KKM: Gilded Cage, Part II
Title: Gilded Cage, Part II
Characters/Pairings: Gwendal/Gunter, a bit of other chars
Rating: PG-13 for this part
Genre: AU, Slash
Spoilers: none
Summary: Gunter refuses to have his portrait painted and inconveniences a lot of important people.
Disclaimer: Kyou Kara Maou belongs to Tomo Takabayashi. I make no profit from this fanfic.
Notes: This fic has become longer than I first anticipated, so apologies for the delay. Beta'd by the wonderful MD.
Meeting Lady Emeline von Christ was as surreal as meeting her son had been. Gwendal was immediately struck with an eerie likeness to Lady Sarah von Wincott, Julia von Wincott's mother. He wondered vaguely if the two family trees had crossed paths at some point in time.
Gunter was nowhere in sight. Gwendal breathed a small prayer of thanks to Shinou.
They formally exchanged greetings. Emeline gestured for Gwendal to sit beside her on a lavishly-upholstered sofa. "My pardon, Prince Gwendal, but we received no notice of your arrival. We'd have sent escorts if we'd known."
"We sent no notice," Gwendal replied. "I thought this to be a simple matter of removing an old artist from your castle, but I had not anticipated...difficulties."
"Oh, if only it were simpler." Emeline wore an expression that closely resembled Gwendal's feelings on the matter. "This show of wills has been going on for almost three months now. It's extremely tiresome."
"I can only imagine." Though Gwendal had a feeling he was about to gain first-hand experience with it in the coming days. Or weeks. Or months. He repressed a shiver. "If I may ask, why does Lord Gunter refuse to have his portrait painted?"
Gwendal did not think he had asked a loaded question, but that was how it felt when Emeline avoided answering by retrieving cup and saucer from the nearby table and taking a few sips of the tea. When she put the cup down again, she replied with yet another question, "You have met my son?"
Unfortunately, Gwendal thought. "Yes. I tried entering with Master Crom, and Lord Gunter was quick to inform us of his disapproval at the castle gates."
Emeline tsk'd. "You must forgive him his lapse in manners. He's normally very polite. As for his portrait...I'm afraid I'm in no position to divulge his reasons." She held up a hand to stay Gwendal's question. "He and his father disagreed on many things. My...inaction, shall we say, during those years when he might have benefited from my assistance caused him a great deal of pain. I am not in his good graces right now, and so cannot speak for him."
Gwendal gave a crooked half-smile. "If we count Master Crom outside, and Lord Gunter's continued ill disposition, our numbers may yet continue to grow."
His attempt at levity was rewarded with Emeline's sudden laughter. "Indeed! It's certainly not diminishing." Some of the gaiety left her voice when she continued. "I thought, perhaps, with his father's passing, he'd be more grounded to the present. Perhaps eventually make peace with his father's memory. But he's gone into this personal crusade, and he's angered quite a number of people already."
"That is unfortunate," Gwendal uncertainly remarked.
Emeline seemed to hesitate. "If I may be so bold as to ask, how long does His Highness plan on staying?"
"Longer than I first intended to," he replied ruefully. "I wish to return accompanied by Master Crom, but this might take a few more attempts."
She nodded. "The castle is your home 'til then, if it pleases Your Highness." A small smile curved her lips. "I must admit to some relief. I think having company close to Gunter's age will be of some help to him."
"I doubt I'd be better company than his friends."
"That's under the assumption he has any," she smoothly replied. Gwendal raised an eyebrow. "His father kept him sequestered here for most of his life. He sought to keep Gunter 'unsullied' from various influences, and that included other children. He does have a few friends, artists my husband often employed. But with his decree regarding portraiture and a few other matters, Gunter himself has managed to estrange all of them lately."
"Still," Gwendal replied, feeling vaguely disturbed with this new information, "I highly doubt I could make much of a difference. Our first conversation wasn't exactly genial."
Emeline smiled. "We shall see."
There was a polite knock on one of the entrances to the great chamber. At Emeline's welcome, the door opened and a guard wearing the von Christ military uniform stood at attention. "His Highness's rooms are ready."
"Excellent." To Gwendal, she said, "We have dinner at eight, breakfast at nine, lunch at twelve, and tea at three. The castle is yours to use, so please, feel free to explore."
Gwendal thanked her. They made their brief farewells, with Emeline managing to extract a promise from him to accompany her through a walk in the garden. Gwendal was escorted to his rooms.
As the guard left and the door closed behind him, Gwendal took a long, sweeping look at what would probably be a familiar sight for the next few weeks. The room was fairly generic, but very well-furnished. The dressers were decked with various scents, oils, and powders. At a corner lay a writing desk, sporting new stationery with the von Christ coat of arms, pen, and inkwell. The bed was a grand four-poster affair with thick linens and a plush, smooth comforter.
The view outside the window was exquisite, affording him a panoramic sweep of the wild forests bordering the fringes of the castle walls. Gwendal walked over to the large closet and saw, upon opening it, that it also had been prepared for his stay. It was filled with various pieces of clothing of about his size, in colors that ranged from warm to cool.
He let out a soft sigh and picked out a modest set of plain ashen tunic, dark brown trousers and a matching waistcoat. He laid them out on the bed and proceeded to the doors leading to his private baths, the promise of a blissful half hour soaking in scented water chasing away the sore protests of tired bones after a long day of relentless riding. Thoughts of his earlier expedition reminded Gwendal that perhaps he should check up on his horse prior to dinner. Cedany abhorred being shacked up close to stallions.
He refused to think of yet another stubborn young man whose distaste of others lacked both cause and reason. There would be plenty of time to deal with that later.
