Velvet Petals, Piercing Thorns - Chapter Twenty Two, Part Two
Title: Velvet Petals, Piercing Thorns - Chapter Twenty Two (Prologue+22/23)
Media: Fic
Author: a_glass_parade
Beta: mothergoddamn and illyriaz_shell
Rating: Rated R to NC-17
Pairing: Klaine endgame, bumps along the way.
Genre: Romance, AU, Historical Fiction
Warnings: This is essentially a romance novel set in a violent time. There will be, throughout the story, sexual liaisons, murder, torture, bondage, sexual blackmail, and political incorrectness.
Spoilers: While events and references from both seasons of Glee may be adapted and worked into the story occasionally, it's otherwise fully AU.
Word Count: Story: 125,000+ This Chapter: 5400+
Summary: England, 1484-85: The forces of Lancaster see Edward Blaine Anderson, Viscount Dalton, as key to their plans to retake and hold the throne of England. Allies of the House of York have come to the same conclusion and want to stop that from happening. Their secret weapon will be Kurt Hummel, stableman's son and reluctant spy.
Additional Notes: This is written in the vein of your typical historical romance novel with all the historical liberties taken that you'd expect. I do try to be as historically accurate as is feasible, though. There are some historical and some original characters that interact with the characters we know.
If you haven't read any of this before, you can start HERE to read it on LJ or HERE to read it on AO3.
At Kurt's invitation, Jesse grinned and rushed forward, colliding with him and driving him into the wall hard enough to drive all the air from his lungs. “Shame you sent your little lover away, Hummel,” St. James sneered as Kurt gasped and tried to catch his breath. “He might have got excited watching the two of us go at it.”
Gulping down a quick burst of air, Kurt shoved the other man away. “I hate you,” he snapped, furious that the loss of breath rendered his words weak and ineffectual. He swallowed down another breath. “I loathe you, despise you, and will destroy you for all you've done.”
“Precious that you think so,” St. James replied casually, rebuffing Kurt's efforts to strangle him. “Need I remind you that in the last three days, I've killed two people? I think the largest thing you've ever killed was a frog. That you accidentally ran over whilst riding a horse.” Sweeping his foot behind Kurt's knees, he sent the younger man crashing to the floor. “You're not a killer, Hummel.”
“And up until earlier this evening I'd have said the same of you, Jesse.” Kurt lay still, trying once again to catch his breath and blink away the golden stars dancing in his vision. He was acutely aware of how defenseless he was, kept babbling to keep St. James distracted. The Steward had resheathed his dagger before slinging Amelia down the steps, and Kurt did not need him to remember it. “Why stoop so low?”
Noah and Amelia dead because he couldn't do his job. It was such an effort to keep the anger from choking him. But he wanted to live. And he wanted to know.
Above him, St. James shrugged and smiled. “It's true that I didn't have to,” he mused. “And yet equally true that I did. Puckerman failed me. He's lucky that I didn't kill his wife. I'd promised him I would. You remember.”
Scrabbling back to try and get into a seated position, Kurt nodded and kept talking. “But Amelia did nothing to disappoint you.” He blinked back the stinging in his eyes. “You'd have been better off holding her hostage than killing her.”
“Oh, no, I wouldn't.” Jesse reached down and knotted his hand into Kurt's hair, dragging him upright before hurling him again into the wall. Kurt was reminded irresistibly of a memory from childhood, of a cat playing with a mouse before biting it in half. “My job - which I'm here doing, see how easy it is to follow orders when you're not hampered with feelings, Hummel? - was to incapacitate the Viscount. To remove him from his very important leadership position and nip this silly rebellion in the bud.”
“You'd have done that by killing him, as he offered,” Kurt pointed out as he pushed off the wall and reached to grab Jesse's lapels, thinking to fling him to the ground. He bit back a curse as he was fended off again and sent reeling. His stomach twisted into a knot at the thought of Blaine dead - he didn't want that any more than he'd wanted Amelia dead. But at least Blaine's death might have made sense. Amelia's death had been cruel, horrific, and wholly unnecessary, even considering that St. James seemingly possessed no soul whatsoever.
