On the way to Stansted, the deepest of the night has yet to set in. There is nothing visible in the sky but the intermittent lights of airplanes, evidence of pilgrimage, discovery, transition. The black limousine from Kensington Palace is full of luggage, the driver and Stephen in the front, two kings in the back.
     William is staring so intently into the glass of his window that one might easily assume he's staring at his own reflection, a Narcissus captivated by his own image. But of his profile, you know better. The eyes are dark and keen, focused upon thoughts. A large arm rests against the door, chin in his hand, his fingers occasionally pressing at his mouth, capturing that lower lip you know so well and squeezing it.
     Like his father, he could never be still in Thought...
     But that's not who he resembles at the moment...
     William is spread out, languid, lordly in the spacious confines of the car, dark suit amazing. In his left hand rests a glass of scotch, his ring shining in the dim, electric light of the automobile. He turns his head from the glass, he takes his last swallow.
     And William looks at you.
     The look is placid, reserved. And crammed with many things yet unvoiced going through that Angevin head...

     He does not need to see you to know you're there. Ian stares out of his own window, hand extended across the seat to cover its mate's. He inhales and exhales deeply, images of you and he flashing in his mind. He's thinking of home, new comforters, and the two of you in long conversations that last nights. Often while undressed.
     A smile peels at his lips, and Ian looks over to acknowledge your attention turned to him. He has not been in your mind, knowing that it is probably filled with many thoughts of the last two nights. Ian gives a wink and squeezes your hand.

     Those fingers, how they clasp. Softly, the tender touch that expresses love and all the gentle emotions of a civilized man. Firmly, the clasp of a passionate man, who is able to convey so much with the slightest motion. Strongly, the feeling of command. His fingers loop with your own, they squeeze back in return, and William stares at you a moment.
     And then you see it...
     That Look...
     He is up to something...
     Or, he has realized something...
     Indigo glimmers in the darkness, backed by a sharp mind's light and smoothened with the olive oil of a well-practiced politician. "I cannot keep it off my mind," he murmurs. "I have been ... thinking of calling Messereich." William looks at you again. "But... something else has occurred to me. A way, I think... to ... take care of ourselves, of our Clan, and of my brothers. All in one stroke..."

     Ian looks over, not realizing that you'd gone another route. Granted, there was talk of doing what was necessary, but it appears now you're ready to go full bore. Ian nods slowly, exhaling as he resettles himself to face you. "You think it would go that far?" There was no detailed discussion of who'd be affected.
     "I need to understand," Ian asks, "...what you think, laird. In full. What do you think, honestly, of what he said?"

     William nods, his head resting back on the padded seat, rolling over to bring his face to you, his fingers still clasping your own. "Davydd... I do not know if he planned to do this," William exhales slightly. He has not worked that knot loose as of yet, "... or if he truly did not know everything he needed to know and so... here we are. About being of the Fae, about being a King of the Fae. But as a Ventrue, even though I am his brother, I heard him also with a Clan's ear. This betrayal... he knows so much that he should not know. True, has not used any of it to our knowledge, but he has it. And that is the one thing Our Family... could never tolerate..."
     A dark eyebrow lifts a little. "I would not be surprised if Death would be where he would end up. Sooner, I think, rather than later, should it get out." William pauses, a look that Knows crosses his beautiful features, "... When it gets out..."
     For is that not what Davydd himself is planning to do?
     "For you and me... we who have known him, but particularly myself here, and I am tied to him, with The Twelve, without it. Where Davydd goes, I think my fortune may also go. There will be a reckoning that I would have to pay. You know this..."

     Ian looks past you. You are on the same page. "I called Keith," he murmurs, explaining the phone. Ian's brows arch and he sighs. "Davydd was talking about making arrangements with Edinburgh, asking about the open court. I couldn't take a chance," not about you. That's where his worry was. "But, I hadn't decided...about making other calls."
     "Oh, laird, this...it could be a disaster. And, I can't afford another sanction, Will. We can't afford it." In the pocket. "Not to mention the sword over our heads -- and everyone else's -- about what would be said. And...you. Your safety."
     Ian smiles. "He wants to be a King, Will. And, there's little that stands between a king and his perceived duty," he notes, looking at you pointedly.
     "What are you thinking," Ian finishes.