It was a testament to Gwendal's perpetual bad luck that the simple act of checking up on his beloved horse would bring him back to the cold presence of the young lord. His unmistakable build was apparent even from a distance, and Gwendal saw as he came closer that he was occupied with nuzzling Cedany, his porcelain face pressed intimately against the mare's coal-black muzzle, pale hands very slowly stroking the long length of her neck.
Gwendal had to keep the immediate "Stay away from my horse" shackled firmly to the tip of his tongue. He glared ineffectually at the other man, whose closed eyes and peaceful expression indicated that he'd either failed to detect Gwendal's arrival, or was choosing to ignore it.
"What exactly is it you're doing to my horse?" Gwendal eventually said, laying a bit more stress on the last two words than necessary.
He felt extremely disgruntled (and maybe a little betrayed) when both horse and man broke contact to concurrently glare at him.
"You haven't been treating her well," was Gunter's simple reply.
The accusing quality of his voice played a discordant tune on Gwendal's nerves. "She lacks in neither food nor care. Now, if you don't mind--"
"You only visit her when you have somewhere to go," Gunter calmly interrupted. His cool, disapproving look squarely met Gwendal's irate gaze. "She's very lonely."
"She has daily trainers for company."
That reply earned Gwendal a derisive snort from the young man, who turned his attentions back to the mare. "Like I said -- she's very lonely." Cedany rudely butted her head against Gunter's, an apparent nudge for him to resume his earlier activities. The young man didn't seem to mind and slowly rubbed his cheek against the side of her face and began stroking her neck again.
Gwendal refused to feel like he was intruding. There was something very oddly arousing about watching a beautiful person handle a horse that way, he realized. Feeling very much like a voyeur, he opted to merely divert his attentions to checking on Cedany's trough, stirrups, and saddle, making sure everything was intact and fit for the next ride out.
It took a good ten minutes, and when he straightened and stretched, he found Gunter watching him. He quietly met his gaze until the young lord broke the silence. "The clothes suit you."
Gwendal blinked and looked down at his garments. He ran a self-conscious hand over the brown waistcoat. "I've yet to thank you and your mother for accommodating me, though I brought clothes of my own. You didn't have to go out of your way to gather new ones for my stay."
"We didn't," Gunter replied. There was something odd in his voice. Gwendal looked at him but could find no trace of emotion on his face. "Those were my father's."
The revelation hung like an awkward cloud. Gwendal was just about to offer changing into his own clothing when Gunter said a soft, "Good evening, Your Highness," and walked out of the stables.
After five minutes of worrying (which caused Gwendal some degree of annoyance, for he prided himself in being a person who didn't dwell upon trivial matters), he decided to forego changing out of the late lord's clothes. He figured that it was Emeline who had arranged for the garments to be in his closet, and if Gunter found it not to his liking, then he could just damn well take it up with his mother.
Dinner was a tense and mostly quiet affair. Only the sounds of cutlery hitting expensive porcelain filled the dining hall after the initial round of greetings. Gunter kept his eyes mostly on his plate and seemed content enough to ignore the other two occupants of the table.
After the first course, Lady Emeline remarked on the weather. Gwendal agreed with her.
It was during the second course that Gunter broke the stifling silence with an off-hand remark. "Is the food to His Highness's liking?" he said, after dabbing his lips with a napkin. "We're a very well-stocked castle, you see."
Gwendal was a little puzzled by this sudden show of amiability, and was about to reply in the affirmative when Emeline's voice preceded him. "Gunter," she simply said, though the name carried with it a stern warning.
Gunter merely gave his mother a brief glance and went back to eating.
The curious prince stuck to his manners and left the odd comments alone. The third course passed without incident, and, as soon as Emeline took a final sip of her wine, Gunter politely excused himself and left the dining hall.
Gwendal took his time folding his napkin as the light footsteps faded. He heard Emeline sigh and looked at her while he placed the folded cloth on the table.
"I think I'll take that walk in the garden now," she said, and rose. Gwendal nodded and followed suit.
He offered her his arm as they came upon the eastern exit leading to the Palace Gardens, a wide hall branching off from the Oratory. They walked in companionable silence for a while, Gwendal occasionally commenting on the beauty of the gardens and answering Emeline's questions about Blood Pledge Castle's own greenhouses and conservatories. She seemed to take particular delight in his tale about his mother's tendency to breed flowers and name the more successful results after her sons.
"There is wisdom in having more than one," she wistfully said. "Which is not to say I'm unhappy with the one I have...but Gunter can be very set in his ways. A stubbornness he ironically inherited from his late father."
"You say that like it's unfavorable," Gwendal remarked.
Emeline gave him a pointed look. "It's not if it has foundation. My son's barely been outside of the castle walls, much less learned enough of the world he's living in to form an educated opinion."
"And what sort of educated opinion was he supposed to form," Gwendal slowly asked, keenly aware of Emeline's sharp gaze on him, "by seeing me within his father's clothes?"
She at least had the grace to look slightly abashed. "I didn't think he'd tell you."
"He didn't seem overly upset, if that was what you were aiming for."
"I meant no disrespect. Truly." She stopped walking and turned to fully face him. Her expression spoke of nothing but sincerity. "It merely seemed fitting. Edmund, may Shinou bless his soul, was a cousin twice removed from the von Voltaires. A few choice deaths in your family line and he could have been an heir apparent to your lands." She briefly paused, considering. "Just think of it as heirloom returning to their rightful owner."
"I don't appreciate games," Gwendal firmly said, his gaze squarely meeting Emeline's. "There are no other reasons for giving me your husband's clothes?"
