Westmark/Arthurian - "You Got Growin' Up to Do"
Title: You Got Growin' Up to Do
Fandom: Arthurian Legend/Westmark super-crossover
Characters: Flynn (OC), Bedivere, Zara, Florian, Melehan, Melou, Rose (OC), Luneta, Florence, Ellie (OC), references to just about everyone else
Word Count: 2,666 wds.
Rating: PG-13-ish
Author's Notes: Holy crap did this thing get long! Anyhow, I did this meme where your friends give you a pairing and you reply with a profile of their first kid. From this arose Flynn Ddraig ap Bedwyr, the son of Sir Bedivere and Zara from the Westmark Trilogy. And then I decided I should write a Bedi/Zara fic, and was all "hey, I could put a young Flynn in it too!", and the thing just kept growing and eventually became this monstrosity. Special thanks to all the old-school DF And Refried crew, whose characterizations and pairings I borrowed for a lot of this.
Also as an added note: I stole the title of this fic from a Joshua Radin song, because when I was about halfway through I needed something to save the file under. I had almost finished the thing and was looking for a better title when I listened to the lyrics again and realized that this song is, in fact, creepily perfect for all the moments I wrote about Bedi and Zara's relationship, so I left it.
“Hoy there, gwas,!”
The rooster took advantage of the distraction to slip out of Flynn’s grasp and run for the cover of bushes. Flynn sighed and didn’t look up as the rider drew his horse to a stop. “Hullo Da.”
“What’s this English ‘da’ business then? Never mind, I’ll have you rattling like a proper Cymro soon as anybody’s business. Where’s your mother?”
“Out front. Chopping firewood.”
Bedivere dismounted and tossed his son the reigns. “Then I’ll be sure not to startle her, eh?” He laughed and disappeared around the corner of the house toward the sound of Zara’s falling axe. Flynn waited until he heard his mother’s voice laying into his father about how long he’d been away, which at least mean she hadn’t split his head open like a log. He gave a forlorn look in the direction of the escaped rooster, sighed again, and led the horse off to the lean-to stable.
*******
Florian was just rising from his favorite armchair to retreat to bed when he heard a knock on the door. He answered it to find his morose “nephew” standing on the doorstep. The young man’s gawky frame was like his mother’s, thought Florian, though with a bit of his father’s bulk.
“Hullo Uncle Florian,” he said.
“Flynn, come in. Awfully late for you to be out, is everything all right?”
“Da’s home. Back yesterday. Can I stay the night? Or maybe the month?”
Florian couldn’t help but laugh at the desperate sincerity in the young man’s voice. He held the door open. “You’re always welcome, my child.”
Flynn ambled in and flopped down in front of the fireplace. Florian returned to his chair, a smile still pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I thought you and your father got on well enough.”
“We do. And Mum.”
“So why are you here-”
“Bloody saints, have you met them?” Flynn burst out, giving Florian an incredulous look. “It’s like trying to sleep through a barfight, and that’s when they’re…you should hear them when Mum’s angry with him.” He buried his head in his hands. “One of these days they’re going to kill each other and I’m going to have to find how to explain it was because they were-”
“Making love?” suggested Florian.
Flynn groaned. Florian hid his chuckle. “My child, your father and mother have been supposedly trying to kill each other for almost twenty years. I imagine no one will be surprised if they actually manage it. Nevertheless, you are more than welcome to stay here as long as you like while you wait for their…ardor…to die down a bit.”
*******
“How old are you now, gwas? Thirteen?” asked Bedivere over their breakfast pottage.
“Sixteen next midsummer, y’ idiot,” said Zara, smacking his arm with the serving spoon. Flynn stared into his bowl.
“Sixteen? High time I took you to court to make an introduction. Just as a formality, my being a Knight of the Round Table and all, would be only proper to introduce my son to the king. Not like you have to squire yourself; unless you want to of course, because I can ask Kay or Gawain to find someone who’ll-”
“No!” said Flynn, glancing up, and quickly back down into his bowl. “I mean…I’d really rather not. If it’s all right with you.”