     There was a look for Edinburgh. A piece he did not know. You see it only sets that resolve. The corners of his mouth lift slightly. "Yes, I have gone to that same place, as they say," William murmurs. "I have thought... I could call Messereich, I could tell him myself before anything happens. Before anything else is known. But," an exhale, "...I think that while it may buy me a little time, maybe... perhaps grant me a few points, I would still be held accountable, more than anyone else he knows. Edward... all those who know him. Donal, Niall. The only one I expect to be exempt is The Dignitary..." Girault...
     "There is another way," William notes. "If he is not Ventrue now, amours, what is keeping him from ... becoming a Ventrue now." And you see now where his mind has gone. "We embrace him," William murmurs. "We solve a multitude of wrongs, of problems, we halt a multitude of suffering. For everyone..."
     There is compassion for his brother there. "Even Davydd, amours... even he. For what good does he do any of us dead? Himself..."

     "Tell Messereich," Ian murmurs, "...and your friend may as well be dead," Ian offers sadly. No, that is not something he wishes for you either.
     "Embrace him?" Ian quirks a little and looks to the floor of the car. His face frowns for a moment, as if weighing the cons. "I...has he not been already? I...do not quite understand...all of what has really happened." No one's given him the details. "He told me he was not Ventrue, but..." that doesn't say too much.

     "He is not a vampire. Not at all. He ... says that Mithras attacked him, I remembered hearing that part of the story before. The fog, the abduction, the dragging to Glastonbury." William turns, glancing out of the car window. "Apparently, Mithras no more knew what he had grabbed than I had who I loved."
     He turns toward you, his visage placid, without seeming emotion. "Mithras never completed it. He was surprised, and in that surprise, as Davydd tells it, he was able to stake him with his sword, incapacitate him and... evade him. I believe he has some of the effects, a curse ...he calls it. But not... a Ventrue. Yet... in whose company has he lived? Whose houses and domains visited? Ours, others. So many, for so many years. His life will be forfeit whether I tell Messereich or no." The emotion shows there at the corners of his eyes, a shine there, a watery shine.
     "Amours... to embrace him... it is the only way to salvage our reputations, my life perhaps, those of our friends, that of our Clan, even our Justicar. It is the only way to save his life..."
     "To take it, Ian... I am convinced that ...any other avenue only leads to destruction and death."

     The hand around yours squeezes again. Ian's brows arch as if to say: Is this really it? I am so sorry...
     "He will be angry, yes?" Ian thinks. "What does this mean? War with a King? Fae?" Not that he cares for them. "We've avoided such, Will."

     There is the quiet clearing of his throat. "I don't know what he will be. Angry... probably... but... maybe... I don't know," he exhales grandly and looks to the ceiling of the car as if it will offer him something more, some assurance. "That is the chance I will have to take. For him. For me. For us. If the fae have been... united with him all this time, I have... never seen it. Maybe... maybe it is not quite to that point, amours. Maybe if it is done now, before any one else finds out any other piece, be it Our Family or His, maybe we can even escape war. I will be hopeful..."
     "But if not," he murmurs, turning to you again. "...then I will fight him if I have to, as I did before. When he was fae and I was mortal and we ended in a draw. Do you... how do you feel about this, amours... this idea. We must not delay... I do not think we have much time..."

     Ian is still a moment, brows knitting again. "It is..too fast, Will. I cannot...see...everything yet." All the repercussions and permutations. If you are asking for his prescience, he's nervous about giving it. Every king should have such a sage nearby.
     "What you're suggesting is...an option. But," Ian shakes his head, "...would...it be dangerous? I mean...the actual embrace? If you are at risk, Will, I would rather...something else."

     "I am at risk no matter what happens," and he put me there. Maybe he did not mean to. "We do not have time to see everything, my love. For when we see it all ... who knows what others will have seen. And then..." He takes a breath, he looks at you again. "Ian... it must be as if it were always so. That none should need to know anything different from what they know already -- that Davydd is a Ventrue."
     "What we know is this... that if we do nothing, our lives, our businesses, everything we know and have is at jeopardy. Davydd's life is forfeit. I may be asked to hunt and to kill him myself, I would not be surprised by such a thing. You and I, perhaps we would be ... I do not know, even exiled from cities, our businesses cannot afford sancture. You nearly didn't survive financially the first sancture, and that was over a mere argument. Not this treason..."
     "...Edward and others will suffer. While we may have additional worries down the road... they will be, I think, of significantly lesser degree than if I call Edward now and tell him to bring Davydd to me."
     William is silent for a short time, his eyes on his reflection, seemingly, again. "We have the benefit of Knowledge, something Mithras does not appear to have had. And you..." the reflection of his face shows his eyes looking at you. "You have resistance to magic. The Tremere ... cannot touch you, or if they could, my love, you have given them cause, yet they do not come. Not even from a distance, which they can do."
     William turns to look at you directly. "I know... what this means. I know that there are things as of yet I cannot see. But I see clearly that to do nothing means death and ruination. With Davydd's embrace, we have a chance at avoiding all of this. Even though it will demand something you and I said we would never do. That you said you would never do..."
     "My love..."
     He lifts your hand to his mouth. "Forgive me... forgive me this question that I ask you, that I ask you this thing. For me, for Us, for Clan and Camarilla..."