“But this way, with you and little Amelia dead while he still lives, stripped of his responsibilities and perhaps even land and title? There's destruction and then there's destruction, Hummel. I'll end not only having done my duty, but actually having enjoyed it, because oh, the thought of his pain is just delicious.” St. James tsked as he sidestepped Kurt's next attempt to engage him. “The best bit was when his retainer and friend and, oh, this was marvelous, ex-lover joined me.” He jerked his head to indicate Thad, who was kneeling in the cell and muttering as he rocked back and forth. “It couldn't have been more perfectly set up for my advancement and Anderson's complete and total downfall.”
Kurt was stunned by the information that revealed his longtime enemy to be even more diabolical and insane than he'd thought. And he'd thought he could ever outwit him? It didn't speak well to Kurt's own state of mind - which wasn't helped when, in the cell, Thad's muttering grew louder, and Kurt could now make out the words.
Deus meus, ex toto corde paenitet...
He was reciting the Act of Contrition. Praying for forgiveness for his sins. It was an eerie backdrop to the tense struggle between the two men outside of the cell. Kurt hurled himself at Jesse again, managing to shove him back towards the wall, but his boots slipped on a patch of water that must have dribbled from Amelia's pitcher. He went down, twisting his ankle painfully.
Me omnium meorum peccatorum, eaque detestor...
Kurt began to fear that it would all come to pass, for no matter what he did he couldn't seem to get the hold he needed to immobilize St. James. He was tired, aching, weakened by his grief and anger. All of his lessons in close-quarter fighting were of no use against Jesse, who'd had the privilege of exposure to this sort of training his entire life. I made a mistake sending Blaine away, he thought wretchedly. We could have done this together.
But he knew better.
It had to be a fair fight...and I didn't want him to lose to St. James.
And I didn't want him to see me lose.
“The irony in all of this is that of everyone, the one person who was never, ever in any danger whatsoever was your father,” St. James gloated with a laugh as he backhanded Kurt. “Imagine! If you'd had even the slightest sense to realize that Huntingdon would never let me endanger his precious Stablemaster, none of this would have happened!” He paused for a moment to bask in his own glory, spreading his hands out and laughing. “Feelings, Hummel! They'll tear you down every time.”
Quia peccando, non solum poenas a te iuste statutus promeritus sum...
In that moment, Jesse's laughter ringing mocking through the room as Thad pleaded for forgiveness from his God, Kurt was flooded with the fury he needed to unlock his limbs. It sent him pelting across the tiny room at the Steward, catching him just as he realized what was happening, that he'd allowed himself to go too complacent and be too confident that Kurt couldn't win.
The nights spent in the salle with Blaine filled his mind, every trick and twist his lover had taught him steering his movements. He got his arms around Jesse's waist and yanked him down to the ground, choking the laughter off in his throat as Kurt managed to finally get his hand around it.
Sed praesertim quia offendi te, summum bonum, ac dignum qui super omnia diligaris...
“Feelings, St. James,” he snarled back. “They'll help me tear you down, every time.” Swinging his legs, he straddled Jesse's chest and pulled his hand away so that he could reach for the other man's arms and pin them down.
“You can't kill me with your hands full, Hummel.” Jesse rolled his eyes. “I'm just getting my wind back here. While you struggle to hold me down, I'm recovering. I'll have you in a moment.”
“I don't think so,” Kurt replied with a calmness he had to fight to project. He was gratified to see the first hint of fear entering Jesse's eyes as he shifted up so that his knees could replace his hands. “Shouldn't have threatened my father and sent me to find love, St. James. Love will trump ambition, every time.”
Ideo firmiter propono,adiuvante gratia tua...
“You're not a killer, Hummel,” Jesse reminded him with the first stirrings of panic in his voice. He jerked his arms in an attempt to free them, to no avail. Kurt reached behind himself and pulled the dagger from its sheath on Jesse's belt.
“No, I'm not,” Kurt informed him, marveling at how calm he sounded as he wielded the dagger. “I'm not thinking of this as killing you, though. More like avenging Noah, and Amelia, and ridding the world of the foul stench of your presence once and for all.”
De cetero me non peccatorum peccandique occasiones proximas fugiturum...
