Chapter 65b - No Easy Solutions
Breakfast interrupted, or Viggo and White Wing 'talk'
Back to Chapter 65a
I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be
And when we meet
Which I'm sure we will
All that was there
Will be there still
I'll let it pass
And hold my tongue
And you will think
That I've moved on....
'White Flag' Dido
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wwe_AkkZH4s
As soon as Sean left Viggo, the noises that drifted over from the next room stopped. And then Viggo waited. Quietly. Patiently. Struggling to hear any noise that filtered through, in hopes of finding out what they all were discussing. But, of course, he got no answers.
When he heard the door close, and familiar voices-in both Lakhota and English-grow louder, Viggo's brow furrowed, and he sat up in bed. Were they leaving? Where could they even go? They couldn't communicate with each other! Not at least without Viggo, who spoke both languages. Were they at least going to get him?
As the sounds of their steps grew softer, Viggo growled and threw back the blankets. What did they think that they were doing? Were they going to just sit around and talk at each other? Not that White Wing would actually talk... And why hadn't Sean come back to at least tell him where he was going?
Viggo stood and dressed quickly. He didn't want to talk with his wife-or his lover-but that would be better than this strange exclusion. He needed to get to the three of them, and as quickly as he could.
When he reached the kitchen-where he was sure he had heard them go-Viggo was met only by the kitchen staff tittering over his buckskins, the wrinkled cotton shirt hanging open at his sides, and his bare feet. He didn't say anything, but stared stupidly at the young women, until one shly pointed to the room adjacent to the kitchen. Breakfast?
When the servant returned with a pot of tea and one of coffee, Sean motioned to the other chairs. "Sit if ye'd like," he offered quietly after nodding his thanks for the tea service set at his elbow. Alerted by Wind in the Grass spinning back toward the room and cocking his head in the direction of the back staircase, Sean held a finger to his lips. He nodded toward the now distinctive sound of footsteps thundering down the stairs, wanting to help preserve White Wing's little secret about knowing English.
"Yeh want? Drink?" Sean spoke loudly as he pantomimed pouring and taking a sip.
The sound of loud footsteps approaching could only be one person, in White Wing's mind, and he widened his eyes in fear for a moment, his heart speeding up at the thought of facing his unwilling husband.
Sean Bean indicated that he wasn't about to give away White Wing's secret, and he managed a grateful nod at the man as he tried to school his face for the coming confrontation. Without thinking, he moved closer to Wind in the Grass. Looking down nervously, he felt out of place in the white man's robe and wished he'd put his own clothing on.
Looking to Wind for guidance, White Wing nodded at Sean Bean's mime, although he wondered what kind of drink the odd pot could possibly contain. He wouldn't sit though; not until he could judge Far Rider's mood.
"Head tall." Wind in the Grass moved to just behind White Wing. "He is the one who needs to grovel before you. Even 'Shawbeen'," Wind slanted his eyes to the Pale One as he tested the name on his tongue, "knows Far Rider is in the wrong, from what you told me," the brave finished from just behind White Wing's ear.
White Wing was grateful for Wind in the Grass's words and he reached a hand back to grasp Wind's fingers in his own. Unable to let them go, he felt the warmth of Wind's steadying influence ground him.
Lifting his eyes, he schooled his expression into one of slightly mistrustful distaste, as if he looked down on this white man's world. He would not allow Far Rider to see how afraid he felt.
Viggo paused at the door to the breakfast room, glancing back at the staff first. One or two of them were still stealing glances in his direction, and giggling. Viggo grumbled, and ran his fingers through his hair, and checked his breath... and then pushed open the door.
His eyes immediately went to his wife, standing strong and impenetrable. And devastatingly beautiful, as always. Beautiful, but untouchable. If only things had played out differently, like he had planned when he had first heard about the need for White Wing to have a husband. They could have had so much fun together.
And Wind in the Grass... Far Rider looked away quickly, unable to meet the gaze of the man who'd been his lover for years. Viggo wasn't sure if they could ever go back the way things had been after this. Not even if...
After moving a chair closer, Viggo sat down heavily next to Seanie, and pressed himself tightly against his friend's bare side. Then he grabbed at one of the coffee cups provided so he could pour himself a cup.
Clearly, Far Rider wasn't any more comfortable with this situation than White Wing. Allowing his gaze to follow his ostensible husband until he was seated, White Wing's own expression changed little except when he dropped his eyes. Then, he allowed the sadness to fill them, as he let go of Wind's hand at last and moved forward to seat himself at the table opposite Far Rider and Sean Bean.
With difficulty he allowed his eyes to rise, but quickly he focused on the pot from which Sean Bean was pouring liquid into cups. Next to him, Wind stepped forward protectively and took his own seat as close to White Wing as Far Rider sat near Sean Bean.
Swallowing carefully, White Wing tried to stop the prickle of jealousy that went through him. Sean Bean was evidently more important to Far Rider than White Wing would ever be.
Bemusement twinkling in his eyes, Sean looked from Viggo to White Wing and back. Idiots, the pair of them! He may not have been able to understand a word of the brief conversation just then between White Wing and his champion, Wind in the Grass, but it was obvious the young lad felt something for Viggo. Just like his daft bugger of a best mate felt much more than just responsibility for White Wing.
"Idiots! The pair of yeh!" Sean vocalized. While slinging an arm around Viggo for a one-armed hug, he smacked a kiss under the tousled hair on his brow. "You and me," Sean pointed to the young brave, "we're leaving and they're staying. Tell him Vigs.
"Tell him we two are stepping out there," Sean indicated the window leading to the balcony and then helped himself to the pouch of tobacco and rolling papers sticking out of Viggo's shirt pocket, "while the two of you talk. We'll be right there, close to hand if the pair of you stubborn sods can't get over yourselves and communicate." Fully vibrating in his fervor, the irony of him, of all people, taking someone to task about communicating was completely lost on Sean.
Wind in the Grass also bounced his eyes from person to person in the room. They widened as he comprehended Shawbeen's gestures, if not his words. Pressing his lips together in a thin line to keep in a smirk, he turned questioning eyes from White Wing to Far Rider. Stepping out onto the overlook over the tiny meadow would give White Wing and his husband semi-privacy to talk. It also would have him alone with Pale One, but Wind refused to let that thought blossom in his mind.
"He wants you to follow him," Far Rider mumbled gruffly, before adding for Sean's ears, "So that you can listen in and expect us to believe you weren't... Too bad you're not gonna understand a damn word. Karl at least let me teach him a bit more Lakhota then he knew. You're just a stubborn bastard." The racer reached for his tobacco, glaring his frustration. "Give that back, too. You don't deserve it."
Viggo spared a quick glance in White Wing's direction, and his breath came rattling out of him in a sigh. Yes, he and his wife needed to have 'The Talk'. But damn Seanie to every punishing afterlife that had ever been imagined by the minds of men and Gods for forcing him to do it before Viggo'd had a piss, a smoke, or a good cup of coffee in him.
White Wing's eyes flew open wide as Sean Bean told them he was taking Wind outside so they could be alone. Wind clearly understood his gestures and manner enough to know his intention and agree with it, and White Wing watched open-mouthed as his friend abandoned him to his husband.
Far Rider gave him a brief unreadable look, and all White Wing could do was to stare back at him, blinking in worry as his racing heart took away all his ability to speak.
"Fookin' spoilsport," Sean muttered darkly when Viggo denied him a smoke. If the right bastard hadn't brought up him, Sean's gut wouldn't have lurched and he would have been quicker in the attempt to regain possession of the pouch. Once through the window, he squinted in the weak sunlight bathing the side garden.
"Stay right here," Sean told the brave on his heels as he stopped short. He purred when the lad ran into him, bare chest into bare back. Slanting a glance over his shoulder when Wind in the Grass gasped, Sean purred again. "Ye are a bonnie one," he said huskily, watching the dark eyes glitter. "And a lusty one, yeah?" Sean's tongue swept out to flirt with his teeth and lower lip.
Pantomiming stopping and staying, Sean again told Wind in the Grass to stay put. He hoped the staff was also airing out the dining room next door where Sean knew a humidor would be on hand. Sending a bright smile back at the handsome brave, Sean climbed through the next window, chortling gleefully when he popped back out with a cheroot clamped between his teeth.
Viggo looked down at the coffee in his cup, and swirled the dark liquid in it. He could feel White Wing's eyes on him, so he steadfastly kept his eyes facing down. Taking a deep breath, Far Rider gathered his thoughts, and began to speak slowly and surely.
"I will get regular paying work. And as soon as possible, I will find us sufficient housing. Maybe there is a rich family who needs someone to care for their horses, and will offer servants quarters. If not that, I could maybe get a job sorting mail."
It wouldn't be too bad, working for a rich white family, as long as they didn't mind having 'Indians' in their employment, and living under their roof. As long as they didn't find out the truth about White Wing, and believed that he was just like any other squaw. They probably wouldn't let him board TJ there though... and he probably wouldn't be able to afford to board him elsewhere... It would be the most humane thing if he and his horse parted ways.
Mumbling under his breath, Viggo's thoughts continued on in English, "Wouldn't be too hard... He's a mighty fine pony, a winner... gotta be someone who'll take him."
He felt nauseous, imagining his life closing up in around itself in the way he'd worked his whole life to stay away from... But this was the only way. His only option. He couldn't let Great Eagle die in shame. This was small in comparison, so that all the good things that their Chief had done wouldn't be forgotten. This was just the price that Far Rider had to pay.
Listening in silence, White Wind studied his husband as the man spoke. He wouldn't look at White Wing, so his scrutiny went unnoticed. Everything Far Rider was saying seemed completely at odds with his manner. What he was offering seemed to be something he had no desire to do.
The mumbling in English seemed to relate to the man's horse, and implied he wouldn't be able to keep him. If Far Rider was anything like most of the braves White Wing was familiar with, parting with a good horse would be the last thing they'd want.
After some moments of silence, White Wing spoke softly. "I don't wish for you to change your life for me. Please tell me what you want? I only wish to make you happy."
Far Rider shook his head, and a knot formed in his throat. What did he want? Nothing good, and nothing that White Wing would ever want to hear. There wasn't any other option, and White Wing had to know that. "What does that matter?"
He hadn't meant to listen in-so soon at any rate-but the way Wind in the Grass furrowed his brows as Viggo spoke, and then Sean just caught the mention of getting rid of...
"You will do no such thing!" Sean barreled through the window, unmindful that he didn't quite clear the sash. "What cockamamie drivel are you spouting to consider selling your horse?" Body quivering in indignation, Sean stood over Viggo, glaring.
Before Viggo could say anything more, Sean burst in, going off half-cocked as he was sometimes prone to do. Turning to face his best friend, Viggo sighed and rubbed his face. He was so tired. "Seanie, don't. This is what has to happen. I can't let my family down. Any sacrifices I make are worth it, for my family."
"Aye, and how does selling off your only means of earning a living, provide for your family?" Rolling his hands into fists to stop from smacking Viggo, Sean finally realized White Wing was staring at him with wide, frightened eyes.
"Ah'm sorry love, but this stubborn git makes my blood boil," Knowing in his irritation his accent was so thick that the poor lad had no idea what he was saying (and hopefully preserved White Wing's secret that he understood some English), Sean prayed his contrite expression conveyed his apology.
Viggo stood and shoved Sean back in one fluid motion. "I'm not being stubborn, you ass! Don't you understand I have to do this? What I get from racing, from deliveries, it isn't enough! I'm old Seanie, I can't do this forever! How long until I hurt myself again, worse than the last time? I need something real now; something different, or I can't be what White Wing needs me to be!"
Hitting his chest with his fist, Viggo continued, "Losing TJ is tearing my heart out; that horse is one of the best partners I've ever had, but how can I be expected to afford housing for both of us, and him? It's just not possible!"
"Afford housing? You have housing!" Sean pushed at Viggo's chest to give him room to make his point. "And where else but here would your family be welcomed without prejudice!"
Wind in the Grass had had enough. Not understanding a word, it was obvious from the body language between the two men that the matter was escalating out of control. Much more gracefully than Shawnbeen, he was through the opening and muscling himself between the combatants.
