart on you, for whatever reason. But that's on her, boyo, not on you. If you want to curse her name, then curse her name, but if I were you, I'd feel sorrier for her than anything else. Not only did she miss out with you, it sounds as if she has a great deal of trouble taking chances in life. Anything not in her already established world, anything that doesn't fit - out it goes, oes? That's a terribly narrow sort of a life to lead."
Balthazar looks to you. You have a nice voice. He looks at you a moment longer and then back to his feet. "I've not much experience with American girls. Well, she was the first, point of fact. And... I don't know any girls. Not any girls that I could ask about this sort of thing. None of my sisters date. But it doesn't matter either way. Gillian's neither here or there at this point. I'm just not ...feeling very confident about... going up to another one anytime soon. I think she was just tolerating me, to be honest. And for some reason she let me kiss her."
He shrugs. But he listens. "I've just never experienced anything remotely like this," Balthazar says quietly. "I was feeling confident...I pursued her... intelligently, creatively...I put a lot of thought into all that. But when it came right down to it, she wasn't interested. I've never had to ...really try before, uncle. Maybe that's it. Here, the girls are," he pauses and sighs, "...there's nothing to work for, if you follow my meaning. She, I had to work for. And now that that's not worked out, I'm just... wondering what I could have done differently. Not falling in love so quickly would be a good starting place," he smiles a bit self-effacingly, "...but sometimes one can't help that, I suppose. I don't know. I'm just not feeling ... very appealing at the moment. I don't know how to explain it. If I were so fucking appealing, she wouldn't have run so fast. That's what it feels like..."
"D'you know how many lovers I've had?" Gwilym cocks up an eyebrow at you. "Probably you don't. You know I like men," he smirks, flushing a bit, "and it's true, though I don't usually talk about it, oes? Your da figured it out first. It was hard on me when he did."
He strums the guitar, fingers idly playing over the strings. "It felt as if he was leaving me behind, oes? He was in love. With another bloke. Moving on into another country, without me." His eyes sting, and he grins to hide it, voice softer for a moment. "And I ran like hell from the possibility that, well, hell, if he liked men, what the fuck did that mean about me? We were twins, after all. And I ran, ran like the bloody wind, boyo. You have never, will never see a one for running the way I did, and still sometimes do."
The guitar's slid off his lap and offered back to you, and he picks up his wine again for a long, thirsty swallow. "Without namin' names or pointin' fingers, I obviously did end up giving in to curiosity and coming to a few choice realizations. Before tryin' men, I'd worked my way through one end of my mother's kingdom to the other, and dug in pretty damned well into the outlying areas as well," Gwilym tells you without shame or braggadocio. "I had a reputation that still follows me, sommat. So going over and trying something else wasn't a walk in the park. It took emotion, and it took opening myself - no puns, here," he smirks, "but to new things."
"And even though I liked it - even though I quite liked him, even had feelings for him, I still ended up running away from him." Gwilym shrugs, reaching for another chocolate. "The sex was good. Being cared for, having someone offer me his heart, it was tempting. But in the end, it wasn't what I wanted, wasn't what I needed. I doubt I handled it very well, but when someone loves you and you don't love them back, there's never any good way to handle it. You could have been Adonis and Casanova rolled into one, Balthazar, and if it wasn't what she wanted, she'd still have run. I know because I've done exactly that, in the past."
"I can't claim I'm proud of it," Gwilym admits, "but it's the truth. No matter how much you love someone, no matter what you tempt them with, you can't make 'em love you back. You wouldn't want her to stay with you just for the sex, would you? You liked her better'n that."
"No," he says quietly as he takes the guitar. He sits crosslegged again, cradling it on his lap. "That would be far more humiliating." For a time, he is quiet, his fingers idly moving along the neck. A fully-formed song blossoms from his fingertips, but he does not sing. Perhaps it too has no words, none yet to claim it. As he is unclaimed.
Balthazar looks to you as he considers your words, your past. Sneaky fingers reach for a bit of the peppered chocolate, a small section taken. "I suppose that's true," he says quietly, after a time. "I don't like feeling hesitant, particularly about that. I wasn't before. Of course, look where that has gotten me, so perhaps a little hesitance isn't a bad thing?"
His red-brown eyebrows knit together in thought. "I just feel a bit gun-shy, I guess. Now I'm worried about being shot down. I suppose that isn't fatal either." He tilts his head to look at his fingers moving over the frets and strings. "This is one of those fall off the horse, get back on the horse moments, isn't it." Cinnamon eyes glimmer with a hint of amber.
"I want that," Balthazar murmurs. "Now that I've tasted it. I want someone to care about me. Someone that I care about. Convincing random girls to go to a room with me isn't ... really appealing to me at the moment.
"It's not bad to be a little gun-shy," Gwilym agrees quietly. "You don't have to go racin' across heaven and earth right away, though, you know that, oes? It's all right to be alone for a bit. To take your time, until you find sommat that meets what you want."
He grins at you, leaning forward to clap a hand to your shoulder. "Just remember to keep your eyes open for those opportunities, like I mentioned last time, oes? It's definitely better with caring. You don't have to chase after pleasure for its own sake. Just don't blind yourself to a chance when it does drape itself across your path - or your lap."
Gwilym chuckles, shaking his head and pushing himself up to his feet with a wry smirk. Aeron will laugh at me, listening to me be so sentimental. "I ran like hell from more than a few, before someone finally caught me, you know."
Balthazar follows you with his gaze as you stand. He stands a moment after, unfolding easily from the marble surface to his feet. How is father would envy him. He sets the guitar back in its stand. There's an understanding in his look as you speak of finding someone, being caught by someone. He knows, but he doesn't say anything.
"I guess I was just ready to not be alone, so I have to say that the prospect of continuing to be alone isn't very exciting, uncle. Am I going to have to drizzle myself in honey or something? My door isn't exactly being beaten down..."
The smile that crosses his mouth is wry and doubting. It is as if he hasn't looked in a mirror in a while. Like, ever.
"Isn't it?"
Gwilym shoots it back, giving you a wicked smile. He does not recognize your look, but he gives you one in return. Can you, in all truthfulness, say that your door is not being beaten down?
Not even by juvenile hurricanes...?
"I leave it for you to think about, in any case," Gwilym continues, as he steps back into shadows, half-cloaked in them. His one visible emerald eye closes in a wink. "In my experience, in this family, we rarely spend time alone - save by our own choosin'. Take care, nephew. If you have any need of me, you know how to get word to me, oes?"
He steps back, dissolving into the shadows without waiting for an answer. It's one of his more annoying traits.
Well...
There is an internal struggle already, a resistance he can feel in his gut. It is a stubborn I really just don't need that right now. Does one crazy American girl count?
"Yes, uncle," Balthazar says to the insubstantial air. And then he sighs: I really hate it when he does that. Looking to the guitar a moment, Balthazar reaches for the instrument, taking it back in hand and starting on a familiar chord...
Posted by rowan at March 18, 2009 09:41 AM
