She does not know your schedule; really, she is beginning to wonder if she knows anything and anyone anymore. You've received a note telling you where she will be, and, really, when you receive it, are you surprised? Gillian is in the library, curled up at a table towards the back, a stack of books almost making a fort in front of her as she hunches in her chair studying - at present - a genealogy of the noble families who have chosen to take up residence in the capitol.
     In short, it's a Who's Who. The other books are a mash-up of similar tomes, history of the realms, trade journals and society papers. Her eyes are still a little swollen behind her glasses, and she's wearing a pair of slim grey jeans and a white blouse, and a pair of what could be riding boots. Her untidy strawberry blonde hair's been getting a bit long; currently, it's tied back into a tight ponytail as she dives into the House of Greenleaves and Lord Jourdemayne of Hyssop.

     He is ever at least five minutes late to everything. But amazingly enough, today, Balthazar is right on time. Fresh from washing to sand and sweat of the afternoon's race and contests, he enters the library with mostly dried, golden hair. Short though it is, it curls a little at the nape where moisture still clings to it. He is clothed far differently than when she saw him last, in fitted fawn-colored suede pants and a plain, long-sleeved, white pull-over. The fabric clings here and there where he didn't properly dry but ... as usual... Balthazar was running late.
     "Gillian?" Balthazar's voice is quiet and warm and, just now, inquisitive, as he quietly enters the large library. He looks around and then smiles a little at the ...fort of books. That certainly has to be you.
     The leather boots on his feet and legs, made of stag-hide, barely make a sound as he moves. Not fearing the potential for electric storms, he comes alongside you and takes a seat in silence. He doesn't stand over you, he doesn't wear a suit of armor, and he isn't flashing fire. Where he is, the Spring and Summer sunlight are remembered; the kind that wakes one slowly, gently, stirring one from dreams.
     In his arrival, there is the sudden appearance of tea all around you, a Kashmir service, complete with dates and fig cookies and dolmas and rosewater and honey. Balthazar pours a cup for you and then himself. "I think apologies and groveling go better with tea," there is a brief smile. The smile, though it is small of width, is deep in honesty. "Shall we try this again, you and I?"

     She looks up, and though it's wan, there is a smile for you. Quietly, she begins rearranging the stacks of books to be out of the way. There are enough walls between the two of you as it is. "Hey," Gillian offers a little bit shakily. She dips her chin, then nods. "How've you been?"
     As beginnings go, it is perhaps not the most radiant. But it is not inauspicious. She places a bookmark between the pages, closing the book and setting it on top of the nearer stack. "I'd say to feel free to pull up a chair, but you live here, I don't." Her gaze is lowered again. "So... Maddie still in class?"

     He returns your smile, kind for kind. "I have had better weeks. Normally, I don't yell at people I love. So... so far," he gestures, "...it's been a bit of an off week." He pauses, his look more sober, though the summer morning warmth remains. "I am really very sorry, Gillian. Not only for what I said but for how I said it. None of it was, of course, true. I do love you, and I care what happens to you. I am sorry for upsetting you, and for not listening to your concerns. I reacted very poorly, I said things I didn't mean, don't believe. And worst of all, I hurt someone quite dear to me. I hope you can forgive me. And that you give me the opportunity to show you that's not how I treat people I care about."
     Balthazar faces you quietly, much as he had yesterday in the middle of your lightning storm, but now it is with the serenity of understanding. He knows the future. He can't say it yet, but he knows it.
     "Maddie is back in class. I had lunch with her earlier. I wanted to make sure I... did a much better job at representing myself and my thoughts and feelings to her. She has a bit of a long day, it sounds like. I know she was hurt by what she thought I said. But after speaking with her... I think she understands now what the point of all that was. To slow down. And she wasn't the one rushing. I was. I do that, you know," he smirks at himself, then exhales, turning to take up a cup of tea. "How are you?" he wonders, his voice quiet but warm. It is not for small-talk or politeness. He genuinely wishes to know. "You are getting some reading in, I see." Golden eyes make a quick survey and then return to you."

     A faint splash of pink color enters her cheeks, though her gaze remains down. "Well, you can't take all the blame. I had no right to come storming in being the overprotective older sister." She sighs, and looks up, accepting one of the cups of tea and rotating it with slender, elegant fingertips. There is no trace of the lightning now; not on the surface, at least.
     "You do tend to rush," Gillian agrees with another small smile. "I remember that about you. I'm almost surprised Mads wasn't rushing right there with you; she's usually in a hurry, y'know? I'm ... okay." Okay. It's such a portmanteau sort of a word, but it covers things while saying very little. "Yeah, I figured if I'm engaged to Bran and all, I should get in some studying up on how things are, here."
     She is self-conscious; not shy, but reticent, and she picks up her tea for a dainty little sip, then sighs as she sets the cup down again. Grey eyes lift to look at you, finally. "How're you? I mean... honestly."