"Cease this," he hissed at Far Rider, pausing to bite his lip when his hands settled lightly on both men's bare chests, connecting the three of them. "What have you said to Shawnbeen to spark his ire... and frighten White Wing?" Wind stepped away to stand at White Wing's side, folding his arms and closing his palms over the heat trapped there from the other men.
White Wing stood when the men opposite him did, unsure what words they were exchanging, due to the thickness of Sean Bean's accent and the low way Far Rider was responding, although naturally, some of the words penetrated his understanding. And then Wind in the Grass was between them, stopping the argument.
Clearly, Sean Bean believed there was a different way for them to resolve this, although Far Rider only seemed to think things would work if they left this place and he worked doing something he had no desire to do, and they lived with people who would look down on them.
Unable to decide what he should say to Far Rider, White Wing turned with worried eyes to Sean Bean, sure that the Pale One had some form of solution to their problem. He had meant to keep the fact that he understood English from Far Rider for now, but at this point, it seemed the only sense he would get was by asking the one person who had any answers, and if that meant speaking in English, he would have to do it.
No-one had been in the least bit unhappy to see White Wing and Wind in the Grass here, nor had they treated or spoken to them in the way that many white people had done. What was it about this place that made it unsuitable for White Wing to live in, and yet Sean Bean seem to-if White Wing's bare understanding of his few less-thickly accented words was correct-think it was Far Rider's home and could be White Wing's too?
"What is this place?" he asked stiltedly, looking from Sean Bean to Far Rider and back.
"Erm..." Sean turned back from staring at White Wing in shock for giving away his secret, to Viggo. All thought of coherently explaining Freeman's flew out of his head as Viggo swayed and his face blanched. The gobsmacked expression in his best mate's eyes was soon replaced by a hunger Sean had not seen in the beloved blue-grey eyes in years.
"No love, shhh," he soothed, "crawling back into a bottle is not the answer." Sean grasped one of Viggo's shoulders and placed his other hand on one set of small scars on his chest. "Though I will never know everything that you went through, I do know what I saw you go through." Sean's fingers traced lightly over the vision quest scars, his memories solely on the dark time before they arrived at Viggo's tribe and the parts of the path he saw Viggo take to climb out of his addiction to whiskey. "You've worked too hard; have come so far to take that massive step backwards... now."
Far Rider's reaction shocked White Wing into stepping forward, though Sean Bean was already there, supporting his friend and lover, White Wing reminded himself. Unable to fathom what exactly was happening, White Wing's eyes widened even more and he asked, afraid and heart thudding, reverting to Lakhota in his worry, "What is wrong? Did I ask the wrong thing?"
Viggo wasn't sure he was able to breathe. White Wing spoke English. He'd heard everything. And who knew what else. And Sean didn't exactly seem surprised. His best friend was lowering Viggo back down into his seat, and out of the corner of his eye he could see his wife hovering nearby.
Bile tickled in Viggo's throat, and he closed his eyes and tried to take a few calming breaths. Damn Sean again, for knowing exactly what he wanted-needed. Sean couldn't stop him if he wanted a drink. "Damnit, Bean, one drink isn't gonna hurt any. And I want it. Now. So either help me get it, or leave me alone so I can get it myself."
Viggo pushed Seanie's hand off the scars, scowling. It wasn't as if he didn't think about that time, especially now when White Wing was so close. Great Eagle... Swift Arrow... he wouldn't be alive were it not for them. If not for White Wing's true husband. "How long were you going to hide that from me, White Wing? Let me make a fool of myself while you listened?"
White Wing felt sick to his stomach as Far Rider spoke. It had never been his intention to make a fool of his husband. And now, it seemed he had driven the man to drink. From the way Sean Bean spoke, Far Rider had problems with alcohol, just like some of the members of his own tribe. White Wing had seen it; how it could destroy otherwise good men, and it was the last thing he needed or wanted.
Deeply ashamed of his apparently deceptive behaviour-although this had not been his intention-he knelt at Far Rider's feet, his heated face turned upward, and allowed the tears he'd held back in recent days to come.
"I'm sorry, Far Rider. Great Eagle told me I should come to you, but I don't remember our binding ceremony at all. I know nothing of you except what little I have been told and what I have seen here. Everyone tells me you are a good man; a trustworthy man who will care for me, but when I arrived, you insisted there was no place for me here. I did not mean to deceive you, but the spirits bade me to take care-be wary of what I allowed you to see-until I knew you better. Please forgive me. You do not have to take me as your wife if I am unworthy. I can return to the tribe; take my chances with whatever dangers may befall me.
"I cannot allow you to... ruin your life all on the chance that you will be a good replacement for Swift Arrow. I loved him with all my heart and I cannot imagine how that must make you feel. But he is dead now and my heart still beats, no matter that I wished it would stop. I did not feel anything for so many months that I lost count. The spirits ceased speaking to me and my dreams flew away. I had nothing to offer anyone when we were bound. Great Eagle had more faith in me than I had in myself, or he would not have allowed such a ceremony to take place."
Offering a quick glance to the strong brave who had helped to change everything, White Wing took a breath and went on, his eyes beseeching Far Rider, "Until the day he spoke of sending me to you, I could not say what events took place. On the journey here, my spirit guides finally started to return, with more than a little help from Wind in the Grass, and I am only just beginning to become the person I once was.
"When we arrived last night and you seemed so reluctant to know me, I felt afraid; scared you would cast me aside because you sensed my inner loss and could not deal with me. I hid my ability only because I was afraid that you would speak less freely if you knew. It was not meant as a deception; only as protection for myself in this strange place. Although I have Wind to watch over me, he does not understand the white man's words, and we needed something to keep us both safe. White people..." and with this he cast a swift glance at Sean Bean waiting patiently by, though the man obviously had no understanding of White Wing's words, "...do not treat us with much respect-or not very many of them, anyway-and we would be forced to leave this place if I did not keep some advantage until I was sure.
"But your words... you truly are prepared to give up so very much for me, are you not? If this is true, then all I have been told is also true and I am so very unworthy of your care and consideration. Perhaps I should leave and return to my people. No matter what will happen, it should not be your problem."
Suddenly realising how much he had said after so very many silences, White Wing gulped nervously and lowered himself to sit on his feet, bowing his head and letting the hot tears continue to fall. All he could do now was wait to see what Far Rider would do; if that meant White Wing and Wind in the Grass should leave this place, then so be it.
Wind in the Grass stepped closer and placed his hand on White Wing's shoulder in support. He knew what an effort it had taken, and how rare it was for his friend to bare his soul with so many words. Wind arched an eyebrow when he saw 'Shawbeen' also place a comforting hand on Far Rider's shoulder. The man could not know what was being spoken, so must (surprisingly for a white man) have a decent understanding of body language. That thought sent a kernel of warmth to Wind's heart, but also sent a chill through him. He would have to be more cautious around this unique man in order to not give away his own secrets.
"White Wing speaks from the heart. Open yours so he may understand what I know, and your lover knows," Wind slanted a brief glance to Pale One. "That you are a worthy and honorable man. Great Eagle knew your paths were destined to be joined..." He shifted his eyes to White Wing and back, wincing for what he was about to reveal. "As did Swift Arrow. Accept that their blessings join those of our ancestors."
Far Rider's head was spinning and the sickness he felt wasn't abating. This was just all so... unexpected. He'd stayed up the whole night, tossing and turning and running through every possible outcome for this conversation. This was never even a consideration.
It was fascinating in a way, listening to White Wing speak this way. Before now, Far Rider had heard a combined total of maybe half those words come from his wife's mouth. It was almost a shock to hear a man's voice come from such a beautiful, graceful body, no matter how much Viggo was used to men in women's garb. But though his voice was soft and full of emotion, and he spoke women's words, it was male tones that reached Far Rider's ears. And for some strange reason, that comforted him.
Just as he was pondering his wife's words, Wind in the Grass interrupted his train of thought. His heart fought against what they both were insisting. He was not the man that they were expecting, or thought he was.
"Please," He sighed, scrubbing at his face. Viggo glanced to his tobacco and papers on the table, but didn't trust himself to successfully roll one. "No more about Swift Arrow. I loved my cousin, and haven't... fully mourned his loss."
Glancing up at Seanie, Viggo reached out and plucked the cheroot from slack fingers. After another shuddering sigh, he said to White Wing, "You are not the one who is unworthy, believe me. I have no wish to cast you aside; I made a promise to you. I just didn't expect your need for protection to come so soon, and I didn't expect for you to come to me. I wish you could have sent word." Viggo probably would have run. Maybe away, or maybe towards the group. Anything to keep them from Freeman's. Because he was sure that once they knew the truth, this 'honorable' image they had of Far Rider would be destroyed.
"I don't know what I have to offer you, White Wing. You tell me I don't need to give up my life for you, but how else will this union work? I have no home," Viggo quickly glanced at Bean, bracing himself like he expected Sean to hit him again. "Nothing. You deserve better than to travel around the country on horseback, not knowing when you're going to find a real bed or a good meal."
White Wing listened carefully to Far Rider's words, trying to decipher the truths and suppositions behind them. He didn't say anything yet, because he'd already said far more in a very short time than he usually said in a whole day.
Swift Arrow... it made sense that Far Rider also loved his cousin, but White Wing hadn't quite understood the depth of that, if he was still mourning. In his own grief, White Wing hadn't even considered this. It still pained him to speak of his dead lover too, so it was no hardship not to mention him.
White Wing had never even considered sending word before he left the tribe. Great Eagle made all the decisions and obviously believed the need to send White Wing away was urgent, or he would have sent word himself. White Wing had never been in any position to do such a thing, but there was no point in dwelling on should haves. He simply nodded at that point.
Only the last part of Far Rider's words seemed to really need any response, and even then White Wing wasn't sure what that response should be. He allowed more time to pass before he finally looked up to meet his husband's eyes.
"It does not matter what I deserve. Many of us do not get what we wish for. My place, no matter what the situation, should be with you as much as I'm able. I will follow you wherever you want me to, Far Rider. I have suffered hardship before..." Nothing could be harder than suffering the loss of Swift Arrow, but he would not say this. "More important than a real bed or a good meal is that we would have each other."
White Wing was not sure what else he could say; what true solution there could be for them, but the words he spoke were heartfelt. He truly meant them, and he hoped Far Rider could see that in his eyes.
"But why?!" It didn't make sense to Viggo, that White Wing would be willing to do this for a man he did not know, whether he was called his husband or not. "I don't understand. Is it out of duty that you want to be with me? I offer you the luxuries of a home, a bed, running water, warm food... and you would give that up to be with a man you've no recollection of?
"No one does that for another person. And I'm not even sure that could work. When I race it is about speed and endurance. ...I don't know if I could make that work with having to care for you. But I do wish to make this work, somehow. I promised that I would be there for you."
"Why what?" Sean interrupted. Frustrated that he hadn't a clue what was being said, he latched onto the bit of English Viggo spoke. "One of you, tell me what's going on," he demanded, taking back his cheroot, inhaling quickly and handing it back to Viggo.
One phrase, *Wahin Kpe Kahwoke, repeated a few times, sounded very familiar to Sean, and seemed to have rocked both Viggo and White Wing. Yet, they both spoke it themselves, was it the name of Viggo's-or Far Rider's, his Lakota name-cousin? The young brave who had been Viggo's constant companion during the healing ceremonies Sean had observed four years ago? The same man who had been young White Wing's first husband? Sean cursed himself for not attempting to remember more-or learn more-of the language. Having been away when the brave was killed and his kin had sent for Viggo, Sean knew only the sketchy details Viggo had told him last night.
White Wing glanced up at Sean Bean when he spoke, but he didn't feel able to answer him, and he turned his attention back to Far Rider's words.
What could he tell this man? That Great Eagle would not have allowed the ceremony unless he believed that somehow they were meant to be together? That his dreams had told him he should be with Far Rider? That something in White Wing's heart said it was the right path to follow?
All of these things seemed true and yet none of them were, completely. White Wing had said much already, and if Far Rider could not see that their destinies were somehow intertwined beyond any reason or sense, then he could not explain it.
