Winter's Abyss Part 5/?
Title: Winter's Abyss
Author: robingal1
Pairing/characters: P/E/N
Spoilers: none
Warnings: cursing/blood/death/werewolves
Summary: AU where Neal is a man with a dark and tragic past, Peter is a Civil Enforcer, Elizabeth is a High Priestess, and Bugsy is a horse.
Author's note: Your choices define you. Therefore, in this AU, character choices will be different than those of the canon-verse, but the characteristics will remain. Constructive criticism highly welcomed.
It was a beautiful valley, wide, vast, and hidden in the snow. Washington of the DC, the heart of the Queendom, was a wonder of natural bounty and human-wrought wonders. Queen June's castle reached into the clouds, piercing them, surrounded by cherry blossom trees and meticulously kept lawns. Peter couldn't help the swell of pride, joy spreading on his face, making him feel like some pious youth.
Neal, atop his mount, seemed more interested in the throng of people, all politely fighting their way past the tall gate. Families, caravans, carts, even foot traffic.
Neal had been quiet the whole journey, not sullen, but sleeping in the saddle. Well, likely some bit sullen. His beard looked haggard, his body tired, but his smile... the most telling of all. Tight, bright, non-threatening. A smile that anyone could trust.
Neal was as stubborn as the waves, crashing against, angry, violent. But Peter was a long-suffering man. Beneath those chaosed waves was a stillness, silent and graceful.
“Come on, Neal. We need to find an inn near our noble's manor.” He motioned the horses, maneuvering through the people. “We'll order a room, a bath, some clothes...”
Peter hadn't mention it, but Neal had worn the same clothes for days now.
“How are your hands? Are the charms working?”
Neal's smile never reached his eyes. “Like a charm, Peter.”
Peter couldn't help but groan at the joke.
They rode in peace. Peter, experienced with the twisting roads, knew the way toward the noble's home. Border stones lined the road. Leading them past theaters and museums, then schools and churches, until the path lead them to a large open farmland, rich and waiting for spring.
“Do you see that gate ahead?” Peter indicated with his chin, keeping his hands on the reins, he hadn't let go since their journey began. “My father built it. He built most of the gates here.” Peter couldn't keep the pride from his voice. “A Master Mason of three generations.”
“You didn't follow your family? You broke the generation?”
Peter could hear the smile in his own voice. “My father would flay me and my sisters if any of us even hinted at it. No, he worked for richer nobles than he, saving every coin, to send us to the best schools. He would be ashamed of us if we did anything other than our best.”
They rode on, the sun setting, shedding light through the gate as they crossed under its beautifully constructed arch.
“We're now in the county of Burke. Lord Kramer's manor is one of the larger manors here. We'll bed down at the first decent inn we come across.” His stomach made itself known. “And dinner, I think.”
The Henley Park Inn was more luxury than Neal had seen in years. Kate liked classic style and the smaller displays of riches. She reveled in art and plays, music, dancing, and any wonder that Neal would reverently make for her. He had spent two months carving and painting the stairs leading to their bedroom. She smiled. Neal made sure to watch for it. Small at first, then...
“Neal.” Peter ripped him from his memories. He took a breath, smiled, bright as he could.
“This is nice, Peter. The windows are a bit small, but manageable.” The inn's servants had spelled the water in the tubs to a perfect temperature, steam rising from the porcelain vats. “The situation with the bed though...”
“No. We share the bed.”
Not wanting to argue, Neal striped, handed his clothing to the polite servant near the door. “Please, wash these and have them returned.” He made sure to flirt his eyes at the man, in case Peter's mentioning of clearly being owned should startle the older gentleman.
Peter handed his clothes to the man. “And have dinner sent up, please. As well as a noble's tailor tomorrow morning. We need fresh clothes.”
Neal settled into the warmth, sighing deeply, causing a short coughing fit.
“And a healer, tonight.”
“Yes, masters. Will there be anything else?”
“No, thank you.” Peter gave the man a full solid coin of gold.
As soon as the servant left, Peter sank into the bathtub next to Neal.
“Peter, we're staying in a grand inn, near Kramer's manor, spending coins like sand through the hand. Are you trying to attract the attention of Kramer's spies? Why?”
