igrab
in
grabi_hands
Luck and a Day Like Any Other (Blackwood/Coward, PG)
Blackwood/Coward . 1,434 words . written for grim_lupine . PG . It's a very special day . This was done for the fic exchange a month ago, and I completely forgot to post it here after the reveal.
"I want to take you somewhere."
Lord Coward sighed internally; he'd half-known that he was going to be accosted on the way out, it had been happening more and more often lately. He still wasn't sure what Blackwood wanted out of him - certainly nothing one of the other, more capable members of their Order couldn't handle.
And yet, here he was.
"We have a meeting in less than an hour."
"Forget the meeting. It's not important."
Coward pursed his lips. He'd previously detected a note of insubordination in the man's demeanor, but supposed his priviledged status allowed him to get away with quite a lot. Regardless, whether or not Lord Blackwood intended to take his chances with his father's tolerance, Coward was not going to be led astray. "I doubt that," he replied, making the effort to continue along his way.
But Blackwood was a tall, imposing man, and he was quite successfully blocking the way. "This is important. I need you with me. Please."
Unbidden, a flush of color rose in Coward's cheeks. This, too, had been happening with a greater frequency - as Blackwood's tone leaned ever more through the familiar and occasionally lapsing into the affectionate.
It wasn't right.
"I can't," he whispered, but he should have known better - Blackwood simply linked their arms and began steering him in the opposite direction.
"I believe in your ability." He smirked.
It had been a long day of work, and Coward had made it much longer than necessary, always pushing himself too hard. He thrived on it, the small daily struggles, and more than anything he disliked having free time on his hands. That wasn't why he'd joined the Order in the first place - that had been a natural occurence, as he came to realize the truth hidden behind the incredible complexity of life. But it was a welcome distraction, a much-needed focus in his otherwise completely featureless life.
As such, the sun had already cleared behind the horizon, and all that was left were the low shifting blues and purples, lighting up the bellies of the low-hanging clouds. It was beautiful. He was exhausted, and Lord Blackwood was strong and decisive and whatever it was, he'd risked a lot to have Coward with him. And for once, it wasn't about the Order.
Coward didn't know what to do with himself. He'd never been one for social outings. If it didn't pertain to his work or his... other work, then -
He didn't notice, wrapped in his own thoughts, but the crowds had been steadily dissipating, and they were alone now, standing at a pair of rusty iron gates to an old cemetary, slowly being reclaimed by weeds and wildflowers. Coward stopped moving, his breath short, and didn't even notice when Lord Blackwood untangled their arms and set about unlocking the gates with a set of keys. He stared at the graves, cracked and worn and leaning towards each other, like they were whispering about these strange men, come to disturb their sleep.
For all that the place looked abandoned, the lock gave easily, and the gates swung open without a sound. Coward saw traces of oil on both, and realized that Blackwood must come here often - often enough to keep the gates functioning, anyway, and more importantly, this wasn't just a graveyard chosen at random. He would honestly not have been surprised if it were.
The path - now that he was inside, he could tell that it existed - was also well-traveled, but narrow, and in a mirror of what must have been countless times, Lord Blackwood walked on ahead with a single-minded determination. Coward wondered if he even saw what was around him, if he even knew that the graveyard was falling apart at the seams. He wondered if he remembered that he wasn't alone.
He knew when they'd arrived at their destination.
The gravestone had been cleaned recently, and someone had made an effort to keep weeds from covering it, but nothing could make the crudely-carved letters any less worn away. Coward leaned closer, trying to read it, and a small sideways smile from his companion let him know that he hadn't forgotten about him.
"Arietta Blackwood," the man said helpfully, in his deep orator's voice.
Coward felt his own throat lock up, in something between fear and remorse. Fear, because he knew the stories as well as anyone else in the Order; remorse, because perhaps he would have liked meeting the woman who'd contributed half of what Lord Blackwood was. "Your mother."
He nodded. He crouched down in front of the low grave, so he could look at it head-on. "Today is the anniversary of her death."
Coward swallowed. "....But that means..."
The silence stretched on, until Blackwood raised an eyebrow. "Means what?" He knew what. He dared him to say it, and Coward was not one to back down on a dare.
"...It's your birthday."
Blackwood's eyes darkened, and the fear he felt gave a sudden shiver. "Right now, the Order is assembled to perform their rites; no mention will be made of the events that happened so many years ago. It isn't - " he stopped himself, his mouth twisted in a frown of frustration, and Coward had a sudden ache to smooth it out. " - I don't want their recognition, their fear, their pity. It isn't about me." He turned back to Arietta's gravestone, and, as if Coward had indeed wished it, the grave expression slowly softened, until it was something almost unbearably sweet.