White Wing studied Far Rider for a few moments longer before dropping his eyes once more. "I don't know." he finally murmured.
Viggo turned to Sean and sighed, "It's nothing, Sean, we were just discussing where to go from here." The answer to that still seemed so out of reach, despite what White Wing may have said. There was no perfect solution. Compromises could not be avoided. White Wing had already changed his life, coming all this way to be with his husband.
"You have given up your life for me, White Wing. You've come to live in a world you don't know. I am only offering the same in return. You should allow me that much. It will be hard, but no harder than what you have already survived."
As if suddenly remembering he held the cheroot, Viggo brought it to his lips and smoked. "Great Eagle wanted me to provide for you; protect you. Give you the things that you need. And as the both of you pointed out last night, if I don't do these things, Great Eagle will die in shame." Far Rider slanted his gaze to Wind in the Grass, before looking at his wife. "I doubt he meant carting you around place to place on the back of my horse."
"Where ye go from here is deciding if this young buck stays in yer suite, or we bunk him down elsewhere in the house." Sean ruffled his hair in frustration. He could only follow the rare few words spoken in English, and facial expressions. The fact that White Wing's young brave was narrowing his eyes and flexing his jaw did not bode well. Most likely Viggo was still being hard-headed stubborn, and if only Wind in the Grass could tell him so, Sean could do something.
"This is not your home?" Wind in the Grass spoke up from his place at White Wing's side. He also kept slanting glances at 'Shawnbeen', curious about the man's twitchy antics. "Why do you feel White Wing would not be safe with the people you live with?"
"This is a place of business. I don't live here. It's only where I stay while I am here, in San Fransisco." Viggo said shortly, and scratched his arm distractedly. There was no way to fully describe his connection to Freeman's "Though yes, White Wing would be safe here. But it is not where he should be."
Adjusting his stance to one of alert readiness, Wind in the Grass squeezed White Wing's shoulder in support, "Why not? This Shawnbeen was welcomed into the bosom of the camp while you rediscovered your path, and was afforded your family's protection when visiting the other bands with Young Chief Bluecoat-soldier. You do not trust him to look after your wife while you race your pony?"
After answering the call of nature, on the way back to his room Vin happened to glance out the carriage house window. He blinked a couple times, not sure what his sleepy brain was registering was real. He scratched his fingers over the stubble on his jaw and up over his head. Holy Shit! That was an Indian brave on the balcony facing the side garden. No bow and quiver, no long gun-thank god!-no visible weapons as the warrior was clad only in leggings; no, full buckskin trousers.
Not taking the time to rouse Eric, Vin dashed for the door when he saw the brave duck into one of the windows opened to the morning sea breeze. He hit the back door of the house at a run, only to stumble to a stop at the normal-looking chaos in the kitchen, full of Chinese girls.
Vin grabbed the arm of the closest male servant, as he also reached blindly for a long apron. "Intruder; keep the women here, safe," he hissed, all his training as a Buffalo Soldier at full alert. Knotted at the side of his waist, the length of fabric covered the essentials as Vin shushed the women's chatter from his sudden entrance.
"Find Wang-zu and the bossman," Vin softly growled to another male. Silently he padded out to the hall, wishing he had more than his fists as a weapon. The distinct sounds of Lakhota pulled him up short and he cautiously approached the breakfast room. Vin pushed on the swinging door only enough to peer in, then opened it fully to stand openmouthed at the sight of Viggo, Mr. Sean, the brave and a squaw wrapped in a dressing gown.
White Wing was confused. What kind of business was run from such a place, unless it was some kind of 'hotel', something he had heard of where visitors to the white men's towns sometimes stayed? But Wind in the Grass had a valid point, if this was as close to a home for Far Rider as it appeared. Would Sean Bean not watch that he and Wind were treated properly? If he lived here too, that was.
White Wing could not foresee himself wanting Wind to leave him any time soon, not with the way things were going. He stood up gracefully from where he had still been kneeling at Far Rider's feet, but before he could formulate any words of his own, a large man lumbered into the room half-dressed and looking completely shocked.
Taking a step closer to Wind in the Grass instinctively, his eyes widened and he pulled the robe closer. If only he had his own clothes on! This new person did not seem in the least bit friendly, and White Wing flicked his eyes from one to the other of the white men and then back to this new darker-skinned man, waiting for someone to say something. A flash of recognition went through White Wing as he took in the dark man's features, and he realised that this was the naked man in Far Rider's pictures. Who was he to Far Rider, and why was he naked now, aside from the strange covering that seemed out of place in the white man's world.
Delicious as the sight of Vin breathing heavy and barely covered was, Sean knew Viggo had to be in abject misery. Sean also was very curious about his own name (or the close pronunciation by Wind in the Grass) coming up in the conversation. Sighing that he might never know, at least he could divert further chaos for his mate.
"Vincent, glad you could meet Viggo's... guests," Sean squeezed Viggo's neck comfortingly and then crossed to the bouncer. "Let's leave them to their conversation, and we can find out what happened to the breakfast I ordered, eh?"
"Guests?" Vin shuffled his feet, heat that wasn't obvious to the others blooming on his cheeks, "I uh, saw him outside," he waved toward the scowling brave. "I sent for Mr. Marton and Wang-Zu, uh yeah. Everything is okay? I should, yeah," Vin scratched over his stubble knowing he was now going to be the laughing-stock of the household for a while. "Better stop them from getting the Boss outta bed, yeah."
Viggo swore in Lakhota, English, and several other languages he'd picked up along the way. What the hell was Vin doing here, virtually naked at that? All they needed was Karl, now. That'd make a nice reunion of that little trip made four years ago. Viggo could see the heavy outline of his friend's soft cock through the apron he had wrapped around his waist, and one powerful thigh stayed uncovered. Normally a welcome sight.
"Vin." Viggo nodded towards him, "Nice toga. Now could you please take Sean's advice and leave?!" Viggo didn't like snapping at his best friends, but he was tired, frustrated, and in need of so many things that he didn't even bother reminding himself of them all.
A headache was starting to get at Viggo, right between his eyes. "The last thing we need here is Marton; Christ." With all the questions about Freeman's, Viggo did not want his 'guests' to hear the sales pitch from Mr. Freeman himself, with his silver tongue. "I just want... no interruptions, okay?"
White Wing was starting to feel that this was all a complete waste of time. He didn't understand why this large half-naked man had gotten so upset (and maybe it had something to do with Far Rider, since it appeared he certainly knew him well enough), although the idea of him seeing Wind outside must have made him think the place was under attack from Indians or something.
"We should leave," White Wing said, turning to Wind and repeating it in Lakhota for his benefit, "This has no point. Far Rider can not help us."
He gestured to the door, where the other men were just exiting.
At first blinking in amazement, and then scowling to keep all other revealing expressions off his face, Wind in the Grass was incapable of responding to White Wing immediately. He kept his hand on his young friend's shoulder as he watched the broadly muscled Negro and 'Shawnbeen' leave.
Out in the hall Sean stopped Vin's headlong retreat. "I'd never expect you to be the one to go off half-cocked." Sean leered at Vin's barely clothed state to keep his mind in the present, and not wandering back to Vin's commander all those years ago. "Yeh better head off Marton before the whole house is in an uproar." A sigh expanded Sean's chest and he looked back toward the room he'd abandoned his best mate in.
"Were me fault the wee young things are downstairs... just intended t' find 'em some brekkie. Which I should check on..." Sean's mumbled, running a hand through his tousled hair, before heading to the kitchen as Vin went in the direction of the stairs to Marton's suite.
"What is this place?" Wind asked Far Rider. He may not know the white man's language, but as a brave he had more contact with some white man's ways. He knew some lodges this size were permanent residences, and that others provided temporary housing. Some of the latter, Wind knew from a far ranging hunting trip, traded in more than a sleeping space and meals. The state of undress of the dark-skinned man, and now that he thought of it, the fiery woman of last night had an air about her similar to the head woman at that special lodge, which raised Wind in the Grass's suspicions about this place.
"I cannot help?? I am trying, White Wing!! I am trying my hardest. I have spent... many years avoiding this very thing, and yet here I am now, so would you please just sit down and try to work with me? This is difficult for me and I need your understanding to make it work!!" Far Rider stood as he spoke, and his whole body trembled. Stubbing out the cheroot, Viggo once again reached for his tobacco and rolling papers.
When Wind in the Grass spoke, Far Rider stilled. Releasing his hold on his smoking supplies, he snarled and fingered at the pouch hanging around his neck. "This is a house full of whores. They have sex for money! Sex with any stranger who has enough money! Boys; boys who bend over for cocks and fingers and whatever else the client wants to shove up their backsides! Which is why White Wing cannot stay here!"
The shock of Far Rider's outburst had to be showing on White Wing's face. He knew little of white men's ways, apart from what he'd gained from the woman he'd learned English from, and her experiences did not include stories of people who sold sex. Or at least, if it had, she had not spoken of it. And boys who sold themselves to men seemed completely beyond White Wing's understanding, despite his own lifestyle.
Unable to say anything, he simply sat down at Far Rider's bidding, blinking confusedly at him in silence.
What role did Far Rider have here? Surely he could not mean he himself sold his body for sex? He was not a 'boy' by any stretch of White Wing's imagination, and not knowing anything of such places, White Wing could not conceive of any sort of work he could do here.
A thought occurred to him and his eyes widened in shock. Far Rider did not want him to stay here because he didn't want White Wing to be for sale. Knowing the unscrupulous nature of many white men, he didn't doubt that there were others here who would happily put him to work in such a way.
While White Wing had slept with many braves to offer them strength before he and Swift Arrow were bound, and a few afterwards when he felt able, it was not the same. Knowing men's needs, and the greed of the white men, he did not doubt that there would be demand for his services here, and it would not be about offering his strength or magic.
A quick nod was Wind in the Grass's initial response. It was as he suspected, a place where sex was bartered for the white man's gratification. His hunting companions that one trip had lain with one tired woman of indeterminate breed while they made him (the youngest brave) stand watch-not that Wind minded, ever hiding his true sexual interest.
He blinked though as Far Rider went on to say it was boys who sold their bodies. Open acknowledgment of male on male coupling was taboo for The People. The whites hypocritically sneered at their belief about sex being a natural part of life, not hidden from the tribal community. Of course that did not stop the missionaries and others from lying with their squaws whenever possible. But, open male coupling?
"Taboo. How is it possible, so openly?" Wind in the Grass stammered.
"There are a few girls here, working as well. They keep our true nature hidden from all but those who need to know. Those who have acknowledged their 'taboo' nature and seek their pleasure from professionals." Far Rider was still upset that those who 'needed' to know now included his wife and his long-time lover. He wasn't sure what they thought, the only emotion registering on their faces was shock.
"Sean, Marton, Miss Marg, they are the owners. There are currently four girls who work here, and six boys. The large, naked man who ran in a moment ago was one of the men whose job it is to protect the house, and the people inside. We also have connections to the police, and the government, that keep us away from their attention for the most part."
Now that the words had come free, Viggo couldn't stop them. He was twitchy, and ran his fingers through his hair. "We are not so 'open,' but we are here nonetheless. Do you understand, now, finally, why this is not the place for White Wing? Must I fight you both more, for what I know I must do to keep my wife protected?" The words ran out then, and he slumped against a wall.
After squeezing White Wing's shoulder once more, Wind in the Grass left his side and crossed to Far Rider. "Is that the shame you feel? Not of White Wing, but that you take the white man's money this way?"
Hunkering in front of his old lover, Wind carded his finger through the fringe covering Far Rider's brow, much as he often brushed White Wing's hair back during quiet comforting moments on their journey to this place. Reinterpreting the sounds of coupling Wind had heard the night before, he carried the movement up over Far Rider's head and down until he cupped the back of his neck. "There is never shame in coupling, and if it empties the white's pockets, all the better, yes?" Wind in the Grass ducked his head down, a smile twitching on his lips as he met Far Rider's eyes.
"You work here, like this?" White Wing spoke in shock as he comprehended what Wind in the Grass meant, his eyes flying up to take in Far Rider's expression. He shook his head in stunned wonder.