"Of course," Emeline said with one of the most guileless smiles Gwendal had ever witnessed. "What other reason could I have had?"
Gwendal was starting to wonder whose company he was beginning to dislike more -- the son's or the mother's. Something about Emeline's demeanor set off warning bells in his head, and, finding the place far too stifling to his liking, he requested a few bottles of aged wine from the cellars and headed for the castle gates. There was one other person in the vicinity whose company wouldn't drive him insane, and perhaps a wine bottle or two would make him more susceptible to being coerced into relocation.
He couldn't have been more than halfway through the bailey when he heard the loud creak of the castle doors opening and closing behind him, followed by a series of rushed footsteps headed in his direction. He didn't pause or slow his pace. Soon enough, Gunter was beside him, looking rather splendid in his outfit of gold-trimmed white trousers, tunic, and sheer surcoat of fine silk thrown about his shoulders like a wispy scarf. His hair had been haphazardly drawn up into a high ponytail, a few strands slipping from the loose hold and framing his face, the wet tips indicative of a recent bath.
Gwendal secretly hoped it was a very good, relaxing bath his departure had interrupted. Served him right for spying.
"Where are you going?" Gunter asked, his tone breathless and put out.
"That statement's missing two words," Gwendal observed.
There was a pause as Gunter puzzled over this. Gwendal could see just when realization dawned on him as that puzzled frown turned into a baleful glare. "Your Highness," Gunter dryly amended.
"I," Gwendal amiably said, "am taking some of your very well-stocked liqueur and bringing it to the very old, very exhausted, self-declared national treasure haunting your castle gates." He gestured for the nightwatch to raise the portcullis.
Gunter looked panicked. "You can't feed him!"
"Why not?" Gwendal asked curiously.
"He'll think it a favorable sign and stay longer." Gunter tried to grab a bottle from Gwendal's hands, but the prince was quick to move it away. "I've been wearing him down recently, and you'll undo all my hard work!"
"You'll wear him straight down to a death knell," Gwendal muttered, giving the incensed lord a glare of his own. "Besides, it's hardly feeding him if I'm giving him wine. If I get him drunk enough, he might agree to go with me back to Blood Pledge Castle. Or be pliant enough to be dragged away from here."
The frown was wiped clear from Gunter's surprised face. "I...I see," he said in a small voice, sounding far less agitated. Before them, the portcullis slowly opened. "Well," Gunter continued, still sounding perturbed, "you still can't go. You've no escort."
Gwendal gave him an incredulous look. "Have you never been out without an escort before?" Then he paused, as if remembering who he was talking to. "No, don't answer that." He shook his head and walked under the raised portcullis.
Gunter had stopped following him as he crossed the drawbridge. He half-expected the young lord to call for a guard to come down from the watchtower to accompany him, but the long moment's silence told him he did nothing of the sort. He did, however, hear a familiar set of footsteps trying to catch up from behind him, and Gwendal found himself utterly surprised when Gunter reappeared at his side, looking ill-at-ease and out of place.
"I can't allow you to walk about unattended," was the cheerless explanation.
"You could have just called a guard," Gwendal said, tilting his head toward the occupied gatehouse.
Gunter gave him a strange look. "Protocol dictates that the lord of the castle should accompany any members of the royal family on any expeditions within his lands if he is not otherwise engaged."
Gwendal raised an eyebrow at him. "According to whom?"
"My teachers. The books." As if just realizing how naive that sounded, he immediately followed with, "I'm sure my mother will say something similar if you ask her."
It was almost a word-for-word citation from "An Aristocrat's Primer to Military Etiquette," the same book the prince had been forced to familiarize himself with when he was younger. Gwendal was almost impressed. He knew of the rule, of course, but he also knew why it was in place. "And for what purpose is it that the lord of the castle should accompany the royal family on these instances?"
"Security," was the confident reply. "Castle lords are often well-trained in combat, familiar with the landscape of their domain, and can best handle any unforeseen violence aimed toward the Maou and his or her family."
"And are you armed?"
Gunter looked very unarmed and very embarrassed.
Gwendal sighed.
"I'll just head back in and get my sword, then--"
"No, no," he said, and quickly grabbed Gunter's wrist before the flighty young man could run back through the closing gates, "I'm armed enough for both of us -- you're going to stay with me and help me get your artist friend drunk and happy."
"Yes, Your Highness." The young lord let himself get dragged along with no further argument. Gwendal guessed he was that embarrassed.
Hadrian Crom was anything but pleased when the two appeared at his makeshift camp. His long-winded spiel about being visited just as nighttime had fallen and he could barely see much less paint anything from the poor campfire was neatly interrupted when Gwendal dangled the wine bottles in front of him. Soon, all three were gathered about the fire, cradling crude cups made from fruit husks filled to the brim with precious 100-year old vintage.
The initial blow out of placing Gunter and Hadrian in the same vicinity wasn't as bad as Gwendal feared. The cycle was merely variations of Hadrian whinging, Gunter threatening, and Gwendal offering more wine. Gunter wasn't vicious at all if being painted was never mentioned, Gwendal observed, but as soon as it was, it felt like Hadrian's frustrations were bouncing off of a steel wall.
He felt a little annoyed that Gunter kept a close watch on his own wine, but so long as it was flowing freely for Hadrian, he supposed he shouldn't complain. The old man was proving to be a drinking partner with great endurance, however. Two bottles in, and his judgment was barely compromised.
"This wine is older than both of you!" the old artist had gleefully said, while waving a half-empty bottle at the other two men. "And so'm I, so you can get those ideas of softening me with liquor out of your heads!"
