Velvet Petals, Piercing Thorns - Chapter Three, Part Two
Title: Velvet Petals, Piercing Thorns - Chapter Three (Prologue+3/?)
Media: Fic
Author: a_glass_parade with reader beta duties provided by mothergoddamn, bless her pretty face.
Rating: Rated R - yes, you heard me, we're at R now.
Pairing: Klaine endgame, bumps along the way.
Genre: Romance, AU, Historical Fiction
Warnings:: This is essentially a romance novel set in a violent time. There will be, throughout the story, sexual liaisons between men, murder, torture, and thoughts and words that we would these days consider to be terribly politically incorrect.
Spoilers: While events and references from both seasons of Glee may be adapted and worked into the story occasionally, it's otherwise fully AU.
Word Count: Story: 17,300+ This Chapter: 6400+ Two parts because LJ says I got wordy.
Summary: England, 1484: The forces of Lancaster see Edward Blaine Anderson, Viscount Dalton, as key to their plans to retake and hold the throne of England. The House of York has come to the same conclusion and they want to stop that from happening. Their secret weapon will be Kurt Hummel, stableman's son and reluctant spy.
Additional Notes: It is the evening of Lady Amelia Freville's birthday ball, and Blaine has a lot on his mind.
Chapter Three, Part Two
“Blaine?”
Amelia's sweet, anxious voice cut through the fog of his memories. He came back to the present, meeting her worried blue eyes with a smile. “Hello, pretty. I'm sorry I was wit-wandering.”
She blushed lightly, the pink of her cheeks going even rosier with the compliment. “That's all right. I'm used to it by now.” Reaching down, she curled her fingers with his, pressing their arms together briefly and smiling before pulling away. “Did I tell you? I received your present. Thank you, I'm so pleased to have my own copy of our music.”
A smile went across Blaine's face. “Excellent. That's wonderful, I'm glad you like it. Not that you need it, I know,” he teased. “You've memorized every song in there.”
When she shook her head with laughter, Amelia's curls bounced and glimmered in the lamplight. “Not quite all. Besides, it's quite a lovely book. The illuminations are breathtaking. I would adore it for those alone, the music is an added enticement.”
“I'm glad you like it.” Blaine smiled and lifted their entwined hands so that he could press a kiss to the back of hers. “Have you enjoyed the dancing thus far this evening?”
“As ever.” She blinked entreatingly at him, and he knew what she would ask next. “Won't you join me for the volta, though, Blaine? You've been standing aside all night and not dancing with anyone. That's not right and you know it.”
“Ah, come now, Amelia, do I have to dance at every ball?” He was teasing again, of course. Blaine loved to dance. He just preferred to dance with Amelia, and she'd been busy taking turns around the dance floor with various potential suitors. This was the first moment that they'd been able to speak since he arrived with Alice, who was just now across the room batting away Lord Crawford's wandering hand. Blaine grinned and winked at his aunt, who rolled her expressive eyes back at him.
Amelia was tugging at his arm. “No one dances it as well as you do, and I wouldn't trust anyone else to not take liberties. Nor would Papa.” She glanced over at her father, who was smiling and raising his cup of ale in their direction. “He knows you think of me only respectfully.”
“I do, at that, and you're the best dancer here.” He relented, as she knew he would. “Of course I'll spin you around the room a time or two, 'Melia.” Blaine's smile was fond, and he wished fleetingly that he did love this lovely, bright star of a girl the way she deserved to be loved. He knew that no one else could love her properly, no one else would see her as anything but a nobleman's daughter with a good inheritance and a powerful father. They wouldn't care that she liked to read literature, an unusual trait in a girl of their time. Nor might they care that she spoke beautiful French or that she sang like an angel.
Blaine did not love Amelia the 'proper' way, but he did love her in his way and he did worry about her. He simply could not subject her to a sham marriage, not even if it was to protect the both of them from the cruelty of the world outside. It would only wound her grievously in the end, and he would not be the one to put that knife to his dearest friend's heart.
The musicians struck up a stately tune then, causing Amelia to squeal and clasp him by the wrist. “Come, Blaine! It's time!” She pulled him onto the floor, where a space instantly cleared for the young couple. It was widely regarded as a treat to watch the two of them dance.
The volta was a dance that managed to be exuberant, intimate, rushed and slow at the same time. With smiles on their faces, Blaine and Amelia paced each other on opposite sides of a wide circle, spiraling inward until their hands met. With a quick squeeze of his pretty friend's hand, Blaine twirled her and then brought his hands to her waist, lifting her into the air as he turned, bringing her slowly down to the floor so that they could begin the process again.