The other thing that Wind said made sense though, and despite his initial thoughts, he couldn't help a small smile of pleasure at the thought of gaining due to white man's stupidity and weakness. It might not be what a Winkte did traditionally, but somehow White Wing didn't feel so reluctant at the thought when he looked at it this way. As long as the men were of appeal to him, he was sure he could take their money.
"I have shared bedrolls with more men than just my husband, Far Rider. You must know this. If this is a way to remain here with you-or at least during times when you are gone-I am not against the idea. It will earn my keep when you are unable to provide for me and allow the owners here reason for my continued stay."
He gazed at Far Rider more impassively now, letting his pride fill his features. There was more he could say on the subject, but for now, he had to see how Far Rider would react to his sudden change of demeanor. Possibly the man had never considered things the way Wind had, as White Wing himself had not. But now that he had let the thought take hold, he knew it could work.
Viggo stared stupidly at Wind in the Grass, confused and uncomprehending. He couldn't decipher his meaning, and the sudden switch in his demeanor was even more frustrating. He looked into his old lover's eyes, trying to understand.
He understood, finally, when his wife spoke. Straightening, Far Rider's eyes widened and he pushed Wind away. He hissed at the brave, "No, I do not work here!" And why would they assume, that of all things, he was one of the whores? He had explained about the bouncers! Or he could be here taking care of the horses! "And I do not feel shame! First I shame Great Eagle, and now I shame myself? You have no right to put this shame upon me!"
When White Wing continued, it took Viggo's all not to let his jaw fall to the ground. "No!! I can't allow you to do that, White Wing." Moving from behind Wind in the Grass and towards his wife, Far Rider ground out, "I am supposed to be your husband now. It may be in name only, but I am still your husband. I am the one who is supposed to provide for you, protect you, and that is not by allowing you to do this! There is more to this than just taking money from whites! Those boys, that is their calling! It is different here than at other houses. It is not just another way to earn money." White Wing was sacred, a healer, a seer! Far Rider was just beginning to accept that their destinies were intertwined, but he couldn't possibly believe that it was White Wing's destiny to work at Freeman's!
Again, Wind in the Grass went to Far Rider. As if gentling a newly corralled wild pony, he stood close, sharing his heat before stroking his fingers through Far Rider's hair and then to knotted shoulder muscles. "Our intention was never to heap shame on you, only to understand your turmoil. Help us Far Rider. You speak as if you alone should provide for your wife. Is there no sense of community here? It is not the way of The People to be idle. If not working as the 'boys' do here, perhaps White Wing would be a benefit to this lodge by assisting the women cooking?"
Wind paused, the mention of food and the smells wafting from the large kitchen made his stomach rumble loudly. He ignored it, gentling his hand over Far Rider's broad back and sending White Wing a smile. "As hearty as the stew given us last night was, White Wing has a special touch to seasoning game that could only improve the fare offered here." Wind winked over Far Rider's shoulder and brought a hand around to brush a wisp of hair off White Wing's cheek, feeling the blush heating the smooth flesh.
"This place of many races, where men such as yourself, your lov... your friend... and me are not cast out for the abomination of our desires, surely Great Eagle's visions told him this is where my path was destined to lead? No one of us should bear the burden of protection and providing for alone. Let us-together-show these people you say are friends what a true sense of community is, while you guide us in understanding their ways."
Viggo tensed at the supposedly comforting touches Wind in the Grass was showering him with. They felt patronizing, as had a good majority of Wind's actions since the brave's arrival the night before. These even more so because it was such a shift from how he had been even moments before. But he didn't pull away, opting to wait and see if his long-time lover would speak any sense.
And Wind in the Grass almost was, with his talk of community. Freeman's was a community, and a family, one that Viggo was proud to be a member of. Just as being part of the tribe was something he was proud of. But for the most part Far Rider kept the two sides of his life separate, and seeing them so suddenly brought together was unsettling.
Wind's final musings snapped him out of his stupor and his silence. "Not you too with this foolishness! Great Eagle sent you to escort White Wing, not sell yourself! I did not give you those 'lessons' just for you to use them this way!" Far Rider pulled himself from Wind in the Grass's grasp, swerving around to stare at the two incredulously. "You both have done far too much for our People to resign yourself to this! Wind, my friend, as good a lover as you are, you are an even better warrior. Why would you even want to do this?"
Wind in the Grass made a 'pfft' noise in preparation of making an impetuous remark, until he looked into White Wing's eyes. He rounded Far Rider's chair and stood between the two people who meant the most to him in this world.
"Far Rider," he sighed, "you are unique in that you move easily between the two worlds whose blood pumps in your veins. On the reservation, the old ways are dying as warriors have no buffalo to hunt and are made to farm, our sacred land is forbidden to us, and our children are ripped from their communities to have the 'savage' whipped out of them at the missionary schools.
"Oddities such as White Wing and me would be the first ones targeted as the whites encroach more. We can better continue to serve our People by learning the ways of the whites on our terms, not theirs." Wind took a shaky breath; the admission of the realities the proud Lakota now faced had bile roiling in his gut. "As much as this square lodge confines me, the wide open northern plains are no longer a source of freedom for me. There is where I would be selling not only myself, but my soul, by dancing to the Indian Agents' whims."
Wind in the Grass felt a blush steal over his face as he turned fully to Far Rider. "The 'lessons' of which you speak; they freed me from the shame I once felt about what I was. They..." He turned back to White Wing and cupped the Winkte's cheek, "they let me-in some small measure-help White Wing begin to heal."
Far Rider snorted and gave a forced laugh. "It is true that I move between the two worlds, but it never is easy. On the reservation, I'm judged by some as being too white. In the city I am judged by others for being not white enough. My differences are no more easily hidden than White Wing's."
Many people had told Viggo in his life that he should cast aside his mother's heritage, that with his name and his looks, he could 'pass' for a white man. And there had been a time in which he had tried to have a so-called normal life as a young man. But the traditions, and the beliefs, and the love of his family (his father's side wanted nothing to do with him) still ached inside Viggo like a lost limb.
"And I am more than aware of the troubles our People face. Just because I am not always there doesn't mean I do not see or feel the mistreatment." In his time as a tracker Viggo had seen many things, and witnessed many of the atrocities forced upon the tribes first-hand. "Fuck, I do everything I'm capable of to help. There is only so much one man can do!"
Countless nights Viggo had gone without sleep, spending the time instead deep in discussion with Karl. Far Rider wasn't sure how much good it did, but he felt better knowing that there was someone he could talk to this about who was not only sympathetic, but would speak on his behalf to the people who most needed to hear it. Far Rider also sent what he could to the reservation, as often as he could, in hopes that it would help his family even slightly.
Running his fingers through his already unkempt hair, Far Rider sighed in frustration. "I do understand your want to do this on your own terms, and I have been more than willing to offer all the help I can, but again, surely, there are other ways that you both would be better suited to!"
So far, White Wing had largely kept out of the discussion-if it could be called that-between the two most important people currently in his life, but he couldn't keep quiet forever. When Wind cupped his cheek and spoke of how he had been able to help White Wing due to 'lessons' from Far Rider, the reality of the two men's previous relationship finally hit home in a way that hadn't been clear before, although he knew they'd shared strength before.
Far Rider's words didn't make sense though. What shame was there in doing what one could for one's people? White Wing offered himself to the braves of their tribe in return for magical protection and strength, so offering himself in return for the white men's money wasn't such a bad deal. Thinking back to Swift Arrow's reaction to White Wing's performance of what was essentially his duty, White Wing thought he understood.
"Please, Far Rider," he spoke softly, but with passion, "I understand you do not wish to share me, but can you not see? This is a way to move forward; something Wind and I can do without difficulty for either of us physically, and something your white companions can accept us as capable of. Do you really believe there is other work we would be allowed to do in this city without loss of our pride? The white men in this place seem reasonable. Not all of them are so tolerant; you know this. Do you wish to see me scrubbing floors, or worse?" He shook his head, clamping his lips together tightly to stop them from trembling, holding Far Rider's eyes proudly before flicking a quick glance to Wind. He took his friend's hand, and turned back to Far Rider. "Do not be angry. We will look after each other when you are not here. And when you are… I will keep myself only for you."
"Nothing needs to be decided right this moment." Wind in the Grass offered, seeing the pain on both Far Rider's and White Wing's faces. Emotions were too raw for all of them right now to be entirely rational.
"Perhaps the meal your Shawnbeen arranged is ready? Only recently has White Wing's appetite returned and we should take advantage of every opportunity for sustenance, yes?" So, it was probably mostly himself who was hungry, Wind surmised, but they needed something to ease the heavy tension.
Ignoring Wind in the Grass, Far Rider stared at White Wing in shock. "You think this is because of jealousy? How am I supposed to worry about sharing when you have never been mine to share?"
No matter what White Wing said, Viggo had to remind himself about the truth of the marriage. He was Husband in name only, but the title didn't fit in either of their hearts. The name yoked Far Rider, and the weight of it around his neck was all-consuming. And White Wing... White Wing had not chosen this.
"In the end, it is your own choice. You need not keep yourself for me, because you will not find the sentiment returned." Even if he and White Wing ever finally consummated their marriage, which Viggo couldn't see happening anytime soon, he was not giving up that part of himself. "Yet it is my job to protect you, and I can't help but notice that if you were scrubbing floors, you wouldn't need your husband and two of the house's men constantly watching over you.
"The clientèle here is different than most houses like this, because of a rigorous screening process. But the boys here get hurt sometimes. Whites hurting whites, do you understand? If a man came here willing to hurt one of his own kind, how willing do you think he would be to hurt you? I do not want to see you in bed for a week or more because it pains you too much to move!"
Drawing himself up to his full height, Far Rider took a deep, cleansing breath. "One last time, I offer you a place of your own, with or without me. I will provide for you. I will teach you what you want to know. Your continued safety is my duty. But there is only so much I can do, if you are uncooperative."
He flicked his gaze to Wind, then back again. "As your friend here has said, your breakfast is likely ready. If you need to find me, my friends will know where to look." Far Rider needed now to go and hide, reevaluate, and see if he could understand how things got so out of control so quickly.
"I cannot do what you ask," White Wing stated, still holding Wind in the Grass's hand. "I have no wish to be tied to a white man's idea of home, with a husband who does what he feels he must, but will not even attempt to be loving. As for being hurt... you think physical pain could be worse than how my heart feels now? There is no comparison."
Letting go of Wind at last, White Wing moved towards the door. Once his face was turned from Far Rider's, he allowed his anguish to the surface, but only for a moment. He could not cry in front of this man, and he would not cry in front of any of the other white men. Pain filled him as it hadn't since Swift Arrow died, but he pulled on the cool and proud façade which had always served him well.
As he schooled his face, he lifted his eyes to his friend's, unable to look at Far Rider any more. It was clear the man did not want them here, and if they couldn't come to some sort of compromise soon, then perhaps he and Wind would be forced to return to the reservation.
No matter what Great Eagle believed, there was as much trouble here as was likely to come for them in the tribe with their people.
"We will eat with the servants," White Wing said over his shoulder in English, knowing exactly what Far Rider would infer from that. Scrubbing white men's floors? Never! He turned back to Wind, holding his inner turmoil tightly to himself, and spoke in his native tongue once more, "We need to find the morning meal, Wind. I won't let you starve."
Opening the door carefully, White Wing walked through it, keeping himself straight and proud as Wind in the Grass followed.
Wind in the Grass looked back at Far Rider and sighed as the door closed between them. Though he shared a similar belief that he, himself, was incapable of romantic love, Wind in the Grass was saddened that Far Rider was being so stubborn and not willing to open his heart to White Wing. Time was what they needed. Time for all three of them to mourn Swift Arrow who'd meant so much to each of them. Time for Far Rider and White Wing to learn each other, and discover what Wind in the Grass knew. They both were special for their different dualities, and yet similar artistically and spiritually.
Word Count: ~10,906
Lakhota terms:
*Wahin Kpe Kahwoke = Swift Arrow (Arrow Swift)
Next week, Viggo turns back to creating art as he contemplates where to go from here.