Peter lathered his sponge with the heavily perfumed soap and attacked the dirt matted in his hair. “I am establishing myself as an arrogant, but fair, Civil Enforcer. A Captain from some small village. A passing fool, showing off to anyone who will lend him an ear.”
Neal merrily rinsed the grime from his face, eager to shave. “And the not so subtle references to all but calling me your rent boy?”
“What? I did nothing of the sort!”
“Tell that to the servants.”
Peter seemed upset at that. “I'm sorry; I meant no offense, Neal. I'm trying to cast myself as your teacher. You, as my too willful subordinate. I'm here to take you to my mentor, Lord Kramer.” Peter rinsed. “Damn. Damn! I can't believe that I...” Peter felt his cheeks redden.
“Don't worry for it, Peter. Now I'm just your too willful, young rent boy that you're sleeping with.”
Peter quieted at that. Deep in his thoughts.
They both settled into their tasks. A table of toiletries had been set between them. Neal carefully shaved, his fingers still slow, but steady. The gloves had brought back life to his dead hands. It frightened him how little he had cared for his hands.
He focused, instead, back to the task of grooming. What he saw in the small mirror shocked him. He felt so heavy, yet was visibly underweight. A terrible ghost trapped in flesh, with no one to haunt. He was so damn alone. His hands began to shake.
“Neal?”
He finished his bath.
They sat in thick robes at the table near the windows, overlooking the darkened farm lands in the distance. Just beneath them, the manorfolks milled about at the tea shoppes and markets, a local minstrel was closing away his guitar for the night.
Peter ate his ham, slathered in honey and butter. It went perfectly with his rich, amber beer.
Neal pushed his food in circles on his plate.
“Neal.” Peter was careful to keep his voice level, without censure. Neal was likely to ignore any reprimand. “You heard the healer, eat. Drink your juice, it's very good.”
A sigh was his only answer. Neal ate a few bites more, then quit the meal. He leaned back in his stuffed chair, cradling his glass. Spinning it, sipping, spinning, a small swallow.
He stared off, into the fire in the corner of the room. It was small, but the walls were thick and the room was quickly warmed. This was a grand inn, indeed.
Night had fallen outside. The bright lamps from the cobbled street below reached into their room, casting strange shapes on the ceiling.
Neal drank the last of the juice, spinning the glass one last time before setting it on the table. He looked, again, at his overstuffed and ripped pack near the door. The servants had dutifully offered to carry their bags, but Neal refused. He clutched at his sad and sorry vengeance, carrying it with him, never letting the burden go.
“Your plan, it will get us into the manor, perhaps into the the manor house itself, but what then? Kramer's Steward will only turn us away. How are we to search the grounds?”
Peter swallowed another glorious bite. “No, you see, I am spending coin I don't have. I'm spending Lord Kramer's coin. As per his return for the hospitality being offered by my wife, he, by right and tradition, must repay in kind, a grateful gesture, I'm sure.
“Kramer is a lord, after all. Staying- guesting no less, at the inner sanctum of the High Priestess.
“His Steward will welcome us with open, yet quietly begrudging, arms.”
Neal chucked. Then yawned. “You are a more devious and cunning Enforcer than any I have ever met, Peter.” He yawned again.
“Go to bed, Neal. I promise, your virtue will remain.”
He had expected the joke to cause at least a smile. He looked instead at the shadowed face of a man lost in someplace horrible. “Neal?”
The man's head snapped to him. Then turned back to his pack. “Neal...”
“I don't have much virtue left, Peter.” He sat, still, lost in his remorse, and yawned again. His eyes began to fall.
His breathing beginning to slow. “Peter... did you? You- you drugged me!”
Peter sipped his beer. “Go to bed, Neal. You'll feel better in the morning.”
Neal glared, hot and hateful.
“The sheets are spelled against nightmares.”
Peter didn't help Neal to his feet. Knowing he would be rejected. The too skinny man straightened his back and slowly walked to the bed, shoulders proud and guarded.
Peter watched him settle beneath the sheets. Neal was asleep within one breath and the next.
Peter turned back to his meal, rich and decadent. Not the meal he wanted. Not the roast he would be delighted to share with his love, in their home.
