May You Always Have a Summer's Day

[lionille]

Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine.

Title: May You Always Have a Summer's Day
Pairing: Lavender/Wyatt
Rating/genre: romance-novel-cover-style-euphemism-laden-het!smut . One shot.
A/N: Also implied Lavender/Ambrose past, and Glitch/Cain future



Glitch's laughter was loud. Wyatt could hear it wafting out into the courtyard, amid the babble of amusement and talk from the rest of the royal crowd. The dinner had gone long into the night, and though he'd been invited, he'd declined. His digestion was not what it once had been, before the iron suit, and it only filled him with a vague ache of longing to see the parade of rich pastries and heavy spiced wines that were served at the tables of the aristocracy.

Sort of the same way it pained him to look at Glitch these days, full of vibrance and life, and see what he could never touch, or taste, or know, at least more than superficially.

It was hard on his heart, especially when Glitch looked at him that way, testing, suggesting, with those deep dark eyes of his, and he knew Glitch felt the same stirrings, the desire for something more than the platonic bond of friendship, but that was a road Wyatt knew he could never, would never, travel again.

He was lost in these mororse thoughts, standing in the grey garden watching the silhouettes move behind the lighted curtains, when he observed the queen slipping out of the draped doors. For a moment the sound of voices increased, then muffled again as she closed the set of glass panels with a soft snick. She strode over to a row of hedges festooned with jasmine, and stood with her hands tucked under her arms. After a moment of watching, when she failed to move on, he stepped out of the shadows, and walked over to her side.

"Your Highness? Are you all right?"

"Your friend Glitch," she said faintly. "He's breaking what's left of my heart."

"He's your friend, too," Wyatt felt obliged to point out.

"He doesn't remember me, and he isn't the man I remember." She pressed her knuckles to the base of her nose in a clear attempt to forestall bawling in a manner unbecoming to royalty.

She was a handsome woman, still, Wyatt thought distantly. She was too thin, and her hair was leached of color, and gods knew he was sick of seeing that same lavender dress that by rights should have disintegrated annuals ago, but he could see she had been a beauty in her youth, and he thought she was beautiful, still, in a certain way.

"You're shivering," he realized, speaking the thought aloud. Spring had been an abysmally long time arriving in the O.Z., and none of them were especially hale. The last thing anybody needed was for the queen to catch an ague.

She pulled the thin lace shawl around her elbows more tightly, until the flowers in the lace stretched out of all proportion. "I can't get warm," she whispered. "I've been out of that... that trap for... how long has it been? Days? Weeks? And all I can feel is the sting of rain on my arms." She ran her hands up to her shoulders, hunched over slightly. "It haunts me." Her voice broke on the confession.

"Your Highness," he began.

"Don't call me that tonight, Mr. Cain," she interrupted him impatiently. "Not now, when I have never felt so low."

"How can you say that?" he asked, rather more sharply than he'd meant to, and he saw two spots of color flare above her cheekbones. "You got your entire family back," he stated flatly. "You have both your daughters here tonight, against tremendous odds."

"Strangers, all of them."

"You don't mean that. Look, why don't you go inside, get by the fire. Let me call one of your servants."

"No, please don't. I don't even know their names, these new girls. All my trusted maids were killed when..." she trailed off.

"Go inside," he ordered, firmly, then in deference to her station, added, "Please."

She consented to step away from the hedge, brushing against it and stirring up a hopeful wisp of jasmine in the bleak night. Instead of returning to the banquet hall, however, she moved down the stone path, towards another set of doors in a stone porch, one that led to her personal rooms, if he was recalling the palace layout correctly, and he was sure he was.

After she unlocked them with a touch, he pushed them open for her, and ushered her through into the interior. It was against protocol but he intended to see that the fire was alive in the grate before he left her here alone. He took a poker and stirred up the dismal embers, tossing logs in from a basket on the marble hearth until he had a substantial blaze crackling.

He turned to find she had removed her shawl and laid it over the back of the chair like an elaborate antimacassar.

"Do you never take that coat off?" she asked. "I don't recall ever seeing you without it."

