Vermilion ~ Thirty: Master

[annarti.livejournal.com]

His left hand was stuffed deep into his pocket, turning the small jewellery box over and over with nerves. On his right, Mistress Greendale rested a demure hand on his arm as he led her to the summer drawing room.

Normally closed off by now, the servants had graciously stoked the fire, dusted the room down and freshened it with flowers to match those in the grand dining hall. Candles were lit on as many surfaces as would hold them, giving the normally open and airy room a warm, cosy feel. And private, the master thought with a certain lightening of his heart. Why had it taken his valet to think of this?

‘Oh,’ the mistress breathed, releasing his arm to step into the room. ‘Is this all for me?’ she asked, her eyes glistening in the candlelight.

Vermilion gave a smile he hardly felt behind his stretched nerves, and chose not to answer with words. Careful now, he cautioned himself. He drew the jewellery box from his pocket, opened it to rearrange the bracelet on its velvet, then presented it to her on his white-gloved fingers.

‘Oh, Master Candlewood,’ she cried, wonder in her eyes. He hoped he wasn’t seeing tears there, too, though he imagined there would be shortly. He would almost certainly be breaking her heart.

‘This is an apology gift,’ he told her quietly. ‘Mistress Greendale, I know you have been quite taken with me, not just today but on the scant other occasions we have met, as well.’

He swallowed at the look of confusion on her face. He could almost hear her thoughts, so plain were they in her expression, though she dare not voice any of them aloud just in case they came true.

‘It is not your courtship I seek,’ he told her, his voice heavy. He hated to see another’s heart broken, and it tore at him to know that he was the one breaking it. He knew that he had, in no small part, led on her infatuation with him, as well, but now was the time to end it.

‘I wish for us to part as friends,’ he continued, taking up her hand in both of his. Her fingers were quivering and cold, but she didn’t pull away. ‘Because, truly, we aren’t parting at all. I still wish for us to become family, but through another. It is your brother whose courtship I would ask.’

She stayed silent, and he allowed her these moments to straighten the words in her mind. Her eyes glistened, but she wouldn’t weep. She wouldn’t allow herself that in front of the one she loved.

‘My brother? But I thought…’ She turned her face away, blushing furiously in the firelight. ‘I must apologise, Master Candlewood. Oh, you must think me such a fool!’

He shook his head and turned her face back towards him. Even with this new knowledge, she gasped and fell into his touch.

‘It is a myth I have perpetuated,’ he admitted. ‘I hope you don’t think me arrogant when I say I know I am desired. And so, the better to see my soul mate for who he is, not for the face he thinks will win my affections, I have hidden in the shadows, observed from my secret hideaway, until I found your brother.’

She allowed a small smile at the thought of his subterfuge. ‘I had never guessed,’ she admitted.

‘If I’ve done my work well, then I think nobody has. You’re the first to know.’

Her smile broadened at that small gift. ‘Thank you, Master Candlewood, for making me feel much less a fool.’

‘You’re no fool at all. I don’t doubt that you will find your match, perhaps even at this party. It is a celebration, after all.’ He smiled and brushed his thumb over her jaw. ‘You’ll most certainly find one better suited than me, my lady.’

She dropped into a neat curtsey; he responded with a gallant bow.

‘Shall I fetch my brother for you, Master Candlewood?’

He nodded, hardly trusting himself to his voice. ‘Thank you, Mistress Greendale.’

It could only have been a few minutes, but the wait was excruciating. He tugged off his left glove and tossed it onto the table, then more slowly, finger by finger, removed his right. He thumbed at the naked stump on the end of his middle finger, the nail lost decades ago after he had slammed it in the door. He halfway thought of putting his gloves back on again, but a thousand other questions tumbled over in his mind and demanded his attention. Should he sit or stand when Master Greendale entered? Should he offer a drink? Calm the mood or open with his pronouncement? He had felt that Master Greendale might have known earlier, but should he assume that? What if he said no?

‘What if he says yes?’ he murmured to himself instead, taking the singer’s advice. If he said yes, he would feel that elegant hand in his own, feel the scratch of his facial hair against his lips, hold the heartbeat of another in his hand. If he said yes, he would know love.