Back to Chapter 65a
I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be
And when we meet
Which I'm sure we will
All that was there
Will be there still
I'll let it pass
And hold my tongue
And you will think
That I've moved on....
'White Flag' Dido
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wwe_AkkZH4s
As soon as Sean left Viggo, the noises that drifted over from the next room stopped. And then Viggo waited. Quietly. Patiently. Struggling to hear any noise that filtered through, in hopes of finding out what they all were discussing. But, of course, he got no answers.
When he heard the door close, and familiar voices-in both Lakhota and English-grow louder, Viggo's brow furrowed, and he sat up in bed. Were they leaving? Where could they even go? They couldn't communicate with each other! Not at least without Viggo, who spoke both languages. Were they at least going to get him?
As the sounds of their steps grew softer, Viggo growled and threw back the blankets. What did they think that they were doing? Were they going to just sit around and talk at each other? Not that White Wing would actually talk... And why hadn't Sean come back to at least tell him where he was going?
Viggo stood and dressed quickly. He didn't want to talk with his wife-or his lover-but that would be better than this strange exclusion. He needed to get to the three of them, and as quickly as he could.
When he reached the kitchen-where he was sure he had heard them go-Viggo was met only by the kitchen staff tittering over his buckskins, the wrinkled cotton shirt hanging open at his sides, and his bare feet. He didn't say anything, but stared stupidly at the young women, until one shly pointed to the room adjacent to the kitchen. Breakfast?
When the servant returned with a pot of tea and one of coffee, Sean motioned to the other chairs. "Sit if ye'd like," he offered quietly after nodding his thanks for the tea service set at his elbow. Alerted by Wind in the Grass spinning back toward the room and cocking his head in the direction of the back staircase, Sean held a finger to his lips. He nodded toward the now distinctive sound of footsteps thundering down the stairs, wanting to help preserve White Wing's little secret about knowing English.
"Yeh want? Drink?" Sean spoke loudly as he pantomimed pouring and taking a sip.
The sound of loud footsteps approaching could only be one person, in White Wing's mind, and he widened his eyes in fear for a moment, his heart speeding up at the thought of facing his unwilling husband.
Sean Bean indicated that he wasn't about to give away White Wing's secret, and he managed a grateful nod at the man as he tried to school his face for the coming confrontation. Without thinking, he moved closer to Wind in the Grass. Looking down nervously, he felt out of place in the white man's robe and wished he'd put his own clothing on.
Looking to Wind for guidance, White Wing nodded at Sean Bean's mime, although he wondered what kind of drink the odd pot could possibly contain. He wouldn't sit though; not until he could judge Far Rider's mood.
"Head tall." Wind in the Grass moved to just behind White Wing. "He is the one who needs to grovel before you. Even 'Shawbeen'," Wind slanted his eyes to the Pale One as he tested the name on his tongue, "knows Far Rider is in the wrong, from what you told me," the brave finished from just behind White Wing's ear.
White Wing was grateful for Wind in the Grass's words and he reached a hand back to grasp Wind's fingers in his own. Unable to let them go, he felt the warmth of Wind's steadying influence ground him.
Lifting his eyes, he schooled his expression into one of slightly mistrustful distaste, as if he looked down on this white man's world. He would not allow Far Rider to see how afraid he felt.
Viggo paused at the door to the breakfast room, glancing back at the staff first. One or two of them were still stealing glances in his direction, and giggling. Viggo grumbled, and ran his fingers through his hair, and checked his breath... and then pushed open the door.
His eyes immediately went to his wife, standing strong and impenetrable. And devastatingly beautiful, as always. Beautiful, but untouchable. If only things had played out differently, like he had planned when he had first heard about the need for White Wing to have a husband. They could have had so much fun together.
And Wind in the Grass... Far Rider looked away quickly, unable to meet the gaze of the man who'd been his lover for years. Viggo wasn't sure if they could ever go back the way things had been after this. Not even if...
After moving a chair closer, Viggo sat down heavily next to Seanie, and pressed himself tightly against his friend's bare side. Then he grabbed at one of the coffee cups provided so he could pour himself a cup.
Clearly, Far Rider wasn't any more comfortable with this situation than White Wing. Allowing his gaze to follow his ostensible husband until he was seated, White Wing's own expression changed little except when he dropped his eyes. Then, he allowed the sadness to fill them, as he let go of Wind's hand at last and moved forward to seat himself at the table opposite Far Rider and Sean Bean.
With difficulty he allowed his eyes to rise, but quickly he focused on the pot from which Sean Bean was pouring liquid into cups. Next to him, Wind stepped forward protectively and took his own seat as close to White Wing as Far Rider sat near Sean Bean.
Swallowing carefully, White Wing tried to stop the prickle of jealousy that went through him. Sean Bean was evidently more important to Far Rider than White Wing would ever be.
Bemusement twinkling in his eyes, Sean looked from Viggo to White Wing and back. Idiots, the pair of them! He may not have been able to understand a word of the brief conversation just then between White Wing and his champion, Wind in the Grass, but it was obvious the young lad felt something for Viggo. Just like his daft bugger of a best mate felt much more than just responsibility for White Wing.
"Idiots! The pair of yeh!" Sean vocalized. While slinging an arm around Viggo for a one-armed hug, he smacked a kiss under the tousled hair on his brow. "You and me," Sean pointed to the young brave, "we're leaving and they're staying. Tell him Vigs.
"Tell him we two are stepping out there," Sean indicated the window leading to the balcony and then helped himself to the pouch of tobacco and rolling papers sticking out of Viggo's shirt pocket, "while the two of you talk. We'll be right there, close to hand if the pair of you stubborn sods can't get over yourselves and communicate." Fully vibrating in his fervor, the irony of him, of all people, taking someone to task about communicating was completely lost on Sean.
Wind in the Grass also bounced his eyes from person to person in the room. They widened as he comprehended Shawbeen's gestures, if not his words. Pressing his lips together in a thin line to keep in a smirk, he turned questioning eyes from White Wing to Far Rider. Stepping out onto the overlook over the tiny meadow would give White Wing and his husband semi-privacy to talk. It also would have him alone with Pale One, but Wind refused to let that thought blossom in his mind.
"He wants you to follow him," Far Rider mumbled gruffly, before adding for Sean's ears, "So that you can listen in and expect us to believe you weren't... Too bad you're not gonna understand a damn word. Karl at least let me teach him a bit more Lakhota then he knew. You're just a stubborn bastard." The racer reached for his tobacco, glaring his frustration. "Give that back, too. You don't deserve it."
Viggo spared a quick glance in White Wing's direction, and his breath came rattling out of him in a sigh. Yes, he and his wife needed to have 'The Talk'. But damn Seanie to every punishing afterlife that had ever been imagined by the minds of men and Gods for forcing him to do it before Viggo'd had a piss, a smoke, or a good cup of coffee in him.
White Wing's eyes flew open wide as Sean Bean told them he was taking Wind outside so they could be alone. Wind clearly understood his gestures and manner enough to know his intention and agree with it, and White Wing watched open-mouthed as his friend abandoned him to his husband.
Far Rider gave him a brief unreadable look, and all White Wing could do was to stare back at him, blinking in worry as his racing heart took away all his ability to speak.
"Fookin' spoilsport," Sean muttered darkly when Viggo denied him a smoke. If the right bastard hadn't brought up him, Sean's gut wouldn't have lurched and he would have been quicker in the attempt to regain possession of the pouch. Once through the window, he squinted in the weak sunlight bathing the side garden.
"Stay right here," Sean told the brave on his heels as he stopped short. He purred when the lad ran into him, bare chest into bare back. Slanting a glance over his shoulder when Wind in the Grass gasped, Sean purred again. "Ye are a bonnie one," he said huskily, watching the dark eyes glitter. "And a lusty one, yeah?" Sean's tongue swept out to flirt with his teeth and lower lip.
Pantomiming stopping and staying, Sean again told Wind in the Grass to stay put. He hoped the staff was also airing out the dining room next door where Sean knew a humidor would be on hand. Sending a bright smile back at the handsome brave, Sean climbed through the next window, chortling gleefully when he popped back out with a cheroot clamped between his teeth.
Viggo looked down at the coffee in his cup, and swirled the dark liquid in it. He could feel White Wing's eyes on him, so he steadfastly kept his eyes facing down. Taking a deep breath, Far Rider gathered his thoughts, and began to speak slowly and surely.
"I will get regular paying work. And as soon as possible, I will find us sufficient housing. Maybe there is a rich family who needs someone to care for their horses, and will offer servants quarters. If not that, I could maybe get a job sorting mail."
It wouldn't be too bad, working for a rich white family, as long as they didn't mind having 'Indians' in their employment, and living under their roof. As long as they didn't find out the truth about White Wing, and believed that he was just like any other squaw. They probably wouldn't let him board TJ there though... and he probably wouldn't be able to afford to board him elsewhere... It would be the most humane thing if he and his horse parted ways.
Mumbling under his breath, Viggo's thoughts continued on in English, "Wouldn't be too hard... He's a mighty fine pony, a winner... gotta be someone who'll take him."
He felt nauseous, imagining his life closing up in around itself in the way he'd worked his whole life to stay away from... But this was the only way. His only option. He couldn't let Great Eagle die in shame. This was small in comparison, so that all the good things that their Chief had done wouldn't be forgotten. This was just the price that Far Rider had to pay.
Listening in silence, White Wind studied his husband as the man spoke. He wouldn't look at White Wing, so his scrutiny went unnoticed. Everything Far Rider was saying seemed completely at odds with his manner. What he was offering seemed to be something he had no desire to do.
The mumbling in English seemed to relate to the man's horse, and implied he wouldn't be able to keep him. If Far Rider was anything like most of the braves White Wing was familiar with, parting with a good horse would be the last thing they'd want.
After some moments of silence, White Wing spoke softly. "I don't wish for you to change your life for me. Please tell me what you want? I only wish to make you happy."
Far Rider shook his head, and a knot formed in his throat. What did he want? Nothing good, and nothing that White Wing would ever want to hear. There wasn't any other option, and White Wing had to know that. "What does that matter?"
He hadn't meant to listen in-so soon at any rate-but the way Wind in the Grass furrowed his brows as Viggo spoke, and then Sean just caught the mention of getting rid of...
"You will do no such thing!" Sean barreled through the window, unmindful that he didn't quite clear the sash. "What cockamamie drivel are you spouting to consider selling your horse?" Body quivering in indignation, Sean stood over Viggo, glaring.
Before Viggo could say anything more, Sean burst in, going off half-cocked as he was sometimes prone to do. Turning to face his best friend, Viggo sighed and rubbed his face. He was so tired. "Seanie, don't. This is what has to happen. I can't let my family down. Any sacrifices I make are worth it, for my family."
"Aye, and how does selling off your only means of earning a living, provide for your family?" Rolling his hands into fists to stop from smacking Viggo, Sean finally realized White Wing was staring at him with wide, frightened eyes.
"Ah'm sorry love, but this stubborn git makes my blood boil," Knowing in his irritation his accent was so thick that the poor lad had no idea what he was saying (and hopefully preserved White Wing's secret that he understood some English), Sean prayed his contrite expression conveyed his apology.
Viggo stood and shoved Sean back in one fluid motion. "I'm not being stubborn, you ass! Don't you understand I have to do this? What I get from racing, from deliveries, it isn't enough! I'm old Seanie, I can't do this forever! How long until I hurt myself again, worse than the last time? I need something real now; something different, or I can't be what White Wing needs me to be!"
Hitting his chest with his fist, Viggo continued, "Losing TJ is tearing my heart out; that horse is one of the best partners I've ever had, but how can I be expected to afford housing for both of us, and him? It's just not possible!"
"Afford housing? You have housing!" Sean pushed at Viggo's chest to give him room to make his point. "And where else but here would your family be welcomed without prejudice!"
Wind in the Grass had had enough. Not understanding a word, it was obvious from the body language between the two men that the matter was escalating out of control. Much more gracefully than Shawnbeen, he was through the opening and muscling himself between the combatants.