     "I have a baby sister," Balthazar says. "I would have done the same thing." He smiles a little. "Maybe not as flashy. The floating thing was good. You scared me," he chuckles. "Maybe I shouldn't admit that, but I was pretty shocked. I guess on my heels is an accurate description."
     He sips at the tea then sets the cup aside. His full attention is given to you. "I am trying to improve on that," he lifts a hand to his golden hair, his fingers giving his scalp a bit of a massaging rub. "I have always been sensitive. Passionate to a degree, but after I met you, and then all of the subsequent Wests," his mouth makes an amused curl, "... I certainly have been ruled more by passion than by reason. I don't think it's a negative, necessarily, but it can drive me, and others, a bit crazy at times. It is part of who and what I am now. But ...I do need to remember to breathe every once in a while. So I don't pass out, fall and hurt someone."
     Your grey eyes see much. He doesn't hide from your inspection. "I am ...okay too," he says softly. "I am trying to create a kingdom, make up my own rules." Balthazar smiles at you as he rests his head against his hand. "It's a little daunting. I never really fancied myself the king type. But I am the type of king that I am. I am doing the best I can do. I know you know all about that." He doesn't mention Maddie specifically, or matters of the heart. But you can see it. The thing neither he nor she can yet admit.

     She sighs, lowering her gaze again. For some reason, it hurts to look at you right now. "I owe you an apology," Gillian says quietly. "And ... well, not just for scaring you," she rolls her eyes, not believing it for a moment, "but ... for what happened when we met, when we went out."
     She tugs the tea closer, turning it a little to watch the liquid splash against the sides. "I judged you by appearances, and ... well, obviously I was wrong. I'm a little mad about that, at you, but at the same time, there's no way you could've told me the truth. You might as well have opened with 'I'm a little green man from another planet'. It wouldn't have gone over well." She tugs her scrunchie out of her hair, running her fingers through the locks and ignoring the static crackle that accompanies the motion. "But ... pretty much every decision I made was based on the available evidence - okay, and my own preconceptions. And ... anyway, it's not important now. But I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings." She quickly picks up the tea, taking a sip and making a face as she sets it down, eyes lowered. "Just try not to hurt my sister, okay? I can't really ask you for anything else."

     Balthazar absorbs that quietly. He doesn't dismiss it; that would be disrespectful. He chuckles at the little green man bit; Green Man is oddly appropriate. "There really isn't a good way to say it. I mean, you're sitting in it, and it's still a bit odd to discuss. Though... if you want to know now, I will do my best to answer your questions."
     He pauses a moment, sitting with that in silence. "It's okay, Gillian. I wish I could have been honest with you about that. Thank you all the same. My feelings were hurt, but only because I was infatuated with this girl and her amazing bag with infinite storage." He grins at the memory of it. "Everybody has their preconceptions. I am glad you know, now, what you didn't then. I'm sorry, and this is the last apology for the day, I hope, that I ... rushed you or... if I frightened you at all. I realize, now, that I came on a bit strong. I just... really liked you. I still like you, of course," he adds with a smile.
     The smile deepens. "I am going to do all I can not to hurt her. Again, anyway. I hurt her yesterday, not meaning to." He pauses, hesitating on something. Should I? "Maddie and I have agreed," Balthazar begins, his gaze holding steady, "... to slow things down a bit, on her suggestion this time. She was very mature about it; she suggested seeing one another only three times a week, so she can concentrate on her studies. I'm proud of her. And I'm happy to give her whatever she needs to be happy and successful. She's very sweet and she's smarter than she gives herself credit for being. She has a real chance to do great work Here and There. If she chooses."

     "I don't know what to ask, really. I mean - I'm trying to understand things. I don't really get it, I guess," Gillian admits quietly, looking away. "But there's a lot of things I don't really get. I'm book-smart. I never said I was good at anything else."
     She looks up and smiles at you halfway. "Maddie, slowing down? She must want to be sure things work out between the two of you. I'm not surprised. You two're so much alike, in some ways."
     Gillian waves off your apology. "It's in the past, right? Don't worry about it. Is there anything you want to ask me, though?"

     "It's a lot to get," Balthazar quietly replies. "It's a different world, with strange customs and," he smiles a little, "...stranger people. But you are quite adept. One of the smartest people I've ever shared a drink with, and so I have no doubt that you will learn quickly." He sits back a little, relaxing now that the apologies are done. "Where we are, and who we are, is tied to the dreams we all dream. Camelot is real here, so fixed in human imagination and literature that it actually exists. And some of the customs are really quite anachronistic, even archaic. Like courtship. As antiquated as that is, there are moments of real modern life. Only there are unicorns." Balthazar chuckles, twisting to take up his cup.
     He snorts a laugh as you mention his similarities to Maddie. "We are. She's a fire spirit, and I am the Sun King. We do get along like a house on fire, the expression goes. But in a lot of ways," he says seriously, "...we are nothing alike. It's very extreme in a way. There's no in between. I think we would both like it to work. I think we just realized that we were farther apart in where we are different than we had realized."
     Setting his tea aside, Balthazar looks to you. "Are you happy, Gillian? It's none of my business so feel free to tell me to shut up. But... this thing with Bran: is it really what you want or is it something you got caught up in? Friend to friend," his expression is tender and warm, "... I just want to know if you're happy."