It was with that thought that the door clicked open.

Three years his junior, Master Greendale nevertheless cut an impressive figure in his rich navy velvet, trimmed with gold. His dark beard was trimmed close and neat, running in a thin line along his jaw. His dark eyes, always quick to laughter, cast a perfunctory scan of the room, but he seemed to think nothing of it.

Vermilion felt the cold grip of fear tingle over his skin at that reaction, but hastily shoved it aside. Of course he thought nothing of it, he reasoned, he didn’t yet know why he was here.

‘What’s all this, then?’ Master Greendale asked, with what he doubtless thought was a knowing smile. ‘My dear sister seemed close to tears when she called for me. What sweet nothings have you been sprouting at her this time, you sly mongoose of a man?’ There was something uncertain in his tone, though, something that told Vermilion he wasn’t entirely comfortable in his knowledge of the situation. Something hopeful, maybe, that it might swing in a different direction.

Vermilion clung to that hope like the last piece of driftwood in a storm. ‘Nothing at all,’ he replied. He bent to the low drinks table and picked up the other jewellery box, the one holding the neck chain that was the brother to the lady’s bracelet.

What if he says yes? he murmured over in his mind. Then you’ll know love, and love with this man.

He took the last few strides to close the distance between them, and caught Master Greendale’s gaze with his own of honey brown. There was definitely a reaction there, this time, surprise and awe and desire all clear in those dark eyes. The last gave Vermilion the world of confidence he needed. He would say yes.

‘Doubtless you have your own perceptions, Master Greendale, and indeed they are perceptions I have encouraged. But now I wish to shatter them for all the world to see past. It is not your sister’s courtship I seek.’ He opened the box to display the neck chain, but Master Greendale’s eyes only flicked briefly to the gift before looking back up into Vermilion’s face.

‘But mine,’ the younger master finished in a whisper. ‘And ask it you may, for I say yes.’ He looked around the room, recognising it now for what it was. ‘I hadn’t dared dream, but this is… This is all for my benefit, isn’t it?’

Vermilion hardly heard the question for the joyous trumpeting in his ears. His knees were weak, his heart was racing, and he had never heard a sweeter tune than his love saying yes.

He closed the jewellery box and set it back on the table, smiling briefly at his mother’s insistence that he have a gift, for all the impact it had had on the meeting.

All those times he had watched on in envy and admiration, all those stolen kisses in the hidden narrow streets, the giggling sideways glances, the holding hands and warm, intimate smiles, all of that was now a part of his world now, because his love had said yes.

He took that one last step, caught his love’s wrist in one hand and his lower back in the other, and kissed him. His lips were warm and a little cracked, soft and welcoming, tasting a little of the brandy he had been drinking in the afters room. Vermilion ran his tongue over that taste, just the tip against his partner’s lips.

His partner. He had a partner. He had a love. After all these years, he would no longer be on the outside.

The same thought must have run through Greendale’s mind, for his hand snaked up Vermilion’s back, sending a shiver in its wake as he pulled Vermilion closer.

He felt Greendale’s tongue against his own lips, and he parted them with a quiet murmur to draw him in. His love accepted the invitation, licking his tongue against Vermilion’s own, tasting of the last tang of dessert’s apricots mixed with the brandy.

His fingers climbed higher, teasing prickles at the nape of Vermilion’s neck and working his fingers into his hair, as though he might pull his love closer.

It was Vermilion’s first, true kiss. His nose bumped awkwardly against his love’s, he had to gasp an inelegant breath every few moments and the sucking, slurping noises were never mentioned in the romance novels, but, because of the man he shared it with, Vermilion wouldn’t have changed a thing.

He pulled back, just enough to breathe, their noses still touching. He opened his eyes, delighted to see those beautiful dark eyes watching him from so near. He had a tiny black mole, right next to the inside corner of his left eye, that Vermilion had never noticed before, and so he reached up to kiss it.

Greendale laughed at the action. ‘Do you remember our first meeting?’ he asked.