"You wish they'd mourn her."
He nodded, and after a moment, began to speak again. "People say that I killed her. That death follows me wherever I go."
Coward had to admit that this was true. They did say these things. He himself had never spoken such rumors and empty myths, for that very reason - he loved facts, and numbers, and truths. Debating whether or not Henry Blackwood was cursed was a waste of time. "I never believed it."
"Did you not? I don't doubt it." The smile now was twisted, difficult, but the amusement and sincerity were clear. "You don't spare thought on what-ifs."
Coward knelt down next to him, now, so he didn't feel like he was looking down at him from such a great distance. Blackwood's smile twitched.
"The one death I would have liked to have prevented was hers."
The quiet deepened into a silence, as the temperature dropped quickly now that the sun had gone. Coward reached out and put an arm around his companion - more because he felt he should, or as a buffer against the wind - but to his surprise, Blackwood turned into it, drew him in close.
"My mother was a visionary," he whispered, for Coward's ears only. "She looked at this world and saw in her mind's eye a better one, a world of power and freedom and glory."
"Your mother sounds wonderful," Coward murmured, but his throat was dry and he shivered, though not from the cold.
"I invented her," came the dry response, soulful and a little surprised, as if he couldn't quite believe he was admitting all of this. "I imagine her saying, 'Henry, the world is yours. You deserve it. You deserve to be happy'."
"And?" They were not more than an inch apart now, arms sliding and catching around each other, sheltered and protected in the long grass. "Are you happy?"
"She tells me, 'Take what you want'."
"And what is it that you want?"
"I told her," and that was when a black-gloved hand rose, stroked a thumb over Coward's cheekbone, down the length of his jaw. "'I'll ask him today, mother. Wish me luck'."
He said 'Yes', which was obvious, and probably barely even heard in the quick breath before their lips met. He said it stronger without words, with his hands, with his tongue, and later with his eyes, as they stared at each other across the hall in the Temple and completely ignored what was going on around them. Coward understood, now. He understood why Blackwood wouldn't leave him alone and he understood why he couldn't say no to him.
And he could almost hear, in his imagination, the voice of a woman who he wished he could have met.
Good luck, Henry.
"I want to take you somewhere."
Lord Coward sighed internally; he'd half-known that he was going to be accosted on the way out, it had been happening more and more often lately. He still wasn't sure what Blackwood wanted out of him - certainly nothing one of the other, more capable members of their Order couldn't handle.
And yet, here he was.
"We have a meeting in less than an hour."
"Forget the meeting. It's not important."
Coward pursed his lips. He'd previously detected a note of insubordination in the man's demeanor, but supposed his priviledged status allowed him to get away with quite a lot. Regardless, whether or not Lord Blackwood intended to take his chances with his father's tolerance, Coward was not going to be led astray. "I doubt that," he replied, making the effort to continue along his way.
But Blackwood was a tall, imposing man, and he was quite successfully blocking the way. "This is important. I need you with me. Please."
Unbidden, a flush of color rose in Coward's cheeks. This, too, had been happening with a greater frequency - as Blackwood's tone leaned ever more through the familiar and occasionally lapsing into the affectionate.
It wasn't right.
"I can't," he whispered, but he should have known better - Blackwood simply linked their arms and began steering him in the opposite direction.
"I believe in your ability." He smirked.
It had been a long day of work, and Coward had made it much longer than necessary, always pushing himself too hard. He thrived on it, the small daily struggles, and more than anything he disliked having free time on his hands. That wasn't why he'd joined the Order in the first place - that had been a natural occurence, as he came to realize the truth hidden behind the incredible complexity of life. But it was a welcome distraction, a much-needed focus in his otherwise completely featureless life.
As such, the sun had already cleared behind the horizon, and all that was left were the low shifting blues and purples, lighting up the bellies of the low-hanging clouds. It was beautiful. He was exhausted, and Lord Blackwood was strong and decisive and whatever it was, he'd risked a lot to have Coward with him. And for once, it wasn't about the Order.