"I've felt cold ever since your daughter and advisor let me out of that tin can," he admitted. "Try not to complain about it. Figure one of these days it'll wear off."

Only he wasn't so sure anymore, really, that it ever would.

"I'd like to show you something." She moved away, and what else could he do but follow. He trailed her through several connected rooms, each full of a blend of old and new furnishings, until they reached one which contained a four poster bed draped in purple and blue - blankets, pillows, curtains, all. On the wall, which she was regarding, hung a painting, that seemed, to Wyatt's admittedly untrained eye, to clash most spectacularly with the decor. It was a simple landscape, of a tree, in a field, and a dense thicket of poppies scattered on the ground.

"Do you like it?" she inquired. "The golds and reds can always make me feel warm, like I could walk right into that sunny day."

"Did, uh, did you paint it?" he asked.

She chuckled. "A cautious question before offering an opinion. How indicative of a married man. No, it was my sister who painted that. Her name was Poppy. All the women in our family were named for flowers."

Wyatt turned curiously, hoping for an explanation for her two daughters, and he wasn't disappointed.

"Azkadellia means 'daffodil' in the language of the ancients, and DG is short for DellaGallica, which means 'bluebell of the world'. Before you ask, yes, she was also named for her famous ancestor. And for the extraordinary color of her eyes. I was rather pleased with her father for covering all the bases, in fact... at least until she got old enough to demand a nickname she could spell." Her lips curved up a bit at the fond remembrance.

Cain found himself smiling back a little in answer, he could picture it. Then he paused, about to wonder how an Other Sider like Ahamo could know so much about the language of the ancients, when the queen distracted him again.

"Do you have intentions towards either of my daughters?"

He looked up quickly at that. "No. Gods, no. DG, I'd lay down my life for her, but she's... she's a very young woman. And a princess."

"Those are reasons of the head, Mr. Cain. I was more curious about your heart."

"My heart's about as froze up as the rest of me, I'm afraid, Your Highness. Even if it wasn't, there's someone else I'd... well... that's impossible now."

"Why so? Are you more broken than the rest of us? It would be a shame indeed if we all gave up so easily as you."

He bristled at what he took as an insult. "I don't give up," he fired back. "I've never given up, on anything, ever."

"Prove it," she returned. "Stay here for a little while, take off that mantle of iron you still wear, prove you are still a man who lives."

He stared at her. Surely he had not just been propositioned by the queen of the O.Z. He knew that people of this echelon did things a little differently than country folk, but they kept their social games among their peers. Surely she had not....

"Oh, come now, don't look so shocked," she scolded, but gently. "It is my right to ask it, of anyone," she informed him calmly. "It is their right to refuse, of course, but I may ask." She stepped up to him, laced her arms around his neck, and stood on the toes of her silk slippers. "I'm asking."

Her lips, when brought up to his, were cold, and his own were unyielding, but they persisted, and waited, and there was a softening, a thaw, like a tiny crocus emerging from the snow.

And then she was pressed full against him, and she seemed so small and so soft but determined, and strong underneath, like the white rabbits his cousins had kept as pets when they were children. His aunt and uncle had been forever warning him about being careful, but he hadn't really believed they'd had that much power, until the day he'd gone home with scratches down his arms.

There was a shimmer of magic left in her, he could tell, he could taste it in his mouth as their kiss quickened. Could feel it crackle along wherever she touched him, from the soft bounty of her chest pressed to his, straight down.

Wyatt heard a sound in his throat that was part growl of desire, and part whimper of terror.

If asked, Wyatt would have sworn he would never go near another person with carnal intent again, certainly not three weeks, two days, eight hours after learning Adora was dead... again... and certainly not the newly re-installed sovereign of the O.Z. ... but clearly parts of his body had different standards than either his heart or his head.

He wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't be put to death, somehow, after.

He wasn't entirely sure he cared.