Six bottles of the rich wine, and Gwendal managed to not only render the artist incoherent (and, therefore, unable to give assent) but also halfway unconscious. His snores were about as loud as the crackling fire. Gunter gave the artist a fond look before feeding another dry log to the flames.
"I probably should have warned you that he could drink my father under the table," the young lord said while Gwendal busied himself with picking up the remaining empty bottles from beside the snoring man.
The prince gave him a glare. "I could have used the warning, yes," he muttered. He looked at Hadrian and wondered just how difficult it would be to sling the old man on a horse and cart him off to Blood Pledge Castle in his state.
Some of his thoughts must have shown on his face. Gunter said with no small amount of amusement, "He'll just return if you drag him away. I was hoping your liqueur ploy would work in changing his mind, but alas..."
Gwendal sighed. "This really is far too much trouble than it's worth." He promised himself just two or three more tries, and then he'd ride back to Blood Pledge Castle without the artist and have a firm word with Wolfram and his mother. With an unhappy growl, he knelt on the rough ground and began clearing some of the dead wood from the fringes of the blazing fire.
Silence reigned for a few minutes. He surprised himself by breaking it, albeit hesitantly. "Cedany's lonely, is she?"
Gunter hesitated as well before replying. "Neglected. She understands why you must be away so often, but a horse can only take so much without feeling discouraged. The span of time between your holding her reins has become longer and longer the past few years."
"And you know this how?"
Gunter gave a self-conscious smile. "I have a way with horses. I think it might be because I've spent a great deal of time in their company since I was small, but one of my teachers said the empathy I've formed with the species might be the marks of an air user. He said I might be a good fit for that element."
Gwendal frowned. "You've not formed a covenant yet?"
"No. Should I have?" He looked genuinely puzzled.
The prince nodded slowly. "People who show prowess at an early age are often encouraged to, yes."
"...I see." Gunter drew his legs up and wrapped his arms about his knees. He looked a bit chilled -- and considering his fineries, Gwendal supposed he was. The night air felt cold and Gunter was wearing comparatively thin clothing. "It was probably under my father's instruction that my teachers told me I was not allowed to."
Gwendal had personally never heard of a mazoku denied their rightful maryoku training in their youth. Although it was peacetime, there was a severe lack of skilled elemental users in the army as it was, and magical skill was considered a valuable commodity. Gwendal tried to imagine life without having formed a covenant with Earth, and found he could not.
He avoided Gunter's gaze then and cleared his throat, calling the other youth's attention to him while he poked restlessly at the fire. "It's not difficult," he muttered, "I can help you if you wish."
Gunter said nothing for a long moment. Gwendal chanced a glance at him and saw the young lord gazing at him with wide eyes. "I...truly? You would help me?"
Gwendal raised an eyebrow. "You look surprised. Do I seem that cold a person to you?"
"Yes. I mean no! No, but," Gunter's shoulder lifted slightly in a sign of unease, "I was told there were ceremonies, rituals, proper prayers, I...it did not sound simple at all."
"A description of a process that was probably also your father's influence. Forming a covenant simply requires your faith and a leaning toward a specific element. Shinou's Will takes care of the rest." He made a brief pause. "I oversaw my brother's covenant." It was not a pleasant memory, but still. "I believe I can manage yours."
For a while, Gwendal thought Gunter would refuse -- he looked so uncomfortable with the idea. Then he tentatively smiled, and though it was small, the smile easily reached his eyes. "If you could spare the time, I would be most grateful. But I have to warn you, it will not change my stance on your current...problem." He looked pointedly at a snoring Hadrian.
Gwendal shrugged and returned to adding more wood to the fire. "Think of it as my inability to let a potentially powerful mazoku go to waste."
"I have misjudged you," the young lord quietly said. "You are too kind. Your--Your Highness."
Gwendal threw him an amused look at the slip. He'd not been calling Gunter on it since the first time the young lord forgot the honorific, finding it oddly endearing. "You may as well just call me Gwendal," he suggested, a smirk curving his lips.
Gunter looked embarrassed. Even through the fire's light, he could see a blush staining his cheeks. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to forget my place with you. I've never called anyone 'Your Highness' before, and I never thought I would on someone that, well..."
"Someone you could have been playing hide-and-seek with just twenty years ago?"
Gunter laughed uncertainly. "Yes." After a while, he added, "Although imagining you playing hide-and-seek is like thinking of a woodsman dancing a ballet."
"I have it on good authority that I happen to be very well-versed in hide-and-seek." Thoughts of Anissina von Kapelnikoff filtered through his memories. He shivered. "For maybe less than ideal reasons."
His good humor faded a little when he saw Gunter's echoing expression. The young lord's gaze was distant, his unseeing eyes reflecting the fire. "I, too."
The silence felt heavy to Gwendal, but he could think of nothing to say to disperse it. He could think of very little at all, in fact -- his head was still somewhat clouded with wine, and Gunter's skin looked warm and inviting half-hidden in the soft shadows. Sadness fit the young lord more than laughter did, he idly thought. For a moment, he could understand Hadrian's obsessive desire to lay that vision to canvas.
Gunter issued a soft sigh, and the moment was broken. Gwendal bowed his head and made a show of stacking the bottles together and tying the wide caps with a piece of twine, preparing them to be carried back to the castle later. Beside him, he heard a smile in Gunter's voice as he said, "If it pleases Your Highness -- Gwendal, then you may also call me Gunter."
"Gunter," Gwendal obligingly said, finding the name appealing on his tongue. "I believe I shall."
Part III to come.