He wondered what El was eating, what she was doing, how well she cared for herself...
Author: robingal1
Pairing/characters: P/E/N
Spoilers: none
Warnings: cursing/blood/death/werewolves
Summary: AU where Neal is a man with a dark and tragic past, Peter is a Civil Enforcer, Elizabeth is a High Priestess, and Bugsy is a horse.
Author's note: Your choices define you. Therefore, in this AU, character choices will be different than those of the canon-verse, but the characteristics will remain. Constructive criticism highly welcomed.
It was a beautiful valley, wide, vast, and hidden in the snow. Washington of the DC, the heart of the Queendom, was a wonder of natural bounty and human-wrought wonders. Queen June's castle reached into the clouds, piercing them, surrounded by cherry blossom trees and meticulously kept lawns. Peter couldn't help the swell of pride, joy spreading on his face, making him feel like some pious youth.
Neal, atop his mount, seemed more interested in the throng of people, all politely fighting their way past the tall gate. Families, caravans, carts, even foot traffic.
Neal had been quiet the whole journey, not sullen, but sleeping in the saddle. Well, likely some bit sullen. His beard looked haggard, his body tired, but his smile... the most telling of all. Tight, bright, non-threatening. A smile that anyone could trust.
Neal was as stubborn as the waves, crashing against, angry, violent. But Peter was a long-suffering man. Beneath those chaosed waves was a stillness, silent and graceful.
“Come on, Neal. We need to find an inn near our noble's manor.” He motioned the horses, maneuvering through the people. “We'll order a room, a bath, some clothes...”
Peter hadn't mention it, but Neal had worn the same clothes for days now.
“How are your hands? Are the charms working?”
Neal's smile never reached his eyes. “Like a charm, Peter.”
Peter couldn't help but groan at the joke.
They rode in peace. Peter, experienced with the twisting roads, knew the way toward the noble's home. Border stones lined the road. Leading them past theaters and museums, then schools and churches, until the path lead them to a large open farmland, rich and waiting for spring.
“Do you see that gate ahead?” Peter indicated with his chin, keeping his hands on the reins, he hadn't let go since their journey began. “My father built it. He built most of the gates here.” Peter couldn't keep the pride from his voice. “A Master Mason of three generations.”
“You didn't follow your family? You broke the generation?”
Peter could hear the smile in his own voice. “My father would flay me and my sisters if any of us even hinted at it. No, he worked for richer nobles than he, saving every coin, to send us to the best schools. He would be ashamed of us if we did anything other than our best.”
They rode on, the sun setting, shedding light through the gate as they crossed under its beautifully constructed arch.
“We're now in the county of Burke. Lord Kramer's manor is one of the larger manors here. We'll bed down at the first decent inn we come across.” His stomach made itself known. “And dinner, I think.”
The Henley Park Inn was more luxury than Neal had seen in years. Kate liked classic style and the smaller displays of riches. She reveled in art and plays, music, dancing, and any wonder that Neal would reverently make for her. He had spent two months carving and painting the stairs leading to their bedroom. She smiled. Neal made sure to watch for it. Small at first, then...
“Neal.” Peter ripped him from his memories. He took a breath, smiled, bright as he could.
“This is nice, Peter. The windows are a bit small, but manageable.” The inn's servants had spelled the water in the tubs to a perfect temperature, steam rising from the porcelain vats. “The situation with the bed though...”
“No. We share the bed.”
Not wanting to argue, Neal striped, handed his clothing to the polite servant near the door. “Please, wash these and have them returned.” He made sure to flirt his eyes at the man, in case Peter's mentioning of clearly being owned should startle the older gentleman.
Peter handed his clothes to the man. “And have dinner sent up, please. As well as a noble's tailor tomorrow morning. We need fresh clothes.”
Neal settled into the warmth, sighing deeply, causing a short coughing fit.
“And a healer, tonight.”
“Yes, masters. Will there be anything else?”
“No, thank you.” Peter gave the man a full solid coin of gold.
As soon as the servant left, Peter sank into the bathtub next to Neal.
“Peter, we're staying in a grand inn, near Kramer's manor, spending coins like sand through the hand. Are you trying to attract the attention of Kramer's spies? Why?”