It felt very like and yet unlike all of his practice sessions with Blaine. Kurt moved by instinct now, the maneuvers he'd been taught coming with a fearsome ease - but with one important exception.
This time when he brought the knife down, he didn't merely lay it across the throat of the man he was pinning down.
This time he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and slashed to kill.
Amen.
~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~
As Blaine ran, he thought his heart had moved to clog his throat.
His lungs burned, breath gasping out in spurts as he hauled himself up the staircase. When he slipped and went down hard on one knee, he was hard pressed to keep from simply staying down and screaming, it hurt so much. But he pushed on, now slowed considerably and frantic with pain and worry.
Can't lose you, not after everything, not after Amelia.
With a last burst of excruciatingly painful speed, he was in the room at the top of the tower. The sight that greeted Blaine after his limping stumble there chilled him to the bone.
Kurt. Kurt, alive, straddling St. James' unmoving chest and pinning the other man's arms down with his knees just as Blaine had shown him to do. Blood splashed up across his bare chest - Blaine remembered absently that he'd only half dressed himself after their tryst - as the wicked looking dagger he'd removed from the Steward's belt glinted sharp and red-bladed in his hand.
Amelia was gone, but Kurt had ensured that Jesse St. James had paid the ultimate price for his grave transgression.
Blaine lurched forward, willing his knee to stop aching for just this little while. His brain was kicking into gear, lining out plans and strategies for how they'd deal with the aftermath of this horrific evening. But first...“Kurt?”
His lover looked up, blue-green eyes wide and glazed over in shock. “Blaine...”
“Are you all right?” He moved forward a step or two more, hand reaching out. “Kurt. Kurt?”
“Blaine. I'm, I'm going to -” Kurt turned away abruptly and was sick on the stone flooring. “Oh, my God.”
“Shh. It's all right, Kurt, it's all right.” He made it to drop gingerly down at Kurt's side, carefully unwinding his fingers one at a time from the dagger's hilt until it dropped to the floor with a clatter. Still careful, slow and cautious, he wrapped his arms around the other man and gently pulled him up and off of the body upon which he sat. “It's all right. It's over. Are you hurt?”
“Not really...bruised, battered. Alive.” His mouth twisted. “Not like Amelia. Oh, no...”
“Shh,” Blaine said again, feeling tears beginning to prickle again behind his eyes. “Please, Kurt, don't.”
“But it's my fault. She's gone and it's my fault, Blaine. All of it, everything, it's me. I'm a plague to all I love...how can you not hate me?” Kurt turned his face away, refusing to look at Blaine. “I killed her. I killed Amelia.”
“Stop it,” Blaine croaked, twisting Kurt to face him and trying to catch his eye. “He killed Amelia.” He pointed to the corpse on the floor behind them, St. James' face frozen in its perpetual arrogant smirk. “He threatened your father's life, he blackmailed you into coming here to ruin, he flung my friend down the stairs and that man -” he pointed now to Thad, still praying in the cell and felt his voice sharpening in the anger he had to work to contain, “- one of my oldest friends, comrades, and close advisors, chose to help him to do it. I blame many people for this, Kurt, but you are not anywhere near the top of the list.”
“But I -”
“The only thing I do blame you for,” Blaine went on, trying to tilt Kurt's chin up so that he could look into his eyes, “is not trusting me enough to help you...but I don't think I can even really blame you for that.” He took a deep breath, his mind still racing with planning. “You must have been frightened near to death. All this time, carrying all of that around and still trying to save everyone...how could I hate anyone for that?”
“You should.” Kurt wrapped his own arms around himself, huddling in close and pulling away from Blaine.
“I don't.” He shook his head, cupping his hands around Kurt's face and leaning up to press a soft kiss to his cheek before resting their foreheads together and taking another breath. “I don't hate you. I love you. And it's important that you know that with what I'm about to do.”
Kurt jerked backwards, staring. “Blaine. What are you about to do?”
Closing his eyes, Blaine reached for Kurt's hands. He did not want to do this, but it was the first step in the plan that his mind was putting together. It is necessary, he told himself to stave off the rising misery. “I'm sending you to France.”
“No.” Kurt pulled away again and stepped back, eyes wide with panic. “No, don't. Please. Don't send me away.”