“Course it’s all right. Y’ can do whatever y’ like, ent that so?” said Zara, boring a hole in Bedivere with her eyes.
Bedivere nodded vigorously. “Absolutely. Whatever you want to do, gwas. it’s just about the formal introductions and such; I mean, you’ve already met a fair set of the other Knights. We can leave in three days, stay for a fortnight or so, and be back before your mother gets decided to leave me again. What do you say?”
“You keep him there any longer’n a fortnight an’ I’ll come drag y’ both back by y’r grandchildren,” said Zara. Bedivere laughed heartily and pulled her onto his lap, kissing her.
Flynn buried his head in his arms.
*******
“You want to be a what?” asked Luneta.
“A dressmaker,” said Flynn.
Luneta laughed brightly, and somewhere behind him Melehan snorted. Flynn blushed and inwardly cursed that was fair skinned and redheaded like his mother. If he was swarthy like his father his blushes would be easier to hide.
“What’re you all laughing for?” asked Rose. “He can be whatever the hell he wants.”
“Of course he can, because’s he’s bastard, like you,” said Melehan.
“Like your father,” Rose shot back.
Flynn took advantage of the ensuing fight so slip away from the group. The queen had though it would be excellent for all the Children of the Round Table, as they were being called, to have a picnic and get to know each other. She had been so sweet about it that no one could bear to contradict her, even though most of the Children couldn’t stand each other. Lady Laurel had predicted under her breath that at least one fight was bound to break out.
Melou found Flynn a few yards away from the picnic proper, perched on a low hanging tree branch. He carefully clambered up and sat next to him.
“Melehan doesn’t really…” he started, but trailed off.
“Yes he does, but you don’t have to apologize for him,” said Flynn. As an afterthough, “And not that it really matters, but I’m not a bastard. Technically. It’s common law marriage, but still.”
Melou shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me. Rose is one, but she doesn’t care, and nobody’ll even tell who her parents are anyway.”
Rose had dark curly hair and could drink Sir Bors under the table. She looked, and acted, more like Flynn’s father than he did. Bedivere wouldn’t say anything about her, and since she mostly lived at Camelot with Sir Kay anyway, nobody pushed the matter.
The two boys sat in the tree for quite a while before Melou said, “Why do you want to be a dressmaker?” There was no mockery or malice in the question, just pure curiosity. Nevertheless, Flynn found himself blushing again as he answered.
“My Mum was one before I was born, still is. She taught me how to stitch and pattern and fit like all the dressmakers and tailors at court, and probably better too. I just took to it better than swords and horses and all. Besides, Da’s too busy working for the king and getting drunk off his arse to teach me much soldiering anyway.”
“Flynn, Melou, come quick! Rose just ducked Melehan in the lake!” shouted Florence.
Reluctantly, the two slid down from their perch and ran off to fish the scrappers out of the water. Flynn mentally counted the days until he could go home.
*******
Even from the top of the cliff, Flynn could hear the fight going on below. Mostly he hated being stuck in the deep forest of Wales, but there were advantages to having no neighbors for miles…like not having to explain your parents.
“Fine, leave! See if I give a-”
“Oh, get y’r head out of y’r arse. Y’ll be wantin’ for me afore I’m back to Westmark!”
“Cer i grafu.”
“Meet y’ there, cachgi.”
Flynn lay on his stomach and peered down. Zara had her dressmaker’s tools in a sling at her waist and her hair was flying loose. Bedivere was naked. It was their usual fight. They would stand there in front of the house and sling insults in a variety of languages, eventually moving from the general to the painfully specific: Zara’s unrequited love for Uncle Florian, Bedivere’s constant infidelity, Zara’s hidden scars, Bedivere’s dead wife. When they were both hoarse and everything was dark and cold they would either fall into each other and spend the night making up, or else Zara would go stay in Westmark for a few weeks and Bedivere would drink himself into a stupor.
