Jul 25, 2007 20:29
Milieu: RW canon.
Rating: G
Fandoms: The Tudors, I guess, if they’d like to take a dip into something a bit closer to reality ;)
Warnings: None at all.
King Saul’s Music
“Western wind, when wilt thou blow....”
Henry had heard the song more often than he cared to recall. He’d only asked for it today to gauge the voice of his newest Chapel member. The young man was here on the strength of his immense gifts as a composer and keyboardist, not his voice or his skill with the lute.
The heavily padded chair creaked as Henry shifted to watch the musician’s fingers travel with easy assurance over the strings. Henry himself was a musician, a good lutenist and a better singer; he had written some songs, nothing so complex as the intricate marvels this young fellow could construct, but enough to appreciate the hard work which went into them.
He smiled in spite of the pain which beset him whenever he moved. The musician’s voice was clear and sweet as spring water. His playing was quite simple-deceptively so. Every once in a while he would glide into a thorny, devilish passage with the sort of commanding grace Henry truly liked. The best players made everything look easy.
“Christ, if my love were in my arms/
and I in my bed again!”
Henry felt the pain and loneliness of the words to his marrow. If the expressiveness of his delivery meant anything, so did the musician, young, but older than he looked. This was not a lyric to be sung by one who had never felt Dame Fortune’s sharp teeth at his throat. Henry let the pain and thoughts of Dame Fortune roll away without further contemplation. Only so much at a time...so much....
The song ended but the lute carried on in lush improvisation. Henry smiled again, approving, and studied the young man’s face as he played.
Oh, to be young again.
The musician was at a good age-old enough to have a bit of sense, young enough to make the most of his delicate, disarming masculine beauty. He was smaller than lasses liked but his looks more than compensated for his slightness.
Henry was entertained by the reactions of the young women of the court to this lad, and his to them. It was a matter of relief that he was as shy and retiring as he was handsome. Yet another young rogue so gifted would have been a headache. Henry would have smirked if he’d had the energy. Once he had been quite the handsome rogue-ah, yes! The royal scoundrel....
All that was water under the bridge now.
His instincts felt the improvisation nearing its end. He waited, gathering himself to speak.... “Master Tallis.”
Henry’s voice was only a wispy ghost of itself, but the young man’s ears were sharp. “Your Majesty?”
Henry blinked as the musician’s gaze flashed up to his face. The impact of those wide eyes, blue as an autumn sky, was always a shock. He had thought by now he’d be used to them. “You have a lovely voice, lad,” he said, paying out each word with care. Why did something so simple as speech have to be so difficult? “Sing for me again.” He smiled fondly at the young man, who was, true to his nature, blushing at the compliment.
“Thank you, Your Majesty. What would you hear?”
Henry lifted two fingers in what a few years ago would have been a broad dismissive gesture. “Whatever you like.”
At least, Henry thought, if I’m going to be useless baggage at the end, I still have my music. Music is a mistress who never strays.
He let his mind go adrift on the current of comforting sound, letting it carry him where it would....
tallis,
henry viii