“I have to, Kurt. I don't want to, I have to.” He reached forward again, limping forward with every backwards step Kurt took. Ignoring the agony in his mistreated knee, Blaine lurched hard to grab Kurt's shoulders. “I need to know you're safe, after this. I need to get you away from here to keep you safe. Just until everything is said and done.”
“No, no,” Kurt kept shaking his head. “That's what Lord Crawford told Amelia, Blaine, don't send me away, can't you see it doesn't work?”
“Lord Crawford's mistake wasn't in sending Amelia away,” Blaine rasped out, feeling his grief coming to choke him. “It was in allowing me to take her in. She's dead because of who I am, Kurt. You're here because of who I am.” He let go of Kurt to tangle his hands into his own hair and pull at it in agitation. “Of all the people I blame for all of this, Kurt, I blame myself more than anyone, it all happened because of who I am. I did not ask for my title and duties, but the responsibility is mine and I should have been more mindful of it.”
Now Kurt was actively reaching to hold him, now it was Blaine backing away. “Blaine, it's not - you didn't...it's not your fault. It's not.”
Blaine held his hands out as if trying to ward Kurt off. “But it is. My self-delusion and inattention got my very dearest friend killed tonight. I knelt at the bottom of those stairs next to her lifeless body, I held her hand, I looked into eyes that didn't see me.” He lifted his chin and swallowed hard, trying so hard to impart his desperation to Kurt. “Don't make me do that a second time, with you. I want to be sure you don't die because of me.”
“I don't think Huntingdon will come after me,” Kurt whispered. “Jesse always said the Earl was never fully aware of what he did, that he didn't want to know.”
“I believe that. I think he'll disassociate himself from St. James' actions.” He ducked his head down, fixing his gaze on the spatters of darkening blood on Kurt's fair skin. “But I won't take the chance that someone else will find out that you're even remotely important to me. I lost Amelia. I won't lose you.”
“I don't want to go. I don't want to be away from you. Not now. Not ever.” Kurt's eyes pleaded with him, shot straight to his heart with the sharpness of the pain he saw there. “Please, Blaine. I love you. Don't.”
“It's temporary.” Blaine had to look away from Kurt's agony. It hurt too much to see. “Just until the war is done and Henry safely has the throne. Which I will ensure happens.” He had to force the words out between teeth clenched suddenly so tight that his whole head began to ache. “Now more than I ever I have a vested interest in putting my cousin in charge of England.”
Kurt's mouth dropped open in horror. “You still intend to fight!”
Blaine frowned. “Yes, of course I do. Especially now. I have responsibilities and a very, very good reason to want Richard deposed.”
“You want to send me away for my own safety, yet you still wish to ride into war.” Kurt was agitated, began to pace the tiny room. “How is that fair? Do you think I want to mourn you any more than you want to mourn me? Why should I have to lose both Amelia and you?”
“This is my duty, Kurt. I have no choice.” Now Blaine reached up again to cradle Kurt's face so gently in his hands, as if he were holding his lover's heart. “I was born to do what is best for my country. You are part of my country, part of my life. Please. Let me do this one thing to keep you safe and I will come for you, Kurt. Did you think I meant to send you away forever?”
“Blaine, please.” One last plea, with the full force of his anguish behind it. Blaine sucked down a breath and shook his head, though it hurt his heart to deny this man anything, especially now. He didn't want to do this either, did not want to have to make important decisions for England without Kurt at his side to remind him that his life was not war all of the time.
But it would be worse if he let him stay and he, too, ended up dead. Blaine couldn't let that happen. A few months of loneliness and being heartsore weighed against a life of hollow agony - it was the choice that wasn't a choice at all. Kurt had to go, for now.
“Kurt, please, you must go.” He was pleading, begging, and Blaine was not a man who did so easily. Yet he needed Kurt to do this. “You and Wesley will go to one of the Beaufort family holdings in France - he knows which one. And you'll be safe, and I will come to you, Kurt.” Once more, Blaine pressed his forehead to Kurt's and felt the other man's strong arms come around to hold him so tightly that his breath was stolen away. “When all is over, Kurt, I will come for you. I promise, I will come for you and bring you home with me.”