Also, the talented azami222 has created such wonderful art and captured Gunter's fierce expression here! She's also made a very gorgeous, sizzling hot illustration for "Casualties" here! (please note that the artwork is NC-17! ♥ ) I can't stop looking at these. *drools*
Characters/Pairings: Gwendal/Gunter, a bit of other chars
Rating: PG-13 for this part
Genre: AU, Slash
Spoilers: none
Summary: Gunter refuses to have his portrait painted and inconveniences a lot of important people.
Disclaimer: Kyou Kara Maou belongs to Tomo Takabayashi. I make no profit from this fanfic.
Notes: This fic has become longer than I first anticipated, so apologies for the delay. Beta'd by the wonderful MD.
Meeting Lady Emeline von Christ was as surreal as meeting her son had been. Gwendal was immediately struck with an eerie likeness to Lady Sarah von Wincott, Julia von Wincott's mother. He wondered vaguely if the two family trees had crossed paths at some point in time.
Gunter was nowhere in sight. Gwendal breathed a small prayer of thanks to Shinou.
They formally exchanged greetings. Emeline gestured for Gwendal to sit beside her on a lavishly-upholstered sofa. "My pardon, Prince Gwendal, but we received no notice of your arrival. We'd have sent escorts if we'd known."
"We sent no notice," Gwendal replied. "I thought this to be a simple matter of removing an old artist from your castle, but I had not anticipated...difficulties."
"Oh, if only it were simpler." Emeline wore an expression that closely resembled Gwendal's feelings on the matter. "This show of wills has been going on for almost three months now. It's extremely tiresome."
"I can only imagine." Though Gwendal had a feeling he was about to gain first-hand experience with it in the coming days. Or weeks. Or months. He repressed a shiver. "If I may ask, why does Lord Gunter refuse to have his portrait painted?"
Gwendal did not think he had asked a loaded question, but that was how it felt when Emeline avoided answering by retrieving cup and saucer from the nearby table and taking a few sips of the tea. When she put the cup down again, she replied with yet another question, "You have met my son?"
Unfortunately, Gwendal thought. "Yes. I tried entering with Master Crom, and Lord Gunter was quick to inform us of his disapproval at the castle gates."
Emeline tsk'd. "You must forgive him his lapse in manners. He's normally very polite. As for his portrait...I'm afraid I'm in no position to divulge his reasons." She held up a hand to stay Gwendal's question. "He and his father disagreed on many things. My...inaction, shall we say, during those years when he might have benefited from my assistance caused him a great deal of pain. I am not in his good graces right now, and so cannot speak for him."
Gwendal gave a crooked half-smile. "If we count Master Crom outside, and Lord Gunter's continued ill disposition, our numbers may yet continue to grow."
His attempt at levity was rewarded with Emeline's sudden laughter. "Indeed! It's certainly not diminishing." Some of the gaiety left her voice when she continued. "I thought, perhaps, with his father's passing, he'd be more grounded to the present. Perhaps eventually make peace with his father's memory. But he's gone into this personal crusade, and he's angered quite a number of people already."
"That is unfortunate," Gwendal uncertainly remarked.
Emeline seemed to hesitate. "If I may be so bold as to ask, how long does His Highness plan on staying?"
"Longer than I first intended to," he replied ruefully. "I wish to return accompanied by Master Crom, but this might take a few more attempts."
She nodded. "The castle is your home 'til then, if it pleases Your Highness." A small smile curved her lips. "I must admit to some relief. I think having company close to Gunter's age will be of some help to him."
"I doubt I'd be better company than his friends."
"That's under the assumption he has any," she smoothly replied. Gwendal raised an eyebrow. "His father kept him sequestered here for most of his life. He sought to keep Gunter 'unsullied' from various influences, and that included other children. He does have a few friends, artists my husband often employed. But with his decree regarding portraiture and a few other matters, Gunter himself has managed to estrange all of them lately."
"Still," Gwendal replied, feeling vaguely disturbed with this new information, "I highly doubt I could make much of a difference. Our first conversation wasn't exactly genial."
Emeline smiled. "We shall see."
There was a polite knock on one of the entrances to the great chamber. At Emeline's welcome, the door opened and a guard wearing the von Christ military uniform stood at attention. "His Highness's rooms are ready."
"Excellent." To Gwendal, she said, "We have dinner at eight, breakfast at nine, lunch at twelve, and tea at three. The castle is yours to use, so please, feel free to explore."
Gwendal thanked her. They made their brief farewells, with Emeline managing to extract a promise from him to accompany her through a walk in the garden. Gwendal was escorted to his rooms.
As the guard left and the door closed behind him, Gwendal took a long, sweeping look at what would probably be a familiar sight for the next few weeks. The room was fairly generic, but very well-furnished. The dressers were decked with various scents, oils, and powders. At a corner lay a writing desk, sporting new stationery with the von Christ coat of arms, pen, and inkwell. The bed was a grand four-poster affair with thick linens and a plush, smooth comforter.
The view outside the window was exquisite, affording him a panoramic sweep of the wild forests bordering the fringes of the castle walls. Gwendal walked over to the large closet and saw, upon opening it, that it also had been prepared for his stay. It was filled with various pieces of clothing of about his size, in colors that ranged from warm to cool.
He let out a soft sigh and picked out a modest set of plain ashen tunic, dark brown trousers and a matching waistcoat. He laid them out on the bed and proceeded to the doors leading to his private baths, the promise of a blissful half hour soaking in scented water chasing away the sore protests of tired bones after a long day of relentless riding. Thoughts of his earlier expedition reminded Gwendal that perhaps he should check up on his horse prior to dinner. Cedany abhorred being shacked up close to stallions.
He refused to think of yet another stubborn young man whose distaste of others lacked both cause and reason. There would be plenty of time to deal with that later.