     "One of us?" Ian says, snapping out of his reverie. Grey eyes look at the joined hands, and a frown becomes deep-seated dismay and slight revulsion.
     Ian shakes his head, though he remains silent as he looks to the floor again, grey eyes darting left and right. "Me?" he whispers, closing his eyes.
     "We said we wouldn't," Ian whispers. "We promised," he says, a promise as the rings on your fingers.

     William looks at the rings, at the joined hands. At the symbol, at the reality, at the implications of the suggestion. Leaning in, closing his own eyes, his mouth brushes at your temple, he lingers there, smelling skin and hair. "I know," he murmurs. "And that is how grave I feel the situation truly is. How grave I believe the censure shall be. It ... is not a perfect choice, not a perfect world. It is not a perfect solution. But it... is the best solution. And the quickest, most silent remedy..."
     "It is different, this. It is not for love, for romance, for attachment. It is ... the embrace of someone who is already an elder. In many ways, it is a formality. I feel that... while it will not be... comfortable, pleasant... it comes with its own... issues, we will recover sooner than if Ventrue finds out what we know. We will be forced to call Messereich, to give him up to save ourselves. Our Clan will lose face for... however long. It is... a masquerade breach the likes of which we have never known. And we know about it..."
     William's hand squeezes your own. "There are some promises... that are simply more important. Our marriage must take precedence..."

     No one has blessed our union...
     The secret marriage can never be broken...
     He seems so young at moments like these, when the things closest to him are touched and made public. Ian blinks and looks at the joined hands, moving his ring finger so it rests beside yours. Two bands exchanged, and the world never noticed.
     Brighter than the gold and platinum, crystal tears fall at Ian's eyes. "I can't..." he barely speaks. "I...can't. I don't know how..." He's only done it once, and then as an act of desperation, as he expected soon to die.

     "I will help you... we will do it... "
     William rests his head against your own, black to white-gold. Night to Day. The rings shine next to one another, the hands joined, inseparable. The world has never known how much. The world has never understood how much. Nor should they know.
     There is much the world needs not to know...
     It is an act of desperation no less than 1191 in the desert sands of Arsuf. For there is a king in a modern city about to make a very big mistake. A mistake that will affect everyone he knows, everyone he has met.
     "I love you," William bends his head, his mouth finding your own, and his tears are there, the same as yours. His hand grasps yours, a squeeze of solidarity, of One Not To Be Divided. Unity and union.

     Ian smiles to hear the words; he needed them. "You and no other," he whispers, breathing in sharply. "You and no other." A mantra said by a young man, to prove his love.
     "What if something...goes wrong?"

     "Vous et non autre, amours," William whispers back, smiling as well. "Vous et moi, nous sommes un mariage. Il n'y a rien... rien, mon amour, qui peut detruire ceci. Ne pas egaliser vous et moi." He kisses you again, then rests his head against your own, his hand letting go of yours only to surround you.
     "Then, how can it be worse than what it already is." Lifting his head, tilting it back, William looks at to you. "I think, mon mari," husband, "... that we have nothing to lose..."

     He's not so sure. Ian closes his eyes, holding close. It's all dark to him, the paths after tonight, and he fears the darkness. No information, no calculations, no probabilities, no likelihoods. Not even an educated guess. Just a bottom-line of It can't get worse, can it?
     And to do with another, something not done in almost nine centuries. A blessing given once for love, now done in defense.
     Maybe for love once more.
     Ian pulls away and wipes at his eyes. After another breath, he curls upon the seat and places his head in his husband's lap, closing his eyes to think about what is to come.

Posted by rowan at May 02, 2004 10:55 PM