"Cease this," he hissed at Far Rider, pausing to bite his lip when his hands settled lightly on both men's bare chests, connecting the three of them. "What have you said to Shawnbeen to spark his ire... and frighten White Wing?" Wind stepped away to stand at White Wing's side, folding his arms and closing his palms over the heat trapped there from the other men.
White Wing stood when the men opposite him did, unsure what words they were exchanging, due to the thickness of Sean Bean's accent and the low way Far Rider was responding, although naturally, some of the words penetrated his understanding. And then Wind in the Grass was between them, stopping the argument.
Clearly, Sean Bean believed there was a different way for them to resolve this, although Far Rider only seemed to think things would work if they left this place and he worked doing something he had no desire to do, and they lived with people who would look down on them.
Unable to decide what he should say to Far Rider, White Wing turned with worried eyes to Sean Bean, sure that the Pale One had some form of solution to their problem. He had meant to keep the fact that he understood English from Far Rider for now, but at this point, it seemed the only sense he would get was by asking the one person who had any answers, and if that meant speaking in English, he would have to do it.
No-one had been in the least bit unhappy to see White Wing and Wind in the Grass here, nor had they treated or spoken to them in the way that many white people had done. What was it about this place that made it unsuitable for White Wing to live in, and yet Sean Bean seem to-if White Wing's bare understanding of his few less-thickly accented words was correct-think it was Far Rider's home and could be White Wing's too?
"What is this place?" he asked stiltedly, looking from Sean Bean to Far Rider and back.
"Erm..." Sean turned back from staring at White Wing in shock for giving away his secret, to Viggo. All thought of coherently explaining Freeman's flew out of his head as Viggo swayed and his face blanched. The gobsmacked expression in his best mate's eyes was soon replaced by a hunger Sean had not seen in the beloved blue-grey eyes in years.
"No love, shhh," he soothed, "crawling back into a bottle is not the answer." Sean grasped one of Viggo's shoulders and placed his other hand on one set of small scars on his chest. "Though I will never know everything that you went through, I do know what I saw you go through." Sean's fingers traced lightly over the vision quest scars, his memories solely on the dark time before they arrived at Viggo's tribe and the parts of the path he saw Viggo take to climb out of his addiction to whiskey. "You've worked too hard; have come so far to take that massive step backwards... now."
Far Rider's reaction shocked White Wing into stepping forward, though Sean Bean was already there, supporting his friend and lover, White Wing reminded himself. Unable to fathom what exactly was happening, White Wing's eyes widened even more and he asked, afraid and heart thudding, reverting to Lakhota in his worry, "What is wrong? Did I ask the wrong thing?"
Viggo wasn't sure he was able to breathe. White Wing spoke English. He'd heard everything. And who knew what else. And Sean didn't exactly seem surprised. His best friend was lowering Viggo back down into his seat, and out of the corner of his eye he could see his wife hovering nearby.
Bile tickled in Viggo's throat, and he closed his eyes and tried to take a few calming breaths. Damn Sean again, for knowing exactly what he wanted-needed. Sean couldn't stop him if he wanted a drink. "Damnit, Bean, one drink isn't gonna hurt any. And I want it. Now. So either help me get it, or leave me alone so I can get it myself."
Viggo pushed Seanie's hand off the scars, scowling. It wasn't as if he didn't think about that time, especially now when White Wing was so close. Great Eagle... Swift Arrow... he wouldn't be alive were it not for them. If not for White Wing's true husband. "How long were you going to hide that from me, White Wing? Let me make a fool of myself while you listened?"
White Wing felt sick to his stomach as Far Rider spoke. It had never been his intention to make a fool of his husband. And now, it seemed he had driven the man to drink. From the way Sean Bean spoke, Far Rider had problems with alcohol, just like some of the members of his own tribe. White Wing had seen it; how it could destroy otherwise good men, and it was the last thing he needed or wanted.
Deeply ashamed of his apparently deceptive behaviour-although this had not been his intention-he knelt at Far Rider's feet, his heated face turned upward, and allowed the tears he'd held back in recent days to come.
"I'm sorry, Far Rider. Great Eagle told me I should come to you, but I don't remember our binding ceremony at all. I know nothing of you except what little I have been told and what I have seen here. Everyone tells me you are a good man; a trustworthy man who will care for me, but when I arrived, you insisted there was no place for me here. I did not mean to deceive you, but the spirits bade me to take care-be wary of what I allowed you to see-until I knew you better. Please forgive me. You do not have to take me as your wife if I am unworthy. I can return to the tribe; take my chances with whatever dangers may befall me.
"I cannot allow you to... ruin your life all on the chance that you will be a good replacement for Swift Arrow. I loved him with all my heart and I cannot imagine how that must make you feel. But he is dead now and my heart still beats, no matter that I wished it would stop. I did not feel anything for so many months that I lost count. The spirits ceased speaking to me and my dreams flew away. I had nothing to offer anyone when we were bound. Great Eagle had more faith in me than I had in myself, or he would not have allowed such a ceremony to take place."
Offering a quick glance to the strong brave who had helped to change everything, White Wing took a breath and went on, his eyes beseeching Far Rider, "Until the day he spoke of sending me to you, I could not say what events took place. On the journey here, my spirit guides finally started to return, with more than a little help from Wind in the Grass, and I am only just beginning to become the person I once was.
"When we arrived last night and you seemed so reluctant to know me, I felt afraid; scared you would cast me aside because you sensed my inner loss and could not deal with me. I hid my ability only because I was afraid that you would speak less freely if you knew. It was not meant as a deception; only as protection for myself in this strange place. Although I have Wind to watch over me, he does not understand the white man's words, and we needed something to keep us both safe. White people..." and with this he cast a swift glance at Sean Bean waiting patiently by, though the man obviously had no understanding of White Wing's words, "...do not treat us with much respect-or not very many of them, anyway-and we would be forced to leave this place if I did not keep some advantage until I was sure.
"But your words... you truly are prepared to give up so very much for me, are you not? If this is true, then all I have been told is also true and I am so very unworthy of your care and consideration. Perhaps I should leave and return to my people. No matter what will happen, it should not be your problem."
Suddenly realising how much he had said after so very many silences, White Wing gulped nervously and lowered himself to sit on his feet, bowing his head and letting the hot tears continue to fall. All he could do now was wait to see what Far Rider would do; if that meant White Wing and Wind in the Grass should leave this place, then so be it.
Wind in the Grass stepped closer and placed his hand on White Wing's shoulder in support. He knew what an effort it had taken, and how rare it was for his friend to bare his soul with so many words. Wind arched an eyebrow when he saw 'Shawbeen' also place a comforting hand on Far Rider's shoulder. The man could not know what was being spoken, so must (surprisingly for a white man) have a decent understanding of body language. That thought sent a kernel of warmth to Wind's heart, but also sent a chill through him. He would have to be more cautious around this unique man in order to not give away his own secrets.
"White Wing speaks from the heart. Open yours so he may understand what I know, and your lover knows," Wind slanted a brief glance to Pale One. "That you are a worthy and honorable man. Great Eagle knew your paths were destined to be joined..." He shifted his eyes to White Wing and back, wincing for what he was about to reveal. "As did Swift Arrow. Accept that their blessings join those of our ancestors."
Far Rider's head was spinning and the sickness he felt wasn't abating. This was just all so... unexpected. He'd stayed up the whole night, tossing and turning and running through every possible outcome for this conversation. This was never even a consideration.
It was fascinating in a way, listening to White Wing speak this way. Before now, Far Rider had heard a combined total of maybe half those words come from his wife's mouth. It was almost a shock to hear a man's voice come from such a beautiful, graceful body, no matter how much Viggo was used to men in women's garb. But though his voice was soft and full of emotion, and he spoke women's words, it was male tones that reached Far Rider's ears. And for some strange reason, that comforted him.
Just as he was pondering his wife's words, Wind in the Grass interrupted his train of thought. His heart fought against what they both were insisting. He was not the man that they were expecting, or thought he was.
"Please," He sighed, scrubbing at his face. Viggo glanced to his tobacco and papers on the table, but didn't trust himself to successfully roll one. "No more about Swift Arrow. I loved my cousin, and haven't... fully mourned his loss."
Glancing up at Seanie, Viggo reached out and plucked the cheroot from slack fingers. After another shuddering sigh, he said to White Wing, "You are not the one who is unworthy, believe me. I have no wish to cast you aside; I made a promise to you. I just didn't expect your need for protection to come so soon, and I didn't expect for you to come to me. I wish you could have sent word." Viggo probably would have run. Maybe away, or maybe towards the group. Anything to keep them from Freeman's. Because he was sure that once they knew the truth, this 'honorable' image they had of Far Rider would be destroyed.
"I don't know what I have to offer you, White Wing. You tell me I don't need to give up my life for you, but how else will this union work? I have no home," Viggo quickly glanced at Bean, bracing himself like he expected Sean to hit him again. "Nothing. You deserve better than to travel around the country on horseback, not knowing when you're going to find a real bed or a good meal."
White Wing listened carefully to Far Rider's words, trying to decipher the truths and suppositions behind them. He didn't say anything yet, because he'd already said far more in a very short time than he usually said in a whole day.
Swift Arrow... it made sense that Far Rider also loved his cousin, but White Wing hadn't quite understood the depth of that, if he was still mourning. In his own grief, White Wing hadn't even considered this. It still pained him to speak of his dead lover too, so it was no hardship not to mention him.
White Wing had never even considered sending word before he left the tribe. Great Eagle made all the decisions and obviously believed the need to send White Wing away was urgent, or he would have sent word himself. White Wing had never been in any position to do such a thing, but there was no point in dwelling on should haves. He simply nodded at that point.
Only the last part of Far Rider's words seemed to really need any response, and even then White Wing wasn't sure what that response should be. He allowed more time to pass before he finally looked up to meet his husband's eyes.
"It does not matter what I deserve. Many of us do not get what we wish for. My place, no matter what the situation, should be with you as much as I'm able. I will follow you wherever you want me to, Far Rider. I have suffered hardship before..." Nothing could be harder than suffering the loss of Swift Arrow, but he would not say this. "More important than a real bed or a good meal is that we would have each other."
White Wing was not sure what else he could say; what true solution there could be for them, but the words he spoke were heartfelt. He truly meant them, and he hoped Far Rider could see that in his eyes.
"But why?!" It didn't make sense to Viggo, that White Wing would be willing to do this for a man he did not know, whether he was called his husband or not. "I don't understand. Is it out of duty that you want to be with me? I offer you the luxuries of a home, a bed, running water, warm food... and you would give that up to be with a man you've no recollection of?
"No one does that for another person. And I'm not even sure that could work. When I race it is about speed and endurance. ...I don't know if I could make that work with having to care for you. But I do wish to make this work, somehow. I promised that I would be there for you."
"Why what?" Sean interrupted. Frustrated that he hadn't a clue what was being said, he latched onto the bit of English Viggo spoke. "One of you, tell me what's going on," he demanded, taking back his cheroot, inhaling quickly and handing it back to Viggo.
One phrase, *Wahin Kpe Kahwoke, repeated a few times, sounded very familiar to Sean, and seemed to have rocked both Viggo and White Wing. Yet, they both spoke it themselves, was it the name of Viggo's-or Far Rider's, his Lakota name-cousin? The young brave who had been Viggo's constant companion during the healing ceremonies Sean had observed four years ago? The same man who had been young White Wing's first husband? Sean cursed himself for not attempting to remember more-or learn more-of the language. Having been away when the brave was killed and his kin had sent for Viggo, Sean knew only the sketchy details Viggo had told him last night.
White Wing glanced up at Sean Bean when he spoke, but he didn't feel able to answer him, and he turned his attention back to Far Rider's words.
What could he tell this man? That Great Eagle would not have allowed the ceremony unless he believed that somehow they were meant to be together? That his dreams had told him he should be with Far Rider? That something in White Wing's heart said it was the right path to follow?
All of these things seemed true and yet none of them were, completely. White Wing had said much already, and if Far Rider could not see that their destinies were somehow intertwined beyond any reason or sense, then he could not explain it.