It was a testament to Gwendal's perpetual bad luck that the simple act of checking up on his beloved horse would bring him back to the cold presence of the young lord. His unmistakable build was apparent even from a distance, and Gwendal saw as he came closer that he was occupied with nuzzling Cedany, his porcelain face pressed intimately against the mare's coal-black muzzle, pale hands very slowly stroking the long length of her neck.
Gwendal had to keep the immediate "Stay away from my horse" shackled firmly to the tip of his tongue. He glared ineffectually at the other man, whose closed eyes and peaceful expression indicated that he'd either failed to detect Gwendal's arrival, or was choosing to ignore it.
"What exactly is it you're doing to my horse?" Gwendal eventually said, laying a bit more stress on the last two words than necessary.
He felt extremely disgruntled (and maybe a little betrayed) when both horse and man broke contact to concurrently glare at him.
"You haven't been treating her well," was Gunter's simple reply.
The accusing quality of his voice played a discordant tune on Gwendal's nerves. "She lacks in neither food nor care. Now, if you don't mind--"
"You only visit her when you have somewhere to go," Gunter calmly interrupted. His cool, disapproving look squarely met Gwendal's irate gaze. "She's very lonely."
"She has daily trainers for company."
That reply earned Gwendal a derisive snort from the young man, who turned his attentions back to the mare. "Like I said -- she's very lonely." Cedany rudely butted her head against Gunter's, an apparent nudge for him to resume his earlier activities. The young man didn't seem to mind and slowly rubbed his cheek against the side of her face and began stroking her neck again.
Gwendal refused to feel like he was intruding. There was something very oddly arousing about watching a beautiful person handle a horse that way, he realized. Feeling very much like a voyeur, he opted to merely divert his attentions to checking on Cedany's trough, stirrups, and saddle, making sure everything was intact and fit for the next ride out.
It took a good ten minutes, and when he straightened and stretched, he found Gunter watching him. He quietly met his gaze until the young lord broke the silence. "The clothes suit you."
Gwendal blinked and looked down at his garments. He ran a self-conscious hand over the brown waistcoat. "I've yet to thank you and your mother for accommodating me, though I brought clothes of my own. You didn't have to go out of your way to gather new ones for my stay."
"We didn't," Gunter replied. There was something odd in his voice. Gwendal looked at him but could find no trace of emotion on his face. "Those were my father's."
The revelation hung like an awkward cloud. Gwendal was just about to offer changing into his own clothing when Gunter said a soft, "Good evening, Your Highness," and walked out of the stables.
After five minutes of worrying (which caused Gwendal some degree of annoyance, for he prided himself in being a person who didn't dwell upon trivial matters), he decided to forego changing out of the late lord's clothes. He figured that it was Emeline who had arranged for the garments to be in his closet, and if Gunter found it not to his liking, then he could just damn well take it up with his mother.
Dinner was a tense and mostly quiet affair. Only the sounds of cutlery hitting expensive porcelain filled the dining hall after the initial round of greetings. Gunter kept his eyes mostly on his plate and seemed content enough to ignore the other two occupants of the table.
After the first course, Lady Emeline remarked on the weather. Gwendal agreed with her.
It was during the second course that Gunter broke the stifling silence with an off-hand remark. "Is the food to His Highness's liking?" he said, after dabbing his lips with a napkin. "We're a very well-stocked castle, you see."
Gwendal was a little puzzled by this sudden show of amiability, and was about to reply in the affirmative when Emeline's voice preceded him. "Gunter," she simply said, though the name carried with it a stern warning.
Gunter merely gave his mother a brief glance and went back to eating.
The curious prince stuck to his manners and left the odd comments alone. The third course passed without incident, and, as soon as Emeline took a final sip of her wine, Gunter politely excused himself and left the dining hall.
Gwendal took his time folding his napkin as the light footsteps faded. He heard Emeline sigh and looked at her while he placed the folded cloth on the table.
"I think I'll take that walk in the garden now," she said, and rose. Gwendal nodded and followed suit.
He offered her his arm as they came upon the eastern exit leading to the Palace Gardens, a wide hall branching off from the Oratory. They walked in companionable silence for a while, Gwendal occasionally commenting on the beauty of the gardens and answering Emeline's questions about Blood Pledge Castle's own greenhouses and conservatories. She seemed to take particular delight in his tale about his mother's tendency to breed flowers and name the more successful results after her sons.
"There is wisdom in having more than one," she wistfully said. "Which is not to say I'm unhappy with the one I have...but Gunter can be very set in his ways. A stubbornness he ironically inherited from his late father."
"You say that like it's unfavorable," Gwendal remarked.
Emeline gave him a pointed look. "It's not if it has foundation. My son's barely been outside of the castle walls, much less learned enough of the world he's living in to form an educated opinion."
"And what sort of educated opinion was he supposed to form," Gwendal slowly asked, keenly aware of Emeline's sharp gaze on him, "by seeing me within his father's clothes?"
She at least had the grace to look slightly abashed. "I didn't think he'd tell you."
"He didn't seem overly upset, if that was what you were aiming for."
"I meant no disrespect. Truly." She stopped walking and turned to fully face him. Her expression spoke of nothing but sincerity. "It merely seemed fitting. Edmund, may Shinou bless his soul, was a cousin twice removed from the von Voltaires. A few choice deaths in your family line and he could have been an heir apparent to your lands." She briefly paused, considering. "Just think of it as heirloom returning to their rightful owner."
"I don't appreciate games," Gwendal firmly said, his gaze squarely meeting Emeline's. "There are no other reasons for giving me your husband's clothes?"
"Of course," Emeline said with one of the most guileless smiles Gwendal had ever witnessed. "What other reason could I have had?"