...Chapter Twenty-Three...
Media: Fic
Author: a_glass_parade
Beta: mothergoddamn and illyriaz_shell
Rating: Rated R to NC-17
Pairing: Klaine endgame, bumps along the way.
Genre: Romance, AU, Historical Fiction
Warnings: This is essentially a romance novel set in a violent time. There will be, throughout the story, sexual liaisons, murder, torture, bondage, sexual blackmail, and political incorrectness.
Spoilers: While events and references from both seasons of Glee may be adapted and worked into the story occasionally, it's otherwise fully AU.
Word Count: Story: 125,000+ This Chapter: 5400+
Summary: England, 1484-85: The forces of Lancaster see Edward Blaine Anderson, Viscount Dalton, as key to their plans to retake and hold the throne of England. Allies of the House of York have come to the same conclusion and want to stop that from happening. Their secret weapon will be Kurt Hummel, stableman's son and reluctant spy.
Additional Notes: This is written in the vein of your typical historical romance novel with all the historical liberties taken that you'd expect. I do try to be as historically accurate as is feasible, though. There are some historical and some original characters that interact with the characters we know.
If you haven't read any of this before, you can start HERE to read it on LJ or HERE to read it on AO3.
At Kurt's invitation, Jesse grinned and rushed forward, colliding with him and driving him into the wall hard enough to drive all the air from his lungs. “Shame you sent your little lover away, Hummel,” St. James sneered as Kurt gasped and tried to catch his breath. “He might have got excited watching the two of us go at it.”
Gulping down a quick burst of air, Kurt shoved the other man away. “I hate you,” he snapped, furious that the loss of breath rendered his words weak and ineffectual. He swallowed down another breath. “I loathe you, despise you, and will destroy you for all you've done.”
“Precious that you think so,” St. James replied casually, rebuffing Kurt's efforts to strangle him. “Need I remind you that in the last three days, I've killed two people? I think the largest thing you've ever killed was a frog. That you accidentally ran over whilst riding a horse.” Sweeping his foot behind Kurt's knees, he sent the younger man crashing to the floor. “You're not a killer, Hummel.”
“And up until earlier this evening I'd have said the same of you, Jesse.” Kurt lay still, trying once again to catch his breath and blink away the golden stars dancing in his vision. He was acutely aware of how defenseless he was, kept babbling to keep St. James distracted. The Steward had resheathed his dagger before slinging Amelia down the steps, and Kurt did not need him to remember it. “Why stoop so low?”
Noah and Amelia dead because he couldn't do his job. It was such an effort to keep the anger from choking him. But he wanted to live. And he wanted to know.
Above him, St. James shrugged and smiled. “It's true that I didn't have to,” he mused. “And yet equally true that I did. Puckerman failed me. He's lucky that I didn't kill his wife. I'd promised him I would. You remember.”
Scrabbling back to try and get into a seated position, Kurt nodded and kept talking. “But Amelia did nothing to disappoint you.” He blinked back the stinging in his eyes. “You'd have been better off holding her hostage than killing her.”
“Oh, no, I wouldn't.” Jesse reached down and knotted his hand into Kurt's hair, dragging him upright before hurling him again into the wall. Kurt was reminded irresistibly of a memory from childhood, of a cat playing with a mouse before biting it in half. “My job - which I'm here doing, see how easy it is to follow orders when you're not hampered with feelings, Hummel? - was to incapacitate the Viscount. To remove him from his very important leadership position and nip this silly rebellion in the bud.”
“You'd have done that by killing him, as he offered,” Kurt pointed out as he pushed off the wall and reached to grab Jesse's lapels, thinking to fling him to the ground. He bit back a curse as he was fended off again and sent reeling. His stomach twisted into a knot at the thought of Blaine dead - he didn't want that any more than he'd wanted Amelia dead. But at least Blaine's death might have made sense. Amelia's death had been cruel, horrific, and wholly unnecessary, even considering that St. James seemingly possessed no soul whatsoever.