They had moved to the argument about affairs: Zara’s long-standing arrangement with Sir Agravaine and Bedivere’s casual one with Queen Morgause. Flynn could already tell his mother would be leaving at the end of this fight. They’d been arguing like this he whole life; he could always tell the outcome. Briefly he considered going down and interrupting, but then they would only start arguing about him. Besides, Da had been home for nearly six months, besides the brief trip to Camelot. If they waited any longer to fight someone would probably burn the house down.
*******
The rains had finally come, and the roof of the house against the cliff was leaking. Lucan had come down to help his brother mend it, and rather than make his poor nephew help he’d sent Flynn along with Zara to stay at Florian’s until the repairs were done. Zara wanted to put him to work anyway; Bedivere had brought her a whole pile of commissions from Arthur’s court, all of which were wanted for the Christmas and New Year festivities. They would eat with Florian, then he would politely retreat to his room upstairs and let them take over the great room with swaths of fabric and piles of embellishments and threads in every color of the rainbow. Zara would scowl over the detail-work while Flynn calculated all the measurements and cut the piecework. Between the two of them the piles were quickly becoming finished garments.
“Mum?” Flynn ventured one evening.
“Mmm,” was Zara’s indication she was listening.
“How come Da never set me to soldiering or squiring?”
“Y’r terrible with a sword an’ better’n most with a needle. What’s it matter?”
“I know, and I like tailoring and all better…but mostly it doesn’t matter, all of that. I mean, all the other Knights of the Round Table trained their sons to be Knights too, even the ones that weren’t any good for it. And I don’t mind I…I was just curious why Da didn’t.”
Zara bit off the gold thread she was using to embroider and restrung her needle with silver. “His da were some king or chief or sommat. Put y’r da an’ uncle to being warriors. Y’r da was good at it, but y’r uncle weren’t, hated his da for it, an’ when he were y’r age he ran off an’ never spoke to his da again. Y’r da didn’t like that, and he were terrified of anything that he might do to lose y’ forever. He’s done that once, an’ once is enough that anyone should have t’ lose everyone they love.”
Everything in her tone was matter of fact, as though he had asked her what they were having for dinner or what fabrics they needed for a jerkin. Still, Flynn had never heard his mother talk so openly about anything so serious, especially not the past.
“He didn’t want me to hate him?”
“Aye. ‘Sides, I ent letting my son get himself kilt in sommat else’s war what don’t mean anything to him. I had enough of that, an’ I told y’r da so, an’ he said to do what I like with y’ then. Don’t be wrinkling up that silk now, y’ daft lad.”
Flynn quickly released the fist he hadn’t realized he’d been clenching and smoothed the fabric over his lap. “Sorry, Mum.”
She bit off the silver thread, never looking up. “Toss me that scarlet wool.”
*******
Laying on his back in the hayloft of Florian’s barn, Flynn watched the dust dance through the sunbeams. The summer was one of the warmest he could remember, and Westmark always seemed to be warmer than Britannia anyway. When he inhaled deeply, he believed he could actually smell the sunlight.
“Ellie?”
She lifted her head off his stomach, propping herself up on her elbows to face him. “What?”
“Do your parents know about…about us?”
She shook her head, her white-blond curls tickling his bare chest and making him blush down to his waist. “I haven’t told them anyhow. Mama might suspect, but she won’t say anything. Papa…I don’t about Papa.”
“I just don’t want him coming after me with a sabre or musket or something.”
She giggled and put her head back down on his chest, violet eyes twinkling at him. “Oh no, he’s got his hands full with the boys. Besides, your mother would probably eat him alive if he came after you - I she’s about the only person he’d be scared of anymore.”
She reached for his hand and intertwined their fingers. It was really too warm to be curled up with each other like this, thought Flynn, but there was something comforting about the feel of her breath on his skin and the way the lace of her slip scratched against his thigh where their legs pressed together.
“Flynn, tell me the story about the dress you’re going to make?”
“It’s so silly, Ellie. It’s all just make-believe from years ago.”
Her smile lit up her face and she giggled. “I know, but I like to hear you tell it anyway. Please?” He closed his eyes and felt the weight of her against the rise and fall of his breath for a moment before his started.