Peter lathered his sponge with the heavily perfumed soap and attacked the dirt matted in his hair. “I am establishing myself as an arrogant, but fair, Civil Enforcer. A Captain from some small village. A passing fool, showing off to anyone who will lend him an ear.”
Neal merrily rinsed the grime from his face, eager to shave. “And the not so subtle references to all but calling me your rent boy?”
“What? I did nothing of the sort!”
“Tell that to the servants.”
Peter seemed upset at that. “I'm sorry; I meant no offense, Neal. I'm trying to cast myself as your teacher. You, as my too willful subordinate. I'm here to take you to my mentor, Lord Kramer.” Peter rinsed. “Damn. Damn! I can't believe that I...” Peter felt his cheeks redden.
“Don't worry for it, Peter. Now I'm just your too willful, young rent boy that you're sleeping with.”
Peter quieted at that. Deep in his thoughts.
They both settled into their tasks. A table of toiletries had been set between them. Neal carefully shaved, his fingers still slow, but steady. The gloves had brought back life to his dead hands. It frightened him how little he had cared for his hands.
He focused, instead, back to the task of grooming. What he saw in the small mirror shocked him. He felt so heavy, yet was visibly underweight. A terrible ghost trapped in flesh, with no one to haunt. He was so damn alone. His hands began to shake.
“Neal?”
He finished his bath.
They sat in thick robes at the table near the windows, overlooking the darkened farm lands in the distance. Just beneath them, the manorfolks milled about at the tea shoppes and markets, a local minstrel was closing away his guitar for the night.
Peter ate his ham, slathered in honey and butter. It went perfectly with his rich, amber beer.
Neal pushed his food in circles on his plate.
“Neal.” Peter was careful to keep his voice level, without censure. Neal was likely to ignore any reprimand. “You heard the healer, eat. Drink your juice, it's very good.”
A sigh was his only answer. Neal ate a few bites more, then quit the meal. He leaned back in his stuffed chair, cradling his glass. Spinning it, sipping, spinning, a small swallow.
He stared off, into the fire in the corner of the room. It was small, but the walls were thick and the room was quickly warmed. This was a grand inn, indeed.
Night had fallen outside. The bright lamps from the cobbled street below reached into their room, casting strange shapes on the ceiling.
Neal drank the last of the juice, spinning the glass one last time before setting it on the table. He looked, again, at his overstuffed and ripped pack near the door. The servants had dutifully offered to carry their bags, but Neal refused. He clutched at his sad and sorry vengeance, carrying it with him, never letting the burden go.
“Your plan, it will get us into the manor, perhaps into the the manor house itself, but what then? Kramer's Steward will only turn us away. How are we to search the grounds?”
Peter swallowed another glorious bite. “No, you see, I am spending coin I don't have. I'm spending Lord Kramer's coin. As per his return for the hospitality being offered by my wife, he, by right and tradition, must repay in kind, a grateful gesture, I'm sure.
“Kramer is a lord, after all. Staying- guesting no less, at the inner sanctum of the High Priestess.
“His Steward will welcome us with open, yet quietly begrudging, arms.”
Neal chucked. Then yawned. “You are a more devious and cunning Enforcer than any I have ever met, Peter.” He yawned again.
“Go to bed, Neal. I promise, your virtue will remain.”
He had expected the joke to cause at least a smile. He looked instead at the shadowed face of a man lost in someplace horrible. “Neal?”
The man's head snapped to him. Then turned back to his pack. “Neal...”
“I don't have much virtue left, Peter.” He sat, still, lost in his remorse, and yawned again. His eyes began to fall.
His breathing beginning to slow. “Peter... did you? You- you drugged me!”
Peter sipped his beer. “Go to bed, Neal. You'll feel better in the morning.”
Neal glared, hot and hateful.
“The sheets are spelled against nightmares.”
Peter didn't help Neal to his feet. Knowing he would be rejected. The too skinny man straightened his back and slowly walked to the bed, shoulders proud and guarded.
Peter watched him settle beneath the sheets. Neal was asleep within one breath and the next.
Peter turned back to his meal, rich and decadent. Not the meal he wanted. Not the roast he would be delighted to share with his love, in their home.
He wondered what El was eating, what she was doing, how well she cared for herself...