“But this way, with you and little Amelia dead while he still lives, stripped of his responsibilities and perhaps even land and title? There's destruction and then there's destruction, Hummel. I'll end not only having done my duty, but actually having enjoyed it, because oh, the thought of his pain is just delicious.” St. James tsked as he sidestepped Kurt's next attempt to engage him. “The best bit was when his retainer and friend and, oh, this was marvelous, ex-lover joined me.” He jerked his head to indicate Thad, who was kneeling in the cell and muttering as he rocked back and forth. “It couldn't have been more perfectly set up for my advancement and Anderson's complete and total downfall.”
Kurt was stunned by the information that revealed his longtime enemy to be even more diabolical and insane than he'd thought. And he'd thought he could ever outwit him? It didn't speak well to Kurt's own state of mind - which wasn't helped when, in the cell, Thad's muttering grew louder, and Kurt could now make out the words.
Deus meus, ex toto corde paenitet...
He was reciting the Act of Contrition. Praying for forgiveness for his sins. It was an eerie backdrop to the tense struggle between the two men outside of the cell. Kurt hurled himself at Jesse again, managing to shove him back towards the wall, but his boots slipped on a patch of water that must have dribbled from Amelia's pitcher. He went down, twisting his ankle painfully.
Me omnium meorum peccatorum, eaque detestor...
Kurt began to fear that it would all come to pass, for no matter what he did he couldn't seem to get the hold he needed to immobilize St. James. He was tired, aching, weakened by his grief and anger. All of his lessons in close-quarter fighting were of no use against Jesse, who'd had the privilege of exposure to this sort of training his entire life. I made a mistake sending Blaine away, he thought wretchedly. We could have done this together.
But he knew better.
It had to be a fair fight...and I didn't want him to lose to St. James.
And I didn't want him to see me lose.
“The irony in all of this is that of everyone, the one person who was never, ever in any danger whatsoever was your father,” St. James gloated with a laugh as he backhanded Kurt. “Imagine! If you'd had even the slightest sense to realize that Huntingdon would never let me endanger his precious Stablemaster, none of this would have happened!” He paused for a moment to bask in his own glory, spreading his hands out and laughing. “Feelings, Hummel! They'll tear you down every time.”
Quia peccando, non solum poenas a te iuste statutus promeritus sum...
In that moment, Jesse's laughter ringing mocking through the room as Thad pleaded for forgiveness from his God, Kurt was flooded with the fury he needed to unlock his limbs. It sent him pelting across the tiny room at the Steward, catching him just as he realized what was happening, that he'd allowed himself to go too complacent and be too confident that Kurt couldn't win.
The nights spent in the salle with Blaine filled his mind, every trick and twist his lover had taught him steering his movements. He got his arms around Jesse's waist and yanked him down to the ground, choking the laughter off in his throat as Kurt managed to finally get his hand around it.
Sed praesertim quia offendi te, summum bonum, ac dignum qui super omnia diligaris...
“Feelings, St. James,” he snarled back. “They'll help me tear you down, every time.” Swinging his legs, he straddled Jesse's chest and pulled his hand away so that he could reach for the other man's arms and pin them down.
“You can't kill me with your hands full, Hummel.” Jesse rolled his eyes. “I'm just getting my wind back here. While you struggle to hold me down, I'm recovering. I'll have you in a moment.”
“I don't think so,” Kurt replied with a calmness he had to fight to project. He was gratified to see the first hint of fear entering Jesse's eyes as he shifted up so that his knees could replace his hands. “Shouldn't have threatened my father and sent me to find love, St. James. Love will trump ambition, every time.”
Ideo firmiter propono,adiuvante gratia tua...
“You're not a killer, Hummel,” Jesse reminded him with the first stirrings of panic in his voice. He jerked his arms in an attempt to free them, to no avail. Kurt reached behind himself and pulled the dagger from its sheath on Jesse's belt.
“No, I'm not,” Kurt informed him, marveling at how calm he sounded as he wielded the dagger. “I'm not thinking of this as killing you, though. More like avenging Noah, and Amelia, and ridding the world of the foul stench of your presence once and for all.”
De cetero me non peccatorum peccandique occasiones proximas fugiturum...
It felt very like and yet unlike all of his practice sessions with Blaine. Kurt moved by instinct now, the maneuvers he'd been taught coming with a fearsome ease - but with one important exception.