It was a dance that often caused whispers of scandal, but everyone in the room had known the two young dancers since they were small children, knew that Blaine was a chivalrous man with a wide streak of loyalty and protectiveness towards Amelia Freville. Even if a malicious word crossed anyone's mind, no one would dare whisper it aloud. Not with Alice Beaufort there, not at all within Lord Crawford's hearing.
They made a pretty picture, though, Blaine in his black and gold, Amelia in a deep red gown that made her fair skin glow. For the first time, people began to eye them speculatively and wonder if a marriage wasn't imminent. Amelia was nineteen now, after all, and Blaine was twenty. Were they not both more than of age? Did they not make an attractive couple? Had they not essentially been together for all of their lives anyway?
Blaine and Amelia were too busy enjoying the dancing to hear the buzz of curiosity that was suddenly swarming the room, but Alice wasn't, and she bit her lip in worry.
Soon enough the dance was over, and the pair moved off of the dance floor to listen to the provincial vocalist that Lord Crawford kept on staff to give his daughters singing lessons. “How are your lessons with Master Schuester going, Amelia?” Blaine asked, keeping hold of the girl's hand as they enjoyed the dulcet tones of the music teacher. He did not miss the sad downturn of her lips before she replied.
“They are not,” she replied, eyes slightly watery. “Master Schuester has declared his intention to return to the Low Countries. This is his last performance for us. Lessons have been over for a sennight.”
“Oh, Amelia.” Blaine angled his head in commiseration. “I'm so sorry. I know you liked to learn from him.”
She nodded, her lower lip pushed out in a delicate pout. “Papa is already looking for a new teacher, but none shall be so pleasing to look upon as Master William. I am distraught.”
This made Blaine roll his eyes playfully. “I can see that.” They laughed together, her musical giggles striking another blow at his regretful heart. Oh, 'Melia. He couldn't stand it any more, had to get out of the room and talk to her. Amelia was both the one person who stood to gain the most if they were to marry and the one who wanted it even less than he did. She would understand his frustration over the events of the day.
“Come.” He pulled at her hand, steering her towards the entryway. “Let us go walk.”
She pulled back, exaggerating her pout. “No, Blaine, I want to - ”
“Please, Amelia.” He switched to French, making her eyes grow wide. They only spoke French when they wanted to communicate with relative privacy - no one else around them spoke as well as they did. “Come, walk with me.”
Amelia glanced around the room briefly before nodding. “All right. For you I give up my last chance to hear my true love sing.”
“You wound me, Amelia. I thought that I was your true love.” Blaine smiled at her, ignoring the ache in his heart as they slipped from the room, making their way through the hallways of Crawford Keep to the door that led to the garden maze.
“You are my true friend, Blaine.” Her sweet smile tugged at his heartstrings. “You will ever be my first kiss and my loyal friend.”
“A greater reward no man can ask.” Blaine pushed the door open and escorted Amelia out into the rose scented night air. “I do love your gardens in the moonlight.”
“Papa has excellent gardeners,” Amelia agreed. “I expect they create with the express purpose of the garden looking lovely in the sunlight or moonlight.” She reached back to catch at his hand. “Now. Tell me what is wrong.”
He squirmed and looked away. “Who is to say that anything is wrong?”
“I'm not stupid, Blaine.” Her tone was lightly scolding, telling him that she would brook no protest. “We are not walking in the garden, conversing in French, for our health. And you've been distracted all evening. Something has upset you.”
For all that Alice frequently accused Amelia of being the daffiest of Lord Crawford's batty daughters, Blaine knew full well the girl was no such thing. He gave in, knowing it was easier to capitulate than to subject himself to Amelia's increasingly pointed questioning. “Aunt Alice and Thad were talking about us marrying again.”
She raised her head in a slow nod of understanding. “I see.”
“Amelia...” He drew her close, tucking her hand under his arm as they paced along the pebbled paths. “You do know that I love you dearly, don't you?”
“Of course I do.” The words were laced with sweet agreement, her smile full of sunlight and affection. Amelia was sure of many things, but none more than this. It was a fact like needing air to breathe or eating food to live.
Blaine struggled to speak. “I wish I could love you more. Properly.”
“Oh, Blaine.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “You love me enough. I thought we were past this.” Her free hand wandered out and carefully snapped a red rose from one of the bushes they passed, lifting the bloom to her nose and inhaling delicately. “And you know I do not wish to marry you either.”
“No one else seems to care to understand that,” he muttered. “Silence for years and then today - !”
“They mean well.”
“I know. For both of us. It's only frustrating. It feels like I'm somehow hurting you with my refusal, even though I know I'm not. And I don't like to hurt you, 'Melia.” He would take a knifewound for her, this girl who was like his sister. If he could find a way to protect and care for her without marrying her, he would do it.