“One day, I’m going to make the most beautiful gown and the most handsome suit in the world, so beautiful that the sight of them will be almost like witnessing a miracle or receiving a saint’s blessing. Then I’m going to travel the world, and show them everywhere I go, and tell everyone I meet that if I can make these, imagine what I can make for them. I will make clothes for all the kings and emperors in the world, and the common people too: beautiful clothes, but never quite as beautiful as the gown and the suit. But one day in my travels I will meet a maiden, somewhere, and the moment I see her I’ll know that she is the most beautiful woman in the world. And then I’ll open up my trunks and give her the gown and the suit for her to clothe herself and her lover on their wedding day.”
He opened his eyes and glanced down at Ellie. She had closed her eyes too, but whenever she asked him to tell his story he knew it was almost time for them to leave. She stood and pulled her dress back on; Flynn pulled on his tunic and turned to help her with her lacings.
“I don’t think it’s that silly,” she said. “Your beautiful dress. But I wonder, why don’t you make the suit for yourself?”
“Because I’m not in love with the most beautiful woman in the world. I wouldn’t want to be either, and every woman deserves to be with someone she loves.”
Ellie turned and smiled over her shoulder at him. “I’m not in love with you, Flynn. And I know you’re not in love with me. But I do think I’d rather be not be in love with you than with anybody else.”
Flynn colored a little, but gave her a kiss on the cheek. They gathered the last of their things from around the loft and clambered down the ladder. Flynn always walked Ellie home, despite the fact that he was still terrified of what might happen if Justin found out what his daughter was getting up to. As they were walking, hand in hand, Ellie looked up at him with a puzzled expression.
“Do your parents know about us?”
He laughed then, a real pure laugh. Ellie gave him a look as though he was crazy, but he didn’t mind in the least. When he had finally regained his breath and wiped his eyes, he leaned down and gave her another kiss.
“No, no. Da would have thrown me a party and Mum would have thrown me out of the house. Besides, I really think we ought to wait for them to grow up a little before we try explaining not being in love to them.”
Fandom: Arthurian Legend/Westmark super-crossover
Characters: Flynn (OC), Bedivere, Zara, Florian, Melehan, Melou, Rose (OC), Luneta, Florence, Ellie (OC), references to just about everyone else
Word Count: 2,666 wds.
Rating: PG-13-ish
Author's Notes: Holy crap did this thing get long! Anyhow, I did this meme where your friends give you a pairing and you reply with a profile of their first kid. From this arose Flynn Ddraig ap Bedwyr, the son of Sir Bedivere and Zara from the Westmark Trilogy. And then I decided I should write a Bedi/Zara fic, and was all "hey, I could put a young Flynn in it too!", and the thing just kept growing and eventually became this monstrosity. Special thanks to all the old-school DF And Refried crew, whose characterizations and pairings I borrowed for a lot of this.
Also as an added note: I stole the title of this fic from a Joshua Radin song, because when I was about halfway through I needed something to save the file under. I had almost finished the thing and was looking for a better title when I listened to the lyrics again and realized that this song is, in fact, creepily perfect for all the moments I wrote about Bedi and Zara's relationship, so I left it.
“Hoy there, gwas,!”
The rooster took advantage of the distraction to slip out of Flynn’s grasp and run for the cover of bushes. Flynn sighed and didn’t look up as the rider drew his horse to a stop. “Hullo Da.”
“What’s this English ‘da’ business then? Never mind, I’ll have you rattling like a proper Cymro soon as anybody’s business. Where’s your mother?”
“Out front. Chopping firewood.”
Bedivere dismounted and tossed his son the reigns. “Then I’ll be sure not to startle her, eh?” He laughed and disappeared around the corner of the house toward the sound of Zara’s falling axe. Flynn waited until he heard his mother’s voice laying into his father about how long he’d been away, which at least mean she hadn’t split his head open like a log. He gave a forlorn look in the direction of the escaped rooster, sighed again, and led the horse off to the lean-to stable.