This time when he brought the knife down, he didn't merely lay it across the throat of the man he was pinning down.
This time he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and slashed to kill.
Amen.
~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~
As Blaine ran, he thought his heart had moved to clog his throat.
His lungs burned, breath gasping out in spurts as he hauled himself up the staircase. When he slipped and went down hard on one knee, he was hard pressed to keep from simply staying down and screaming, it hurt so much. But he pushed on, now slowed considerably and frantic with pain and worry.
Can't lose you, not after everything, not after Amelia.
With a last burst of excruciatingly painful speed, he was in the room at the top of the tower. The sight that greeted Blaine after his limping stumble there chilled him to the bone.
Kurt. Kurt, alive, straddling St. James' unmoving chest and pinning the other man's arms down with his knees just as Blaine had shown him to do. Blood splashed up across his bare chest - Blaine remembered absently that he'd only half dressed himself after their tryst - as the wicked looking dagger he'd removed from the Steward's belt glinted sharp and red-bladed in his hand.
Amelia was gone, but Kurt had ensured that Jesse St. James had paid the ultimate price for his grave transgression.
Blaine lurched forward, willing his knee to stop aching for just this little while. His brain was kicking into gear, lining out plans and strategies for how they'd deal with the aftermath of this horrific evening. But first...“Kurt?”
His lover looked up, blue-green eyes wide and glazed over in shock. “Blaine...”
“Are you all right?” He moved forward a step or two more, hand reaching out. “Kurt. Kurt?”
“Blaine. I'm, I'm going to -” Kurt turned away abruptly and was sick on the stone flooring. “Oh, my God.”
“Shh. It's all right, Kurt, it's all right.” He made it to drop gingerly down at Kurt's side, carefully unwinding his fingers one at a time from the dagger's hilt until it dropped to the floor with a clatter. Still careful, slow and cautious, he wrapped his arms around the other man and gently pulled him up and off of the body upon which he sat. “It's all right. It's over. Are you hurt?”
“Not really...bruised, battered. Alive.” His mouth twisted. “Not like Amelia. Oh, no...”
“Shh,” Blaine said again, feeling tears beginning to prickle again behind his eyes. “Please, Kurt, don't.”
“But it's my fault. She's gone and it's my fault, Blaine. All of it, everything, it's me. I'm a plague to all I love...how can you not hate me?” Kurt turned his face away, refusing to look at Blaine. “I killed her. I killed Amelia.”
“Stop it,” Blaine croaked, twisting Kurt to face him and trying to catch his eye. “He killed Amelia.” He pointed to the corpse on the floor behind them, St. James' face frozen in its perpetual arrogant smirk. “He threatened your father's life, he blackmailed you into coming here to ruin, he flung my friend down the stairs and that man -” he pointed now to Thad, still praying in the cell and felt his voice sharpening in the anger he had to work to contain, “- one of my oldest friends, comrades, and close advisors, chose to help him to do it. I blame many people for this, Kurt, but you are not anywhere near the top of the list.”
“But I -”
“The only thing I do blame you for,” Blaine went on, trying to tilt Kurt's chin up so that he could look into his eyes, “is not trusting me enough to help you...but I don't think I can even really blame you for that.” He took a deep breath, his mind still racing with planning. “You must have been frightened near to death. All this time, carrying all of that around and still trying to save everyone...how could I hate anyone for that?”
“You should.” Kurt wrapped his own arms around himself, huddling in close and pulling away from Blaine.
“I don't.” He shook his head, cupping his hands around Kurt's face and leaning up to press a soft kiss to his cheek before resting their foreheads together and taking another breath. “I don't hate you. I love you. And it's important that you know that with what I'm about to do.”
Kurt jerked backwards, staring. “Blaine. What are you about to do?”
Closing his eyes, Blaine reached for Kurt's hands. He did not want to do this, but it was the first step in the plan that his mind was putting together. It is necessary, he told himself to stave off the rising misery. “I'm sending you to France.”
“No.” Kurt pulled away again and stepped back, eyes wide with panic. “No, don't. Please. Don't send me away.”