White Wing studied Far Rider for a few moments longer before dropping his eyes once more. "I don't know." he finally murmured.
Viggo turned to Sean and sighed, "It's nothing, Sean, we were just discussing where to go from here." The answer to that still seemed so out of reach, despite what White Wing may have said. There was no perfect solution. Compromises could not be avoided. White Wing had already changed his life, coming all this way to be with his husband.
"You have given up your life for me, White Wing. You've come to live in a world you don't know. I am only offering the same in return. You should allow me that much. It will be hard, but no harder than what you have already survived."
As if suddenly remembering he held the cheroot, Viggo brought it to his lips and smoked. "Great Eagle wanted me to provide for you; protect you. Give you the things that you need. And as the both of you pointed out last night, if I don't do these things, Great Eagle will die in shame." Far Rider slanted his gaze to Wind in the Grass, before looking at his wife. "I doubt he meant carting you around place to place on the back of my horse."
"Where ye go from here is deciding if this young buck stays in yer suite, or we bunk him down elsewhere in the house." Sean ruffled his hair in frustration. He could only follow the rare few words spoken in English, and facial expressions. The fact that White Wing's young brave was narrowing his eyes and flexing his jaw did not bode well. Most likely Viggo was still being hard-headed stubborn, and if only Wind in the Grass could tell him so, Sean could do something.
"This is not your home?" Wind in the Grass spoke up from his place at White Wing's side. He also kept slanting glances at 'Shawnbeen', curious about the man's twitchy antics. "Why do you feel White Wing would not be safe with the people you live with?"
"This is a place of business. I don't live here. It's only where I stay while I am here, in San Fransisco." Viggo said shortly, and scratched his arm distractedly. There was no way to fully describe his connection to Freeman's "Though yes, White Wing would be safe here. But it is not where he should be."
Adjusting his stance to one of alert readiness, Wind in the Grass squeezed White Wing's shoulder in support, "Why not? This Shawnbeen was welcomed into the bosom of the camp while you rediscovered your path, and was afforded your family's protection when visiting the other bands with Young Chief Bluecoat-soldier. You do not trust him to look after your wife while you race your pony?"
After answering the call of nature, on the way back to his room Vin happened to glance out the carriage house window. He blinked a couple times, not sure what his sleepy brain was registering was real. He scratched his fingers over the stubble on his jaw and up over his head. Holy Shit! That was an Indian brave on the balcony facing the side garden. No bow and quiver, no long gun-thank god!-no visible weapons as the warrior was clad only in leggings; no, full buckskin trousers.
Not taking the time to rouse Eric, Vin dashed for the door when he saw the brave duck into one of the windows opened to the morning sea breeze. He hit the back door of the house at a run, only to stumble to a stop at the normal-looking chaos in the kitchen, full of Chinese girls.
Vin grabbed the arm of the closest male servant, as he also reached blindly for a long apron. "Intruder; keep the women here, safe," he hissed, all his training as a Buffalo Soldier at full alert. Knotted at the side of his waist, the length of fabric covered the essentials as Vin shushed the women's chatter from his sudden entrance.
"Find Wang-zu and the bossman," Vin softly growled to another male. Silently he padded out to the hall, wishing he had more than his fists as a weapon. The distinct sounds of Lakhota pulled him up short and he cautiously approached the breakfast room. Vin pushed on the swinging door only enough to peer in, then opened it fully to stand openmouthed at the sight of Viggo, Mr. Sean, the brave and a squaw wrapped in a dressing gown.
White Wing was confused. What kind of business was run from such a place, unless it was some kind of 'hotel', something he had heard of where visitors to the white men's towns sometimes stayed? But Wind in the Grass had a valid point, if this was as close to a home for Far Rider as it appeared. Would Sean Bean not watch that he and Wind were treated properly? If he lived here too, that was.
White Wing could not foresee himself wanting Wind to leave him any time soon, not with the way things were going. He stood up gracefully from where he had still been kneeling at Far Rider's feet, but before he could formulate any words of his own, a large man lumbered into the room half-dressed and looking completely shocked.
Taking a step closer to Wind in the Grass instinctively, his eyes widened and he pulled the robe closer. If only he had his own clothes on! This new person did not seem in the least bit friendly, and White Wing flicked his eyes from one to the other of the white men and then back to this new darker-skinned man, waiting for someone to say something. A flash of recognition went through White Wing as he took in the dark man's features, and he realised that this was the naked man in Far Rider's pictures. Who was he to Far Rider, and why was he naked now, aside from the strange covering that seemed out of place in the white man's world.
Delicious as the sight of Vin breathing heavy and barely covered was, Sean knew Viggo had to be in abject misery. Sean also was very curious about his own name (or the close pronunciation by Wind in the Grass) coming up in the conversation. Sighing that he might never know, at least he could divert further chaos for his mate.
"Vincent, glad you could meet Viggo's... guests," Sean squeezed Viggo's neck comfortingly and then crossed to the bouncer. "Let's leave them to their conversation, and we can find out what happened to the breakfast I ordered, eh?"
"Guests?" Vin shuffled his feet, heat that wasn't obvious to the others blooming on his cheeks, "I uh, saw him outside," he waved toward the scowling brave. "I sent for Mr. Marton and Wang-Zu, uh yeah. Everything is okay? I should, yeah," Vin scratched over his stubble knowing he was now going to be the laughing-stock of the household for a while. "Better stop them from getting the Boss outta bed, yeah."
Viggo swore in Lakhota, English, and several other languages he'd picked up along the way. What the hell was Vin doing here, virtually naked at that? All they needed was Karl, now. That'd make a nice reunion of that little trip made four years ago. Viggo could see the heavy outline of his friend's soft cock through the apron he had wrapped around his waist, and one powerful thigh stayed uncovered. Normally a welcome sight.
"Vin." Viggo nodded towards him, "Nice toga. Now could you please take Sean's advice and leave?!" Viggo didn't like snapping at his best friends, but he was tired, frustrated, and in need of so many things that he didn't even bother reminding himself of them all.
A headache was starting to get at Viggo, right between his eyes. "The last thing we need here is Marton; Christ." With all the questions about Freeman's, Viggo did not want his 'guests' to hear the sales pitch from Mr. Freeman himself, with his silver tongue. "I just want... no interruptions, okay?"
White Wing was starting to feel that this was all a complete waste of time. He didn't understand why this large half-naked man had gotten so upset (and maybe it had something to do with Far Rider, since it appeared he certainly knew him well enough), although the idea of him seeing Wind outside must have made him think the place was under attack from Indians or something.
"We should leave," White Wing said, turning to Wind and repeating it in Lakhota for his benefit, "This has no point. Far Rider can not help us."
He gestured to the door, where the other men were just exiting.
At first blinking in amazement, and then scowling to keep all other revealing expressions off his face, Wind in the Grass was incapable of responding to White Wing immediately. He kept his hand on his young friend's shoulder as he watched the broadly muscled Negro and 'Shawnbeen' leave.
Out in the hall Sean stopped Vin's headlong retreat. "I'd never expect you to be the one to go off half-cocked." Sean leered at Vin's barely clothed state to keep his mind in the present, and not wandering back to Vin's commander all those years ago. "Yeh better head off Marton before the whole house is in an uproar." A sigh expanded Sean's chest and he looked back toward the room he'd abandoned his best mate in.
"Were me fault the wee young things are downstairs... just intended t' find 'em some brekkie. Which I should check on..." Sean's mumbled, running a hand through his tousled hair, before heading to the kitchen as Vin went in the direction of the stairs to Marton's suite.
"What is this place?" Wind asked Far Rider. He may not know the white man's language, but as a brave he had more contact with some white man's ways. He knew some lodges this size were permanent residences, and that others provided temporary housing. Some of the latter, Wind knew from a far ranging hunting trip, traded in more than a sleeping space and meals. The state of undress of the dark-skinned man, and now that he thought of it, the fiery woman of last night had an air about her similar to the head woman at that special lodge, which raised Wind in the Grass's suspicions about this place.
"I cannot help?? I am trying, White Wing!! I am trying my hardest. I have spent... many years avoiding this very thing, and yet here I am now, so would you please just sit down and try to work with me? This is difficult for me and I need your understanding to make it work!!" Far Rider stood as he spoke, and his whole body trembled. Stubbing out the cheroot, Viggo once again reached for his tobacco and rolling papers.
When Wind in the Grass spoke, Far Rider stilled. Releasing his hold on his smoking supplies, he snarled and fingered at the pouch hanging around his neck. "This is a house full of whores. They have sex for money! Sex with any stranger who has enough money! Boys; boys who bend over for cocks and fingers and whatever else the client wants to shove up their backsides! Which is why White Wing cannot stay here!"
The shock of Far Rider's outburst had to be showing on White Wing's face. He knew little of white men's ways, apart from what he'd gained from the woman he'd learned English from, and her experiences did not include stories of people who sold sex. Or at least, if it had, she had not spoken of it. And boys who sold themselves to men seemed completely beyond White Wing's understanding, despite his own lifestyle.
Unable to say anything, he simply sat down at Far Rider's bidding, blinking confusedly at him in silence.
What role did Far Rider have here? Surely he could not mean he himself sold his body for sex? He was not a 'boy' by any stretch of White Wing's imagination, and not knowing anything of such places, White Wing could not conceive of any sort of work he could do here.
A thought occurred to him and his eyes widened in shock. Far Rider did not want him to stay here because he didn't want White Wing to be for sale. Knowing the unscrupulous nature of many white men, he didn't doubt that there were others here who would happily put him to work in such a way.
While White Wing had slept with many braves to offer them strength before he and Swift Arrow were bound, and a few afterwards when he felt able, it was not the same. Knowing men's needs, and the greed of the white men, he did not doubt that there would be demand for his services here, and it would not be about offering his strength or magic.
A quick nod was Wind in the Grass's initial response. It was as he suspected, a place where sex was bartered for the white man's gratification. His hunting companions that one trip had lain with one tired woman of indeterminate breed while they made him (the youngest brave) stand watch-not that Wind minded, ever hiding his true sexual interest.
He blinked though as Far Rider went on to say it was boys who sold their bodies. Open acknowledgment of male on male coupling was taboo for The People. The whites hypocritically sneered at their belief about sex being a natural part of life, not hidden from the tribal community. Of course that did not stop the missionaries and others from lying with their squaws whenever possible. But, open male coupling?
"Taboo. How is it possible, so openly?" Wind in the Grass stammered.
"There are a few girls here, working as well. They keep our true nature hidden from all but those who need to know. Those who have acknowledged their 'taboo' nature and seek their pleasure from professionals." Far Rider was still upset that those who 'needed' to know now included his wife and his long-time lover. He wasn't sure what they thought, the only emotion registering on their faces was shock.
"Sean, Marton, Miss Marg, they are the owners. There are currently four girls who work here, and six boys. The large, naked man who ran in a moment ago was one of the men whose job it is to protect the house, and the people inside. We also have connections to the police, and the government, that keep us away from their attention for the most part."
Now that the words had come free, Viggo couldn't stop them. He was twitchy, and ran his fingers through his hair. "We are not so 'open,' but we are here nonetheless. Do you understand, now, finally, why this is not the place for White Wing? Must I fight you both more, for what I know I must do to keep my wife protected?" The words ran out then, and he slumped against a wall.
After squeezing White Wing's shoulder once more, Wind in the Grass left his side and crossed to Far Rider. "Is that the shame you feel? Not of White Wing, but that you take the white man's money this way?"
Hunkering in front of his old lover, Wind carded his finger through the fringe covering Far Rider's brow, much as he often brushed White Wing's hair back during quiet comforting moments on their journey to this place. Reinterpreting the sounds of coupling Wind had heard the night before, he carried the movement up over Far Rider's head and down until he cupped the back of his neck. "There is never shame in coupling, and if it empties the white's pockets, all the better, yes?" Wind in the Grass ducked his head down, a smile twitching on his lips as he met Far Rider's eyes.
"You work here, like this?" White Wing spoke in shock as he comprehended what Wind in the Grass meant, his eyes flying up to take in Far Rider's expression. He shook his head in stunned wonder.