Coward didn't know what to do with himself. He'd never been one for social outings. If it didn't pertain to his work or his... other work, then -
He didn't notice, wrapped in his own thoughts, but the crowds had been steadily dissipating, and they were alone now, standing at a pair of rusty iron gates to an old cemetary, slowly being reclaimed by weeds and wildflowers. Coward stopped moving, his breath short, and didn't even notice when Lord Blackwood untangled their arms and set about unlocking the gates with a set of keys. He stared at the graves, cracked and worn and leaning towards each other, like they were whispering about these strange men, come to disturb their sleep.
For all that the place looked abandoned, the lock gave easily, and the gates swung open without a sound. Coward saw traces of oil on both, and realized that Blackwood must come here often - often enough to keep the gates functioning, anyway, and more importantly, this wasn't just a graveyard chosen at random. He would honestly not have been surprised if it were.
The path - now that he was inside, he could tell that it existed - was also well-traveled, but narrow, and in a mirror of what must have been countless times, Lord Blackwood walked on ahead with a single-minded determination. Coward wondered if he even saw what was around him, if he even knew that the graveyard was falling apart at the seams. He wondered if he remembered that he wasn't alone.
He knew when they'd arrived at their destination.
The gravestone had been cleaned recently, and someone had made an effort to keep weeds from covering it, but nothing could make the crudely-carved letters any less worn away. Coward leaned closer, trying to read it, and a small sideways smile from his companion let him know that he hadn't forgotten about him.
"Arietta Blackwood," the man said helpfully, in his deep orator's voice.
Coward felt his own throat lock up, in something between fear and remorse. Fear, because he knew the stories as well as anyone else in the Order; remorse, because perhaps he would have liked meeting the woman who'd contributed half of what Lord Blackwood was. "Your mother."
He nodded. He crouched down in front of the low grave, so he could look at it head-on. "Today is the anniversary of her death."
Coward swallowed. "....But that means..."
The silence stretched on, until Blackwood raised an eyebrow. "Means what?" He knew what. He dared him to say it, and Coward was not one to back down on a dare.
"...It's your birthday."
Blackwood's eyes darkened, and the fear he felt gave a sudden shiver. "Right now, the Order is assembled to perform their rites; no mention will be made of the events that happened so many years ago. It isn't - " he stopped himself, his mouth twisted in a frown of frustration, and Coward had a sudden ache to smooth it out. " - I don't want their recognition, their fear, their pity. It isn't about me." He turned back to Arietta's gravestone, and, as if Coward had indeed wished it, the grave expression slowly softened, until it was something almost unbearably sweet.
"You wish they'd mourn her."
He nodded, and after a moment, began to speak again. "People say that I killed her. That death follows me wherever I go."
Coward had to admit that this was true. They did say these things. He himself had never spoken such rumors and empty myths, for that very reason - he loved facts, and numbers, and truths. Debating whether or not Henry Blackwood was cursed was a waste of time. "I never believed it."
"Did you not? I don't doubt it." The smile now was twisted, difficult, but the amusement and sincerity were clear. "You don't spare thought on what-ifs."
Coward knelt down next to him, now, so he didn't feel like he was looking down at him from such a great distance. Blackwood's smile twitched.
"The one death I would have liked to have prevented was hers."
The quiet deepened into a silence, as the temperature dropped quickly now that the sun had gone. Coward reached out and put an arm around his companion - more because he felt he should, or as a buffer against the wind - but to his surprise, Blackwood turned into it, drew him in close.
"My mother was a visionary," he whispered, for Coward's ears only. "She looked at this world and saw in her mind's eye a better one, a world of power and freedom and glory."
"Your mother sounds wonderful," Coward murmured, but his throat was dry and he shivered, though not from the cold.
"I invented her," came the dry response, soulful and a little surprised, as if he couldn't quite believe he was admitting all of this. "I imagine her saying, 'Henry, the world is yours. You deserve it. You deserve to be happy'."
"And?" They were not more than an inch apart now, arms sliding and catching around each other, sheltered and protected in the long grass. "Are you happy?"
"She tells me, 'Take what you want'."
"And what is it that you want?"
"I told her," and that was when a black-gloved hand rose, stroked a thumb over Coward's cheekbone, down the length of his jaw. "'I'll ask him today, mother. Wish me luck'."
He said 'Yes', which was obvious, and probably barely even heard in the quick breath before their lips met. He said it stronger without words, with his hands, with his tongue, and later with his eyes, as they stared at each other across the hall in the Temple and completely ignored what was going on around them. Coward understood, now. He understood why Blackwood wouldn't leave him alone and he understood why he couldn't say no to him.
And he could almost hear, in his imagination, the voice of a woman who he wished he could have met.
Good luck, Henry.