Vermilion grinned and nodded. ‘Only too well,’ he replied. ‘At the spring festival in Cherry Wood, three years ago.’ He stole another kiss, pecking specifically at his love’s lower lip. ‘You asked me for coffee.’ He kissed at the top lip, this time.

‘And then you lied,’ his love said with a quiet stretch of his lips. ‘You said that nothing would come of it, but that you wouldn’t decline my invitation just for that. Talk of a sly mongoose! You had me believing you, too.’

‘Mhmm,’ Vermilion replied with a grin. ‘Something you have doubtless learned of me; I love a bit of theatre, a bit of drama. Why make something easy when I can make it better?’

‘Now, there are some words I can live by,’ Greendale agreed.

They shared another kiss, so warm and soft, less desperate than their first but no less intimate.

‘And speaking of theatre,’ Vermilion murmured as he broke away, ‘it seems we have an announcement to make. Would you care to join me?’

His love smiled and snatched another kiss, his fingers still rubbing at the back of Vermilion’s neck. ‘Would you allow me to make the announcement?’

‘When I’ve gone to all this trouble?’ Vermilion grinned and gave him one last nip on the nose before finally breaking their contact. ‘No, young Master Greendale, this glory, at the very least, will stay mine.’

Comments

[ladylight.livejournal.com]

Aha! See, the servants DO know best! Hooray for downstairs versus upstairs XD XD

The lady's lack of reaction seemed just a little bit too low-key to me ("oh, you like my brother and not me? damn ... fair enough,") and his rather heartless abuse of her feelings in maintaining his long-term charade does make me revert to my hostile feelings towards Red Coat Wearers, but all in all, this is still a really good way to round off a cracking party.

Now for the overalls *pops on the dungarees*:

This was a really well-paced novella and you should be really proud of it! I like it even better than Flannel Flower's sojourns in days of yore, and really, it's pretty hard to top an assassin most days of the week. I'm glad you came back and finished it because the whole idea obviously showed lots of promise even back then - it's a deceptively simplistic structure, switching from vignette to vignette, but not at all easy to pull off in practice. I've seen it elsewhere feeling disjointed and jerky (wait, where are we now? who's this guy? what happened to that other one??), but you kept up the flow more or less seamlessly throughout and it gave the story momentum as well as renewed appeal - if you'd only had a few POVs you were switching back and forth between, I think this would have started to drag towards the end. Instead it kept pace right up to the finish.

You don't need to slay dragons to write a compelling story - you just need to make intelligent use of pace, atmosphere and personalities, like this!

My major complaint would be WHAT ABOUT FLUTE LAUNDRY MAN? WHAT NOW?

Also: I'm very hungry and feeling disgruntled about my potatoes.

Apart from those, great story. <3 And great to finally get to return to Nartiland!

[annarti.livejournal.com]

I always thought of him as just being too much of a weak git, couldn't bring himself to tell her until, well, right there. I agree her reaction could've been a bit more... reactiony, though. Llayans are so overly polite and reserved that it's tricky to insert full emotion into them when they're very consciously trying to hide it, as she is. But yeah, probably could do more there.

Thank you for reading and commenting, hun! I'm glad you enjoyed it :D I am proud of it. It's the longest thing I'm ever likely to write without any action, or even any travel, going on. So I'm glad it still managed to keep the interest and intrigue up. It was fun to write them all, too =3

Laundry man follows his dreeeeeeam to become a famous clarinettist. He travels to wherever it is that makes them and apprentices himself to one of the woodwind makers. His first few attempts are crap but he has fun with them anyway and learns more about the workings of them than he ever thought possible. Eventually he makes himself one good enough to play, woos another clarinettist with it, and the two of them travel around the countryside as a duet. Then he comes back to Candlewood and pays them the 20g he promised them. They offer him a more permanent spot in the developing Candlewood orchestra but he's fallen in love with his travelling life and continues on that path, taking him to Kazin and Raykin and wherever he wants :D

Maybe this, like Chocolat, should come with a disclaimer: read the last few chapters with a glass of red and a good steak X)

[ladylight.livejournal.com]

And OLIVES!

... yeah that works.