“I have to, Kurt. I don't want to, I have to.” He reached forward again, limping forward with every backwards step Kurt took. Ignoring the agony in his mistreated knee, Blaine lurched hard to grab Kurt's shoulders. “I need to know you're safe, after this. I need to get you away from here to keep you safe. Just until everything is said and done.”
“No, no,” Kurt kept shaking his head. “That's what Lord Crawford told Amelia, Blaine, don't send me away, can't you see it doesn't work?”
“Lord Crawford's mistake wasn't in sending Amelia away,” Blaine rasped out, feeling his grief coming to choke him. “It was in allowing me to take her in. She's dead because of who I am, Kurt. You're here because of who I am.” He let go of Kurt to tangle his hands into his own hair and pull at it in agitation. “Of all the people I blame for all of this, Kurt, I blame myself more than anyone, it all happened because of who I am. I did not ask for my title and duties, but the responsibility is mine and I should have been more mindful of it.”
Now Kurt was actively reaching to hold him, now it was Blaine backing away. “Blaine, it's not - you didn't...it's not your fault. It's not.”
Blaine held his hands out as if trying to ward Kurt off. “But it is. My self-delusion and inattention got my very dearest friend killed tonight. I knelt at the bottom of those stairs next to her lifeless body, I held her hand, I looked into eyes that didn't see me.” He lifted his chin and swallowed hard, trying so hard to impart his desperation to Kurt. “Don't make me do that a second time, with you. I want to be sure you don't die because of me.”
“I don't think Huntingdon will come after me,” Kurt whispered. “Jesse always said the Earl was never fully aware of what he did, that he didn't want to know.”
“I believe that. I think he'll disassociate himself from St. James' actions.” He ducked his head down, fixing his gaze on the spatters of darkening blood on Kurt's fair skin. “But I won't take the chance that someone else will find out that you're even remotely important to me. I lost Amelia. I won't lose you.”
“I don't want to go. I don't want to be away from you. Not now. Not ever.” Kurt's eyes pleaded with him, shot straight to his heart with the sharpness of the pain he saw there. “Please, Blaine. I love you. Don't.”
“It's temporary.” Blaine had to look away from Kurt's agony. It hurt too much to see. “Just until the war is done and Henry safely has the throne. Which I will ensure happens.” He had to force the words out between teeth clenched suddenly so tight that his whole head began to ache. “Now more than I ever I have a vested interest in putting my cousin in charge of England.”
Kurt's mouth dropped open in horror. “You still intend to fight!”
Blaine frowned. “Yes, of course I do. Especially now. I have responsibilities and a very, very good reason to want Richard deposed.”
“You want to send me away for my own safety, yet you still wish to ride into war.” Kurt was agitated, began to pace the tiny room. “How is that fair? Do you think I want to mourn you any more than you want to mourn me? Why should I have to lose both Amelia and you?”
“This is my duty, Kurt. I have no choice.” Now Blaine reached up again to cradle Kurt's face so gently in his hands, as if he were holding his lover's heart. “I was born to do what is best for my country. You are part of my country, part of my life. Please. Let me do this one thing to keep you safe and I will come for you, Kurt. Did you think I meant to send you away forever?”
“Blaine, please.” One last plea, with the full force of his anguish behind it. Blaine sucked down a breath and shook his head, though it hurt his heart to deny this man anything, especially now. He didn't want to do this either, did not want to have to make important decisions for England without Kurt at his side to remind him that his life was not war all of the time.
But it would be worse if he let him stay and he, too, ended up dead. Blaine couldn't let that happen. A few months of loneliness and being heartsore weighed against a life of hollow agony - it was the choice that wasn't a choice at all. Kurt had to go, for now.
“Kurt, please, you must go.” He was pleading, begging, and Blaine was not a man who did so easily. Yet he needed Kurt to do this. “You and Wesley will go to one of the Beaufort family holdings in France - he knows which one. And you'll be safe, and I will come to you, Kurt.” Once more, Blaine pressed his forehead to Kurt's and felt the other man's strong arms come around to hold him so tightly that his breath was stolen away. “When all is over, Kurt, I will come for you. I promise, I will come for you and bring you home with me.”
...Chapter Twenty-Three...