Gwendal was starting to wonder whose company he was beginning to dislike more -- the son's or the mother's. Something about Emeline's demeanor set off warning bells in his head, and, finding the place far too stifling to his liking, he requested a few bottles of aged wine from the cellars and headed for the castle gates. There was one other person in the vicinity whose company wouldn't drive him insane, and perhaps a wine bottle or two would make him more susceptible to being coerced into relocation.
He couldn't have been more than halfway through the bailey when he heard the loud creak of the castle doors opening and closing behind him, followed by a series of rushed footsteps headed in his direction. He didn't pause or slow his pace. Soon enough, Gunter was beside him, looking rather splendid in his outfit of gold-trimmed white trousers, tunic, and sheer surcoat of fine silk thrown about his shoulders like a wispy scarf. His hair had been haphazardly drawn up into a high ponytail, a few strands slipping from the loose hold and framing his face, the wet tips indicative of a recent bath.
Gwendal secretly hoped it was a very good, relaxing bath his departure had interrupted. Served him right for spying.
"Where are you going?" Gunter asked, his tone breathless and put out.
"That statement's missing two words," Gwendal observed.
There was a pause as Gunter puzzled over this. Gwendal could see just when realization dawned on him as that puzzled frown turned into a baleful glare. "Your Highness," Gunter dryly amended.
"I," Gwendal amiably said, "am taking some of your very well-stocked liqueur and bringing it to the very old, very exhausted, self-declared national treasure haunting your castle gates." He gestured for the nightwatch to raise the portcullis.
Gunter looked panicked. "You can't feed him!"
"Why not?" Gwendal asked curiously.
"He'll think it a favorable sign and stay longer." Gunter tried to grab a bottle from Gwendal's hands, but the prince was quick to move it away. "I've been wearing him down recently, and you'll undo all my hard work!"
"You'll wear him straight down to a death knell," Gwendal muttered, giving the incensed lord a glare of his own. "Besides, it's hardly feeding him if I'm giving him wine. If I get him drunk enough, he might agree to go with me back to Blood Pledge Castle. Or be pliant enough to be dragged away from here."
The frown was wiped clear from Gunter's surprised face. "I...I see," he said in a small voice, sounding far less agitated. Before them, the portcullis slowly opened. "Well," Gunter continued, still sounding perturbed, "you still can't go. You've no escort."
Gwendal gave him an incredulous look. "Have you never been out without an escort before?" Then he paused, as if remembering who he was talking to. "No, don't answer that." He shook his head and walked under the raised portcullis.
Gunter had stopped following him as he crossed the drawbridge. He half-expected the young lord to call for a guard to come down from the watchtower to accompany him, but the long moment's silence told him he did nothing of the sort. He did, however, hear a familiar set of footsteps trying to catch up from behind him, and Gwendal found himself utterly surprised when Gunter reappeared at his side, looking ill-at-ease and out of place.
"I can't allow you to walk about unattended," was the cheerless explanation.
"You could have just called a guard," Gwendal said, tilting his head toward the occupied gatehouse.
Gunter gave him a strange look. "Protocol dictates that the lord of the castle should accompany any members of the royal family on any expeditions within his lands if he is not otherwise engaged."
Gwendal raised an eyebrow at him. "According to whom?"
"My teachers. The books." As if just realizing how naive that sounded, he immediately followed with, "I'm sure my mother will say something similar if you ask her."
It was almost a word-for-word citation from "An Aristocrat's Primer to Military Etiquette," the same book the prince had been forced to familiarize himself with when he was younger. Gwendal was almost impressed. He knew of the rule, of course, but he also knew why it was in place. "And for what purpose is it that the lord of the castle should accompany the royal family on these instances?"
"Security," was the confident reply. "Castle lords are often well-trained in combat, familiar with the landscape of their domain, and can best handle any unforeseen violence aimed toward the Maou and his or her family."
"And are you armed?"
Gunter looked very unarmed and very embarrassed.
Gwendal sighed.
"I'll just head back in and get my sword, then--"
"No, no," he said, and quickly grabbed Gunter's wrist before the flighty young man could run back through the closing gates, "I'm armed enough for both of us -- you're going to stay with me and help me get your artist friend drunk and happy."
"Yes, Your Highness." The young lord let himself get dragged along with no further argument. Gwendal guessed he was that embarrassed.
Hadrian Crom was anything but pleased when the two appeared at his makeshift camp. His long-winded spiel about being visited just as nighttime had fallen and he could barely see much less paint anything from the poor campfire was neatly interrupted when Gwendal dangled the wine bottles in front of him. Soon, all three were gathered about the fire, cradling crude cups made from fruit husks filled to the brim with precious 100-year old vintage.
The initial blow out of placing Gunter and Hadrian in the same vicinity wasn't as bad as Gwendal feared. The cycle was merely variations of Hadrian whinging, Gunter threatening, and Gwendal offering more wine. Gunter wasn't vicious at all if being painted was never mentioned, Gwendal observed, but as soon as it was, it felt like Hadrian's frustrations were bouncing off of a steel wall.
He felt a little annoyed that Gunter kept a close watch on his own wine, but so long as it was flowing freely for Hadrian, he supposed he shouldn't complain. The old man was proving to be a drinking partner with great endurance, however. Two bottles in, and his judgment was barely compromised.
"This wine is older than both of you!" the old artist had gleefully said, while waving a half-empty bottle at the other two men. "And so'm I, so you can get those ideas of softening me with liquor out of your heads!"
Six bottles of the rich wine, and Gwendal managed to not only render the artist incoherent (and, therefore, unable to give assent) but also halfway unconscious. His snores were about as loud as the crackling fire. Gunter gave the artist a fond look before feeding another dry log to the flames.