She shook her head, a stubborn expression on her face. “I have told you so many times, Blaine. You do not hurt me.” Lifting the rose, she brought it up for him to smell. “Things are how they are. It is not your fault that you wish to lie with men - ”
Swiftly, Blaine clapped a gentle hand over her mouth. “Shh! Amelia, by God, for all that is holy, do not say such things aloud.” Looking around in a panic, he relaxed only slightly when he saw that the nearest people were quite a distance away, certainly out of earshot. “We know why I cannot marry you, there is no need to speak where anyone could hear.”
She pulled his hand away and scoffed lightly. “We are alone, speaking in French, Blaine. There is no one to care.”
They did not know it, but there was indeed someone to care, a nameless, shadowed figure who was pacing them on the other side of the rosebush wall, where Blaine had not thought to look. The head of the listener came up in interest at Amelia's slip, wondering if it was enough to take back to his master.
French was only a good language for private conversation if one could be certain that other French speakers were not nearby listening. Blaine and Amelia were the best speakers of the language at their respective homes - but most people of the King's court spoke it, something neither young person knew, as they'd never been presented there. Knowing from reports that Blaine and Amelia frequently spoke the language to each other, Jesse St. James had been sure to send a spy who spoke it as well, just in case.
Their blanket of privacy was suddenly stripped away from them, and they did not know it.
“Still, Amelia, you are one who impressed upon me how dangerous my...proclivities...could be. And now with the information that David has given me, it is ever more important that I am careful, apparently.” Blaine's voice was bitter and angry. Amelia tucked the rose behind her ear and squeezed his arm with sympathetic affection.
“All right. I apologize.” She gently steered him to a stone bench at the edge of the path, pushing him down and gathering her skirts close so that she could take a seat next to him and lean her head back on his shoulder. “As long as you know that you do not hurt me, that I do love you dearly in return, and that I wish you wouldn't torment yourself over this. I know that you've thought about it before today as well.”
Blaine sighed. “Amelia, you are entirely too perceptive for my own good.”
She slapped at his knee. “I regret nothing.” They laughed together again, releasing light music into the night air before lapsing into silence. For several moments they sat companionably, until Amelia lifted her head from his shoulder as she remembered something. “What information?”
He glanced down at her, confused. “What?”
“You said David gave you information. What information?”
“Oh. That.” Blaine shook his head, curls tumbling down over his furrowed eyebrows. “He thinks war is to come. And that somehow I shall play an important part.” He pressed back a frisson of fear at the thought. “If that is true, I must be so careful. I don't want to lead, but I will be forced to - and no one will listen to me if they know about...that.”
Understanding dawned in her wide blue eyes, quickly replaced with distress. “Blaine. Not war, surely.”
He could have kicked himself for letting that out without thinking. Amelia adored her Papa and knew that if war came, he too would be in the thick of things. “I'm so sorry, 'Melia. I didn't mean to let that out like that.” Pulling her into an embrace, Blaine felt that she was wooden with fear. Worried, he ran his hands up and down her arms to try and make her relax. “I'm sorry. Please don't let me ruin your birthday. I'm a cad and a fool, Amelia. You can't listen to me.”
“But why, Blaine? Why must it come?” She wouldn't let it go, grabbing at his hands like a lifeline. “Are things not good as they are?”
“Those wiser than I seem to think not.” Blaine replied slowly, confronting the reality of his thoughts as he had a fortnight ago alone in his chambers. “And though it is taking me some time, I think am coming to agree with them.”
Tears were rolling down Amelia's cheeks now. “And why? Why must you be involved? Papa I understand, but do you have to, truly?”
Untangling his hands from hers, he lifted them to cup her face and wipe her tears away with his thumbs. “Oh, 'Melia. I think that I must. I am a Beaufort. I think there must be no way I cannot be involved. For honor, for family, for what is right for England. Shh, shh, please, please don't cry.”
As Amelia tried to quiet her weeping, the clandestine listener slipped away into the night, silent as a prowling cat. He had heard enough. Time to return to his master with all that he knew. He would be well rewarded for his evening's work.
Behind him, in the garden, Blaine offered as much comfort as he could to his dear friend, untainted for now by the knowledge that his life was suddenly teetering on the precipice of fate, perilously close to being dashed on the rocks of misfortune.
Chapter Four
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This is a fairly reasonable representation of the Volta - It's from the BBC production of "The Virgin Queen." Imagine it a bit less clearly intimate and romantic, then imagine it danced by Darren Criss and Amanda Seyfried (my mind's eye has persisted in seeing her as Amelia) in period garb.