     "Either it'll work or it won't. I might be the overprotective big sister, but it's none of my business - not really. I hope you don't mind, but - I really don't want to hear about your relationship with my sister. Where it's going, where it's been - it's not my business, and ... it really makes me uncomfortable to talk about it. I'm sorry if that makes me a bad friend." Gillian shrugs, looking into her cup. "But I'm too close to it. And it's really, really not my business."
     Her discomfort shows, in the way she sits, shoulders slightly hunched, tensed against it. She doesn't want to know, doesn't want to hear it, doesn't want to talk about it, and can't even meet your eyes. You change the topic; and it's more comfortable, even if not so much as comfortable itself.
     "I'm not unhappy." Gillian shrugs. "If you mean, do I love him, then the answer is no. He knows I'm not in love with him. He says he's in love with me, but ... I have a hard time believing that. He doesn't know me, any more than you did when you first met me, and while he knows me better now than he did when he first met me, I don't see any reason why he'd be in love with me. But we struck a deal," she shrugs again, "and if he's prepared to honor his end of it... then I'll honor mine. That's what marriage is, isn't it? A contract between two parties." She looks sadly down at her cup, sliding her glasses up firmly onto the bridge of her nose. "Don't worry about me, Balthazar, anyway. Hasn't my sister told you by now that I always land on my feet?"

     "I'm sorry, Gillian," he says. "I wasn't meaning that in any sort of graphic way. I was...just meaning to agree with you. But I understand completely and I will respect your wishes. My family is, if you haven't noticed, well-steeped in TMI. It starts from the head of the family. I've heard more about my grandmother's sex life than I care to discuss. Usually, they wait for company at the dinner table. It's quite special. So... no, it doesn't make you a bad friend at all. I didn't mean to be a bad friend by mentioning it." It. Her. "You're right, in any case."
     He sits forward to look you in the eyes, unwavering in his gold. "Marriage...is a partnership, yes. I believe that, too," Balthazar says quietly. He wants to reach for your hand but maintains his respectful distance. "But ...I think for a marriage to be truly fulfilling, it should be based in love. And not the silly sort that makes cheerleaders doodle on their notebooks or has men or women roaming about the heath, wringing their hands and writing bad poetry to one another. I think it should be more than a handshake. I can't speak to his feelings. Every man and woman love differently, and certainly I'm not going to tell you that you shouldn't go ahead with it. But as a friend," his hand reaches out and places the lightest touch he is capable of making to your arm, "I will say that I think you deserve more than that, and certainly owe yourself more. Accept nothing less than what makes you happy, Gillian. Accept nothing less than amazing. You deserve to be loved, adored. And to have that feeling for someone else."
     His hand recedes and he smirks at himself. "Now, I fall in love easily, I will say. Infatuation, anyway. And I can't apologize for that, as ludicrous as it sounds. It's my nature to find the best in people, see the best in them, and ... well... recognizing beauty and talent and intelligence rightly fall for it. But I understand it can be a ...bit overwhelming, hmm?" He smiles just a little.
     "You can tell me not to worry all you like," Balthazar says, "...and even though I have always known you to be quite feline, and agile, and strong. And certainly you can shock anything that stands in your way," he smiles a little, leaning in a touch, "...myself included, I am going to be concerned for my dear Gillian when she is so obviously not happy. I know you're resilient. I know you're strong. But I also know that you know... that if this were truly right, truly what you wanted, you would not be staring into your cup like that. Do... what will make you happy, Gillian. Life is to be lived. And what is life without love?"
     There is Love in his voice, in his face, and permeating the air around him. It is his essential self, Love. In all its forms. Amber eyes are resonant with it. It has the scent of honey, Love. And a summer breeze through a grassy meadow.

     "More than what? Stability?" Gillian smiles, shaking her head in her doubt. "Balthazar, I'm about as happy as I ever am. It's ... on track, I guess you could say." She exhales in a long, slow sigh. "And it'll make my mother happy. I can finish my degree, and work on my doctorate before she starts nagging me to get him interested in politics and - and so on."
     She looks at your hand on her shoulder, then picks up her tea to take another decorous sip. "I know you mean well. I really do. But I suppose I just don't see or believe in the same world you see and believe in. I wish I could believe in it. But hey." She smiles, a small, lopsided smile. "At least I know you and Maddie get to live happily ever after, right? That'll be good enough for me."

     "Yes," he chuckles. "Something more than stability." He looks at you as you mention your mother. "I don't care about what makes your mother happy. Her happiness? That is her problem, right? She's responsible for that, like you are yours. But...I am your friend. If this is what you want, I will support you. Because I love you."
     He says it very simply. It can be simple when it's true. You give him a lopsided smile. There is no smile in return. There is the look of sober reality. "Love isn't a fairytale, not even surrounded by fairies," Balthazar notes with a helpless smile. "Even though I extol the virtues of love... it's my job... sometimes love isn't enough."

Posted by rowan at January 13, 2010 07:21 PM