*******
Florian was just rising from his favorite armchair to retreat to bed when he heard a knock on the door. He answered it to find his morose “nephew” standing on the doorstep. The young man’s gawky frame was like his mother’s, thought Florian, though with a bit of his father’s bulk.
“Hullo Uncle Florian,” he said.
“Flynn, come in. Awfully late for you to be out, is everything all right?”
“Da’s home. Back yesterday. Can I stay the night? Or maybe the month?”
Florian couldn’t help but laugh at the desperate sincerity in the young man’s voice. He held the door open. “You’re always welcome, my child.”
Flynn ambled in and flopped down in front of the fireplace. Florian returned to his chair, a smile still pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I thought you and your father got on well enough.”
“We do. And Mum.”
“So why are you here-”
“Bloody saints, have you met them?” Flynn burst out, giving Florian an incredulous look. “It’s like trying to sleep through a barfight, and that’s when they’re…you should hear them when Mum’s angry with him.” He buried his head in his hands. “One of these days they’re going to kill each other and I’m going to have to find how to explain it was because they were-”
“Making love?” suggested Florian.
Flynn groaned. Florian hid his chuckle. “My child, your father and mother have been supposedly trying to kill each other for almost twenty years. I imagine no one will be surprised if they actually manage it. Nevertheless, you are more than welcome to stay here as long as you like while you wait for their…ardor…to die down a bit.”
*******
“How old are you now, gwas? Thirteen?” asked Bedivere over their breakfast pottage.
“Sixteen next midsummer, y’ idiot,” said Zara, smacking his arm with the serving spoon. Flynn stared into his bowl.
“Sixteen? High time I took you to court to make an introduction. Just as a formality, my being a Knight of the Round Table and all, would be only proper to introduce my son to the king. Not like you have to squire yourself; unless you want to of course, because I can ask Kay or Gawain to find someone who’ll-”
“No!” said Flynn, glancing up, and quickly back down into his bowl. “I mean…I’d really rather not. If it’s all right with you.”
“Course it’s all right. Y’ can do whatever y’ like, ent that so?” said Zara, boring a hole in Bedivere with her eyes.
Bedivere nodded vigorously. “Absolutely. Whatever you want to do, gwas. it’s just about the formal introductions and such; I mean, you’ve already met a fair set of the other Knights. We can leave in three days, stay for a fortnight or so, and be back before your mother gets decided to leave me again. What do you say?”
“You keep him there any longer’n a fortnight an’ I’ll come drag y’ both back by y’r grandchildren,” said Zara. Bedivere laughed heartily and pulled her onto his lap, kissing her.
Flynn buried his head in his arms.
*******
“You want to be a what?” asked Luneta.
“A dressmaker,” said Flynn.
Luneta laughed brightly, and somewhere behind him Melehan snorted. Flynn blushed and inwardly cursed that was fair skinned and redheaded like his mother. If he was swarthy like his father his blushes would be easier to hide.
“What’re you all laughing for?” asked Rose. “He can be whatever the hell he wants.”
“Of course he can, because’s he’s bastard, like you,” said Melehan.
“Like your father,” Rose shot back.
Flynn took advantage of the ensuing fight so slip away from the group. The queen had though it would be excellent for all the Children of the Round Table, as they were being called, to have a picnic and get to know each other. She had been so sweet about it that no one could bear to contradict her, even though most of the Children couldn’t stand each other. Lady Laurel had predicted under her breath that at least one fight was bound to break out.
Melou found Flynn a few yards away from the picnic proper, perched on a low hanging tree branch. He carefully clambered up and sat next to him.
“Melehan doesn’t really…” he started, but trailed off.
“Yes he does, but you don’t have to apologize for him,” said Flynn. As an afterthough, “And not that it really matters, but I’m not a bastard. Technically. It’s common law marriage, but still.”
Melou shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me. Rose is one, but she doesn’t care, and nobody’ll even tell who her parents are anyway.”