He felt her hands, graceful and deft, slipping over his shoulders, pushing back the dirty, stiffened coat. For a moment his arms were trapped behind his body and he felt a quick seize of panic, but then the confines of the sleeves fell away, and he was free, and he heard the coat fall to the floor with a strangely heavy thud. He reached out towards her, arms light as air now, and thinking she needed freeing from the gown as much as he had from the coat, he found the hidden buttons, opened one, then seized each side of the band and split the rest of it all the way down the front, the worn fabric giving way easily and falling from first her shoulders, then her hips. She stepped out of it gracefully, with more layers yet to shed, but looking like a butterfly new out of a cocoon. She pushed the heap of rags aside with her toe, he noticed, as she pulled him to her bed.

And after that she was no longer queen, no longer Lavender Gale, just a woman, and it didn't matter that he had no title but that of man.

He wasn't entirely sure what the buzzing noise was in his ears, but it seemed an unimportant distraction. The fact he could feel grass under his palms suddenly seemed a bit more urgent, but it also receded in priority to Lavender's body undulating under his, to her lips on his shoulder, to his on her throat.

At some point her hair had come undone, and he couldn't remember if he'd done that or she had, but it was swirled around her head, loose and dark, and he wasn't sure why it was brown now, any more than he was sure where all the poppies had come from, or how it was he could feel the heat of the sun on his bare skin. It wasn't until he felt sweat trickling down the valley of his back that he pulled away from her, he hadn't known the touch of sweat in over eight annuals. He snaked his tongue out to taste the salt of it on his lips. He really was still alive, then, despite all odds. Her thumb brushed over his lower lip and he was pulled back from memories of working in fields and walking down dirt roads and fishing from shoddy docks and all the times in his life he'd felt the suns and never realized what it was to be warm.

And not dead... Truly, not dead....

She was all life and heat around him, then, he felt like he was going to scald from it, she arched hard against him and gasped out her pleasure in near silence, leaving scratches down his arms like those downy rabbits from long ago, and by the time it was over for both of them he was tasting salt again, from the place he'd bitten the inside of his own mouth in his own delerium, and the sting of tears in his eyes.

His hallucination, or whatever it had been, ended after this feverish consummation, and he was indoors once more, in a soft bed, on a cool night.

He wrapped her carefully in the folds of purple blankets, afraid she would start to chill again in her nudity, but she seemed to be losing none of the heat gained from their encounter. She remained relaxed against the pile of pillows behind her, a faint smile on her lips as he groped about for his clothes, wrapping one tendril of chestnut-tinted hair around her finger in a way that somehow, despite what had just happened, seemed more girlish than seductive.

He dressed without comment, while she watched, and he didn't begrudge her the show, or her open stare. It had been a long time, after all, for everybody. "I, uh, I'm sorry I tore your dress," he said at last. It was all he could think to say.

"I'll get another one."

"Uh. Yeah, I suppose you can, being the queen and all." He suddenly had an intense sympathy for Glitch's propensity for nervous babbling and told himself to shut the hell up.

Her look of amusement tempered into a bit more solemnity. "We can't do this again, you know. Once is a favor, twice is... complicated."

"Understood."

"And I don't love you," she said at last. "Nor will I, not in that way, though you will be dear to me ever after."

"You're not shivering any more," Wyatt pointed out. "That's good enough for me." He made as if to go, then, but her voice caught at him one more time.

"You have your eye on someone in my court, someone very special."

He nodded.

"May you both find happiness, and the warmth of a summer's day whenever you wish to feel the suns."

Wyatt nodded his gratitude at her blessing. He slipped out of the door, and strode back through the many rooms, full of marble and tables and flowers and tapestry carpets, knowing it would be a long walk before he was out of her domain.

The second moon was up by the time he reached the courtyards, and the night seemed more silver, more bright. He started to pull his coat on, then realised he didn't really need it so much, and left it draped over his arm.

He was nearly to the banquet hall when he saw another figure out tonight, sitting on the edge of a row of steps that led down to another garden. Chin propped in hand, elbow on knee, it was now a familiar posture of glum distress.

"Glitch?"

The man gave a slight start, looked up, and brightened to see him. "Cain!"

"What's the matter?"

The sadness returned immediately. "I think I upset the queen. She left early."

"I'm... uh... I'm sure she's fine," Wyatt offered, with an uneasy cough. "You'll see her again tomorrow."