"I probably should have warned you that he could drink my father under the table," the young lord said while Gwendal busied himself with picking up the remaining empty bottles from beside the snoring man.
The prince gave him a glare. "I could have used the warning, yes," he muttered. He looked at Hadrian and wondered just how difficult it would be to sling the old man on a horse and cart him off to Blood Pledge Castle in his state.
Some of his thoughts must have shown on his face. Gunter said with no small amount of amusement, "He'll just return if you drag him away. I was hoping your liqueur ploy would work in changing his mind, but alas..."
Gwendal sighed. "This really is far too much trouble than it's worth." He promised himself just two or three more tries, and then he'd ride back to Blood Pledge Castle without the artist and have a firm word with Wolfram and his mother. With an unhappy growl, he knelt on the rough ground and began clearing some of the dead wood from the fringes of the blazing fire.
Silence reigned for a few minutes. He surprised himself by breaking it, albeit hesitantly. "Cedany's lonely, is she?"
Gunter hesitated as well before replying. "Neglected. She understands why you must be away so often, but a horse can only take so much without feeling discouraged. The span of time between your holding her reins has become longer and longer the past few years."
"And you know this how?"
Gunter gave a self-conscious smile. "I have a way with horses. I think it might be because I've spent a great deal of time in their company since I was small, but one of my teachers said the empathy I've formed with the species might be the marks of an air user. He said I might be a good fit for that element."
Gwendal frowned. "You've not formed a covenant yet?"
"No. Should I have?" He looked genuinely puzzled.
The prince nodded slowly. "People who show prowess at an early age are often encouraged to, yes."
"...I see." Gunter drew his legs up and wrapped his arms about his knees. He looked a bit chilled -- and considering his fineries, Gwendal supposed he was. The night air felt cold and Gunter was wearing comparatively thin clothing. "It was probably under my father's instruction that my teachers told me I was not allowed to."
Gwendal had personally never heard of a mazoku denied their rightful maryoku training in their youth. Although it was peacetime, there was a severe lack of skilled elemental users in the army as it was, and magical skill was considered a valuable commodity. Gwendal tried to imagine life without having formed a covenant with Earth, and found he could not.
He avoided Gunter's gaze then and cleared his throat, calling the other youth's attention to him while he poked restlessly at the fire. "It's not difficult," he muttered, "I can help you if you wish."
Gunter said nothing for a long moment. Gwendal chanced a glance at him and saw the young lord gazing at him with wide eyes. "I...truly? You would help me?"
Gwendal raised an eyebrow. "You look surprised. Do I seem that cold a person to you?"
"Yes. I mean no! No, but," Gunter's shoulder lifted slightly in a sign of unease, "I was told there were ceremonies, rituals, proper prayers, I...it did not sound simple at all."
"A description of a process that was probably also your father's influence. Forming a covenant simply requires your faith and a leaning toward a specific element. Shinou's Will takes care of the rest." He made a brief pause. "I oversaw my brother's covenant." It was not a pleasant memory, but still. "I believe I can manage yours."
For a while, Gwendal thought Gunter would refuse -- he looked so uncomfortable with the idea. Then he tentatively smiled, and though it was small, the smile easily reached his eyes. "If you could spare the time, I would be most grateful. But I have to warn you, it will not change my stance on your current...problem." He looked pointedly at a snoring Hadrian.
Gwendal shrugged and returned to adding more wood to the fire. "Think of it as my inability to let a potentially powerful mazoku go to waste."
"I have misjudged you," the young lord quietly said. "You are too kind. Your--Your Highness."
Gwendal threw him an amused look at the slip. He'd not been calling Gunter on it since the first time the young lord forgot the honorific, finding it oddly endearing. "You may as well just call me Gwendal," he suggested, a smirk curving his lips.
Gunter looked embarrassed. Even through the fire's light, he could see a blush staining his cheeks. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to forget my place with you. I've never called anyone 'Your Highness' before, and I never thought I would on someone that, well..."
"Someone you could have been playing hide-and-seek with just twenty years ago?"
Gunter laughed uncertainly. "Yes." After a while, he added, "Although imagining you playing hide-and-seek is like thinking of a woodsman dancing a ballet."
"I have it on good authority that I happen to be very well-versed in hide-and-seek." Thoughts of Anissina von Kapelnikoff filtered through his memories. He shivered. "For maybe less than ideal reasons."
His good humor faded a little when he saw Gunter's echoing expression. The young lord's gaze was distant, his unseeing eyes reflecting the fire. "I, too."
The silence felt heavy to Gwendal, but he could think of nothing to say to disperse it. He could think of very little at all, in fact -- his head was still somewhat clouded with wine, and Gunter's skin looked warm and inviting half-hidden in the soft shadows. Sadness fit the young lord more than laughter did, he idly thought. For a moment, he could understand Hadrian's obsessive desire to lay that vision to canvas.
Gunter issued a soft sigh, and the moment was broken. Gwendal bowed his head and made a show of stacking the bottles together and tying the wide caps with a piece of twine, preparing them to be carried back to the castle later. Beside him, he heard a smile in Gunter's voice as he said, "If it pleases Your Highness -- Gwendal, then you may also call me Gunter."
"Gunter," Gwendal obligingly said, finding the name appealing on his tongue. "I believe I shall."
Part III to come.
Also, the talented azami222 has created such wonderful art and captured Gunter's fierce expression here! She's also made a very gorgeous, sizzling hot illustration for "Casualties" here! (please note that the artwork is NC-17! ♥ ) I can't stop looking at these. *drools*