Rose had dark curly hair and could drink Sir Bors under the table. She looked, and acted, more like Flynn’s father than he did. Bedivere wouldn’t say anything about her, and since she mostly lived at Camelot with Sir Kay anyway, nobody pushed the matter.
The two boys sat in the tree for quite a while before Melou said, “Why do you want to be a dressmaker?” There was no mockery or malice in the question, just pure curiosity. Nevertheless, Flynn found himself blushing again as he answered.
“My Mum was one before I was born, still is. She taught me how to stitch and pattern and fit like all the dressmakers and tailors at court, and probably better too. I just took to it better than swords and horses and all. Besides, Da’s too busy working for the king and getting drunk off his arse to teach me much soldiering anyway.”
“Flynn, Melou, come quick! Rose just ducked Melehan in the lake!” shouted Florence.
Reluctantly, the two slid down from their perch and ran off to fish the scrappers out of the water. Flynn mentally counted the days until he could go home.
*******
Even from the top of the cliff, Flynn could hear the fight going on below. Mostly he hated being stuck in the deep forest of Wales, but there were advantages to having no neighbors for miles…like not having to explain your parents.
“Fine, leave! See if I give a-”
“Oh, get y’r head out of y’r arse. Y’ll be wantin’ for me afore I’m back to Westmark!”
“Cer i grafu.”
“Meet y’ there, cachgi.”
Flynn lay on his stomach and peered down. Zara had her dressmaker’s tools in a sling at her waist and her hair was flying loose. Bedivere was naked. It was their usual fight. They would stand there in front of the house and sling insults in a variety of languages, eventually moving from the general to the painfully specific: Zara’s unrequited love for Uncle Florian, Bedivere’s constant infidelity, Zara’s hidden scars, Bedivere’s dead wife. When they were both hoarse and everything was dark and cold they would either fall into each other and spend the night making up, or else Zara would go stay in Westmark for a few weeks and Bedivere would drink himself into a stupor.
They had moved to the argument about affairs: Zara’s long-standing arrangement with Sir Agravaine and Bedivere’s casual one with Queen Morgause. Flynn could already tell his mother would be leaving at the end of this fight. They’d been arguing like this he whole life; he could always tell the outcome. Briefly he considered going down and interrupting, but then they would only start arguing about him. Besides, Da had been home for nearly six months, besides the brief trip to Camelot. If they waited any longer to fight someone would probably burn the house down.
*******
The rains had finally come, and the roof of the house against the cliff was leaking. Lucan had come down to help his brother mend it, and rather than make his poor nephew help he’d sent Flynn along with Zara to stay at Florian’s until the repairs were done. Zara wanted to put him to work anyway; Bedivere had brought her a whole pile of commissions from Arthur’s court, all of which were wanted for the Christmas and New Year festivities. They would eat with Florian, then he would politely retreat to his room upstairs and let them take over the great room with swaths of fabric and piles of embellishments and threads in every color of the rainbow. Zara would scowl over the detail-work while Flynn calculated all the measurements and cut the piecework. Between the two of them the piles were quickly becoming finished garments.
“Mum?” Flynn ventured one evening.
“Mmm,” was Zara’s indication she was listening.
“How come Da never set me to soldiering or squiring?”
“Y’r terrible with a sword an’ better’n most with a needle. What’s it matter?”
“I know, and I like tailoring and all better…but mostly it doesn’t matter, all of that. I mean, all the other Knights of the Round Table trained their sons to be Knights too, even the ones that weren’t any good for it. And I don’t mind I…I was just curious why Da didn’t.”
Zara bit off the gold thread she was using to embroider and restrung her needle with silver. “His da were some king or chief or sommat. Put y’r da an’ uncle to being warriors. Y’r da was good at it, but y’r uncle weren’t, hated his da for it, an’ when he were y’r age he ran off an’ never spoke to his da again. Y’r da didn’t like that, and he were terrified of anything that he might do to lose y’ forever. He’s done that once, an’ once is enough that anyone should have t’ lose everyone they love.”
Everything in her tone was matter of fact, as though he had asked her what they were having for dinner or what fabrics they needed for a jerkin. Still, Flynn had never heard his mother talk so openly about anything so serious, especially not the past.