"I guess. She'll get used to me being a zipperhead one of these days. Maybe tomorrow will be that day."

"You look cold," Wyatt observed. He unfolded his coat, and laid it over the man's thin, hunched shoulders. "I'd like to do something about that, if you wouldn't mind."

"You would?"

"Come inside," he invited. "We'll get some coffee, and we can talk for a while."

"You... want to talk?" Glitch looked astounded. "To me?"

Wyatt blew out an exasperated breath. "For heaven's sake, I have been known to hold a conversation, Glitch!"

Grinning, Glitch hastened to his feet, clutching Cain's coat closed at his chest, and bounded ahead of him through the hall doors. Cain was only a step or two behind.

The banquet table had been abandoned by diners, but not yet cleared by staff, it was an easy task to find cups and a carafe with the dregs of some still-warm tea.

Glitch gravitated to a tray of chocolates, leading them to choose the chairs closest to it. Glitch reached immediately for one of the confections.

"You smell like lavender, you know," Glitch informed him, breaking his chosen chocolate in half and pulling apart a caramel center. "I remember that perfume well enough, I'll never forget it, no matter what they do to my brain."

Wyatt felt his heart drop like a stone, caught out, afraid he'd just lost his chance with the only person he really wanted.

"Oh, it's OK," Glitch assured him quickly. "You can't say no to her, she's wonderful." Glitch placed the caramel on his thumb against Wyatt's lip and Wyatt accepted the offering, nibbling the candy away carefully. "You only get to once, though. Once is a favor, more is..."

"Complicated," Wyatt finished. "I know." He regarded Glitch as he went back to pulling apart chocolates and investigating the centers. "DG's your daughter, isn't she?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah, that's what they told me. Not sure I believe it quite yet, but I guess it'll sink into the ole' noggin eventually. Hey. There's another dinner tomorrow night, Cain. Are you gonna come?"

"Yeah, I'll be there."

"You wanna take me?"

"I'd... I'd be honored, yeah."

"Pick me up at five, then. I'll forgive you if you're late cuz I often am, but if you come early, I'll make it worth your while."

"You flirtin' with me, Glitch?"

"Hard as I know how," Glitch smiled.

"Well, keep it up. It's working."

"What are you going to call her?" Glitch asked.

"What? Who?" He should be used to Glitch's rapid zig-zags of conversation by now, he supposed, but he wasn't, yet.

"Every time there's been a royal favor, there's been a royal baby. It's custom you get to pick the name. Lonot named Az, and I named DG, and you'll get to name the new girl."

Wyatt stared at him. "You... you are kidding me, right?"

"Oh, no, I wouldn't kid about a thing like that. The queen might even get her magic back during it all, and won't that be lovely for everybody?" Glitch sighed wistfully. "Just like the old days."

Wyatt was suddenly a lot more concerned with now and nine months from now than the old days. "You really think she'd... without asking me?"

Glitch discovered strawberry filling and lit up, setting the pink goo in the 'keep' pile. "Why would she do that? She's the queen, Wyatt. Whatever she needs, you give her." He gestured vaguely at his head.

"But... a child, Glitch."

"You won't have to raise her. She'll be theirs to raise, hers and Ahamo's, and I know that probably goes against your grain, but we'll be around, you and I, and you'll get to see her." He'd finished destroying the plate of chocolates, and finally noticed Wyatt's expression. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. It's been a very strange evening."

Glitch laughed a little. "Oh, it's always an adventure around here, Wyatt. Here, take your pick, I've got them all opened for you. There will be no nasty coconut surprises." He nodded firmly, and handed Wyatt the serving tray. Wyatt absently picked one up with an apricot-colored filling.

"Hey, Glitch? What's the ancients' word for jasmine?"

"Oh, how would I know, Cain, my memory's spotty at best... oh! Wait. Layndramiss. That's a pretty... oh, hey, I love those orange ones."

Wyatt held it up to Glitch's waiting smile, and let him eat it from his thumb. Glitch kept licking long after the chocolate was gone, and Wyatt watched, mesmerized.

Suddenly he felt warm all over.