The other thing that Wind said made sense though, and despite his initial thoughts, he couldn't help a small smile of pleasure at the thought of gaining due to white man's stupidity and weakness. It might not be what a Winkte did traditionally, but somehow White Wing didn't feel so reluctant at the thought when he looked at it this way. As long as the men were of appeal to him, he was sure he could take their money.
"I have shared bedrolls with more men than just my husband, Far Rider. You must know this. If this is a way to remain here with you-or at least during times when you are gone-I am not against the idea. It will earn my keep when you are unable to provide for me and allow the owners here reason for my continued stay."
He gazed at Far Rider more impassively now, letting his pride fill his features. There was more he could say on the subject, but for now, he had to see how Far Rider would react to his sudden change of demeanor. Possibly the man had never considered things the way Wind had, as White Wing himself had not. But now that he had let the thought take hold, he knew it could work.
Viggo stared stupidly at Wind in the Grass, confused and uncomprehending. He couldn't decipher his meaning, and the sudden switch in his demeanor was even more frustrating. He looked into his old lover's eyes, trying to understand.
He understood, finally, when his wife spoke. Straightening, Far Rider's eyes widened and he pushed Wind away. He hissed at the brave, "No, I do not work here!" And why would they assume, that of all things, he was one of the whores? He had explained about the bouncers! Or he could be here taking care of the horses! "And I do not feel shame! First I shame Great Eagle, and now I shame myself? You have no right to put this shame upon me!"
When White Wing continued, it took Viggo's all not to let his jaw fall to the ground. "No!! I can't allow you to do that, White Wing." Moving from behind Wind in the Grass and towards his wife, Far Rider ground out, "I am supposed to be your husband now. It may be in name only, but I am still your husband. I am the one who is supposed to provide for you, protect you, and that is not by allowing you to do this! There is more to this than just taking money from whites! Those boys, that is their calling! It is different here than at other houses. It is not just another way to earn money." White Wing was sacred, a healer, a seer! Far Rider was just beginning to accept that their destinies were intertwined, but he couldn't possibly believe that it was White Wing's destiny to work at Freeman's!
Again, Wind in the Grass went to Far Rider. As if gentling a newly corralled wild pony, he stood close, sharing his heat before stroking his fingers through Far Rider's hair and then to knotted shoulder muscles. "Our intention was never to heap shame on you, only to understand your turmoil. Help us Far Rider. You speak as if you alone should provide for your wife. Is there no sense of community here? It is not the way of The People to be idle. If not working as the 'boys' do here, perhaps White Wing would be a benefit to this lodge by assisting the women cooking?"
Wind paused, the mention of food and the smells wafting from the large kitchen made his stomach rumble loudly. He ignored it, gentling his hand over Far Rider's broad back and sending White Wing a smile. "As hearty as the stew given us last night was, White Wing has a special touch to seasoning game that could only improve the fare offered here." Wind winked over Far Rider's shoulder and brought a hand around to brush a wisp of hair off White Wing's cheek, feeling the blush heating the smooth flesh.
"This place of many races, where men such as yourself, your lov... your friend... and me are not cast out for the abomination of our desires, surely Great Eagle's visions told him this is where my path was destined to lead? No one of us should bear the burden of protection and providing for alone. Let us-together-show these people you say are friends what a true sense of community is, while you guide us in understanding their ways."
Viggo tensed at the supposedly comforting touches Wind in the Grass was showering him with. They felt patronizing, as had a good majority of Wind's actions since the brave's arrival the night before. These even more so because it was such a shift from how he had been even moments before. But he didn't pull away, opting to wait and see if his long-time lover would speak any sense.
And Wind in the Grass almost was, with his talk of community. Freeman's was a community, and a family, one that Viggo was proud to be a member of. Just as being part of the tribe was something he was proud of. But for the most part Far Rider kept the two sides of his life separate, and seeing them so suddenly brought together was unsettling.
Wind's final musings snapped him out of his stupor and his silence. "Not you too with this foolishness! Great Eagle sent you to escort White Wing, not sell yourself! I did not give you those 'lessons' just for you to use them this way!" Far Rider pulled himself from Wind in the Grass's grasp, swerving around to stare at the two incredulously. "You both have done far too much for our People to resign yourself to this! Wind, my friend, as good a lover as you are, you are an even better warrior. Why would you even want to do this?"
Wind in the Grass made a 'pfft' noise in preparation of making an impetuous remark, until he looked into White Wing's eyes. He rounded Far Rider's chair and stood between the two people who meant the most to him in this world.
"Far Rider," he sighed, "you are unique in that you move easily between the two worlds whose blood pumps in your veins. On the reservation, the old ways are dying as warriors have no buffalo to hunt and are made to farm, our sacred land is forbidden to us, and our children are ripped from their communities to have the 'savage' whipped out of them at the missionary schools.
"Oddities such as White Wing and me would be the first ones targeted as the whites encroach more. We can better continue to serve our People by learning the ways of the whites on our terms, not theirs." Wind took a shaky breath; the admission of the realities the proud Lakota now faced had bile roiling in his gut. "As much as this square lodge confines me, the wide open northern plains are no longer a source of freedom for me. There is where I would be selling not only myself, but my soul, by dancing to the Indian Agents' whims."
Wind in the Grass felt a blush steal over his face as he turned fully to Far Rider. "The 'lessons' of which you speak; they freed me from the shame I once felt about what I was. They..." He turned back to White Wing and cupped the Winkte's cheek, "they let me-in some small measure-help White Wing begin to heal."
Far Rider snorted and gave a forced laugh. "It is true that I move between the two worlds, but it never is easy. On the reservation, I'm judged by some as being too white. In the city I am judged by others for being not white enough. My differences are no more easily hidden than White Wing's."
Many people had told Viggo in his life that he should cast aside his mother's heritage, that with his name and his looks, he could 'pass' for a white man. And there had been a time in which he had tried to have a so-called normal life as a young man. But the traditions, and the beliefs, and the love of his family (his father's side wanted nothing to do with him) still ached inside Viggo like a lost limb.
"And I am more than aware of the troubles our People face. Just because I am not always there doesn't mean I do not see or feel the mistreatment." In his time as a tracker Viggo had seen many things, and witnessed many of the atrocities forced upon the tribes first-hand. "Fuck, I do everything I'm capable of to help. There is only so much one man can do!"
Countless nights Viggo had gone without sleep, spending the time instead deep in discussion with Karl. Far Rider wasn't sure how much good it did, but he felt better knowing that there was someone he could talk to this about who was not only sympathetic, but would speak on his behalf to the people who most needed to hear it. Far Rider also sent what he could to the reservation, as often as he could, in hopes that it would help his family even slightly.
Running his fingers through his already unkempt hair, Far Rider sighed in frustration. "I do understand your want to do this on your own terms, and I have been more than willing to offer all the help I can, but again, surely, there are other ways that you both would be better suited to!"
So far, White Wing had largely kept out of the discussion-if it could be called that-between the two most important people currently in his life, but he couldn't keep quiet forever. When Wind cupped his cheek and spoke of how he had been able to help White Wing due to 'lessons' from Far Rider, the reality of the two men's previous relationship finally hit home in a way that hadn't been clear before, although he knew they'd shared strength before.
Far Rider's words didn't make sense though. What shame was there in doing what one could for one's people? White Wing offered himself to the braves of their tribe in return for magical protection and strength, so offering himself in return for the white men's money wasn't such a bad deal. Thinking back to Swift Arrow's reaction to White Wing's performance of what was essentially his duty, White Wing thought he understood.
"Please, Far Rider," he spoke softly, but with passion, "I understand you do not wish to share me, but can you not see? This is a way to move forward; something Wind and I can do without difficulty for either of us physically, and something your white companions can accept us as capable of. Do you really believe there is other work we would be allowed to do in this city without loss of our pride? The white men in this place seem reasonable. Not all of them are so tolerant; you know this. Do you wish to see me scrubbing floors, or worse?" He shook his head, clamping his lips together tightly to stop them from trembling, holding Far Rider's eyes proudly before flicking a quick glance to Wind. He took his friend's hand, and turned back to Far Rider. "Do not be angry. We will look after each other when you are not here. And when you are… I will keep myself only for you."
"Nothing needs to be decided right this moment." Wind in the Grass offered, seeing the pain on both Far Rider's and White Wing's faces. Emotions were too raw for all of them right now to be entirely rational.
"Perhaps the meal your Shawnbeen arranged is ready? Only recently has White Wing's appetite returned and we should take advantage of every opportunity for sustenance, yes?" So, it was probably mostly himself who was hungry, Wind surmised, but they needed something to ease the heavy tension.
Ignoring Wind in the Grass, Far Rider stared at White Wing in shock. "You think this is because of jealousy? How am I supposed to worry about sharing when you have never been mine to share?"
No matter what White Wing said, Viggo had to remind himself about the truth of the marriage. He was Husband in name only, but the title didn't fit in either of their hearts. The name yoked Far Rider, and the weight of it around his neck was all-consuming. And White Wing... White Wing had not chosen this.
"In the end, it is your own choice. You need not keep yourself for me, because you will not find the sentiment returned." Even if he and White Wing ever finally consummated their marriage, which Viggo couldn't see happening anytime soon, he was not giving up that part of himself. "Yet it is my job to protect you, and I can't help but notice that if you were scrubbing floors, you wouldn't need your husband and two of the house's men constantly watching over you.
"The clientèle here is different than most houses like this, because of a rigorous screening process. But the boys here get hurt sometimes. Whites hurting whites, do you understand? If a man came here willing to hurt one of his own kind, how willing do you think he would be to hurt you? I do not want to see you in bed for a week or more because it pains you too much to move!"
Drawing himself up to his full height, Far Rider took a deep, cleansing breath. "One last time, I offer you a place of your own, with or without me. I will provide for you. I will teach you what you want to know. Your continued safety is my duty. But there is only so much I can do, if you are uncooperative."
He flicked his gaze to Wind, then back again. "As your friend here has said, your breakfast is likely ready. If you need to find me, my friends will know where to look." Far Rider needed now to go and hide, reevaluate, and see if he could understand how things got so out of control so quickly.
"I cannot do what you ask," White Wing stated, still holding Wind in the Grass's hand. "I have no wish to be tied to a white man's idea of home, with a husband who does what he feels he must, but will not even attempt to be loving. As for being hurt... you think physical pain could be worse than how my heart feels now? There is no comparison."
Letting go of Wind at last, White Wing moved towards the door. Once his face was turned from Far Rider's, he allowed his anguish to the surface, but only for a moment. He could not cry in front of this man, and he would not cry in front of any of the other white men. Pain filled him as it hadn't since Swift Arrow died, but he pulled on the cool and proud façade which had always served him well.
As he schooled his face, he lifted his eyes to his friend's, unable to look at Far Rider any more. It was clear the man did not want them here, and if they couldn't come to some sort of compromise soon, then perhaps he and Wind would be forced to return to the reservation.
No matter what Great Eagle believed, there was as much trouble here as was likely to come for them in the tribe with their people.
"We will eat with the servants," White Wing said over his shoulder in English, knowing exactly what Far Rider would infer from that. Scrubbing white men's floors? Never! He turned back to Wind, holding his inner turmoil tightly to himself, and spoke in his native tongue once more, "We need to find the morning meal, Wind. I won't let you starve."
Opening the door carefully, White Wing walked through it, keeping himself straight and proud as Wind in the Grass followed.
Wind in the Grass looked back at Far Rider and sighed as the door closed between them. Though he shared a similar belief that he, himself, was incapable of romantic love, Wind in the Grass was saddened that Far Rider was being so stubborn and not willing to open his heart to White Wing. Time was what they needed. Time for all three of them to mourn Swift Arrow who'd meant so much to each of them. Time for Far Rider and White Wing to learn each other, and discover what Wind in the Grass knew. They both were special for their different dualities, and yet similar artistically and spiritually.
Word Count: ~10,906
Lakhota terms:
*Wahin Kpe Kahwoke = Swift Arrow (Arrow Swift)
Next week, Viggo turns back to creating art as he contemplates where to go from here.