“He didn’t want me to hate him?”
“Aye. ‘Sides, I ent letting my son get himself kilt in sommat else’s war what don’t mean anything to him. I had enough of that, an’ I told y’r da so, an’ he said to do what I like with y’ then. Don’t be wrinkling up that silk now, y’ daft lad.”
Flynn quickly released the fist he hadn’t realized he’d been clenching and smoothed the fabric over his lap. “Sorry, Mum.”
She bit off the silver thread, never looking up. “Toss me that scarlet wool.”
*******
Laying on his back in the hayloft of Florian’s barn, Flynn watched the dust dance through the sunbeams. The summer was one of the warmest he could remember, and Westmark always seemed to be warmer than Britannia anyway. When he inhaled deeply, he believed he could actually smell the sunlight.
“Ellie?”
She lifted her head off his stomach, propping herself up on her elbows to face him. “What?”
“Do your parents know about…about us?”
She shook her head, her white-blond curls tickling his bare chest and making him blush down to his waist. “I haven’t told them anyhow. Mama might suspect, but she won’t say anything. Papa…I don’t about Papa.”
“I just don’t want him coming after me with a sabre or musket or something.”
She giggled and put her head back down on his chest, violet eyes twinkling at him. “Oh no, he’s got his hands full with the boys. Besides, your mother would probably eat him alive if he came after you - I she’s about the only person he’d be scared of anymore.”
She reached for his hand and intertwined their fingers. It was really too warm to be curled up with each other like this, thought Flynn, but there was something comforting about the feel of her breath on his skin and the way the lace of her slip scratched against his thigh where their legs pressed together.
“Flynn, tell me the story about the dress you’re going to make?”
“It’s so silly, Ellie. It’s all just make-believe from years ago.”
Her smile lit up her face and she giggled. “I know, but I like to hear you tell it anyway. Please?” He closed his eyes and felt the weight of her against the rise and fall of his breath for a moment before his started.
“One day, I’m going to make the most beautiful gown and the most handsome suit in the world, so beautiful that the sight of them will be almost like witnessing a miracle or receiving a saint’s blessing. Then I’m going to travel the world, and show them everywhere I go, and tell everyone I meet that if I can make these, imagine what I can make for them. I will make clothes for all the kings and emperors in the world, and the common people too: beautiful clothes, but never quite as beautiful as the gown and the suit. But one day in my travels I will meet a maiden, somewhere, and the moment I see her I’ll know that she is the most beautiful woman in the world. And then I’ll open up my trunks and give her the gown and the suit for her to clothe herself and her lover on their wedding day.”
He opened his eyes and glanced down at Ellie. She had closed her eyes too, but whenever she asked him to tell his story he knew it was almost time for them to leave. She stood and pulled her dress back on; Flynn pulled on his tunic and turned to help her with her lacings.
“I don’t think it’s that silly,” she said. “Your beautiful dress. But I wonder, why don’t you make the suit for yourself?”
“Because I’m not in love with the most beautiful woman in the world. I wouldn’t want to be either, and every woman deserves to be with someone she loves.”
Ellie turned and smiled over her shoulder at him. “I’m not in love with you, Flynn. And I know you’re not in love with me. But I do think I’d rather be not be in love with you than with anybody else.”
Flynn colored a little, but gave her a kiss on the cheek. They gathered the last of their things from around the loft and clambered down the ladder. Flynn always walked Ellie home, despite the fact that he was still terrified of what might happen if Justin found out what his daughter was getting up to. As they were walking, hand in hand, Ellie looked up at him with a puzzled expression.
“Do your parents know about us?”
He laughed then, a real pure laugh. Ellie gave him a look as though he was crazy, but he didn’t mind in the least. When he had finally regained his breath and wiped his eyes, he leaned down and gave her another kiss.
“No, no. Da would have thrown me a party and Mum would have thrown me out of the house. Besides, I really think we ought to wait for them to grow up a little before we try explaining not being in love to them.”