![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
redfirecrackerI couldn't very well leave Lionel out of the story, now could I?
ETA: This actually takes place between Parts II and IV. I think. Well, it's after the bath and before the revelation, anyway.
Lionel, Lord Luthor, swept into the manor house one morning with full pomp and pageantry, as was his wont.
Alexander greeted him personally at the manor gate, called for his chancellor to attend to the details of a large baggage train, and promised to wait upon his father's pleasure in his own rooms.
Lionel kept him waiting long past the noon meal and into the dreary afternoon. The sun was low in the sky before he graced Alexander with his presence, even more richly garbed than before.
Alexander gazed critically at his father's attire and was hard-pressed to hide his smile. "Forsooth, sire, hast thou not yet wearied of sumptuary taxes?"
Lionel arranged himself in the best chair in the room and flicked one wrist in a negligent gesture. His sapphire velvet houppelande was long, befitting his maturity, and boasted the new, dagged sleeves like those worn by the Italian princes.
The firelight caught on elaborate gold embroidery and winked in the jewels that adorned the long fingers and decorated the ceremonial sword hilt. Alexander could hear the light chime of the gold chains that lifted the lengthy, pointed toes of his father's leather slippers.
In contrast, Alexander wore a fitted cotehardie of charcoal wool lined with miniver as a concession to the winter chill of the manor. Warm, fur-lined boots like those worn by the mountain lords in the Florentine court were hidden beneath his robes. A red velvet surcoat embroidered with the Luthor arms was his only sign of luxury.
Lionel's gaze swept across his son's figure and the narrowing of his eyes showed what he thought of Alexander's choice of robe.
"The king could not keep his mistress nor pay for his foreign wars without such taxes," Lionel said calmly, before frowning. "Speak French with me as do folk of the civilized world. Thou will make a poor showing at court without mastery of the gentle tongue."
Alexander could not prevent the flicker of exasperation that crossed his features at the rebuke. Had it not been his inadvertent use of English, it would doubtless have been some equally unimportant offense.
French or English, Lionel would likely be correcting Alexander's grammar by feast-time, as if he were still in skirts.
"Of course, father," he said dutifully, and turned towards a side table. "Wilt thou take wine?"
Lionel nodded his maned head. "It pleases me to see thy efforts at smallholding," he said, with something almost like fondness in his tone. "I may yet see thee lord in my stead."
Alexander kept his back turned and busied himself with the decanter and goblets ready to hand. He could have called a servant for the task, but pouring by his own hand gave him time to school his expression.
"What, sire -- and settle on my brother only the second son's part?" he asked lightly. "I fear he will not take such leavings lightly."
Lionel waved his hand dismissively and accepted the cup. "I will remember thee to him when I see him next at Candlemas."
"That is but a sennight," Alexander said with some surprise. "Did he return from the Holy Land so quickly, then?"
Lionel scowled. "It seems I am cursed with a surfeit of scandalmongers for sons," he said darkly. As if the statement recalled some earlier anger, he set aside his untouched wine and rose from his chair. "I must be for the road before dark."
"But thy horses are scarce rested, sire," Alexander said, barely masking his jubilation at his father's early departure. "Surely thou wilt wait until the morrow. There is snow promised for tonight."
Lionel pinned his eldest bastard son in place with a fierce glare. "Thy wit is misplaced," he warned. "Like to thy station. I am not yet so old that I cannot get another son."
Alexander bent his head in pretended submission. "Of that I am assured," he said, and should have left at that, but temper loosed his tongue as always. "Many ladies once at court have had that assurance also."
Lionel placed one hand on the jeweled dagger thrust through his belt as he crossed the room and stood consideringly before his rebellious son. Alexander knew well the sharpness of that blade, having watched his father use it at board and hunt with equal deftness.
"Must I curb thy tongue in ways more fit to horses?" Lionel asked, the very softness of his voice a greater threat than his words. "Mayhap I have left thee among farmers for too long a time. Thou have become like to a poor dumb beast, and understand only the whip and the blade."
Alexander swallowed dryly, and cursed himself for the loss of control. "I am at thy command, as always, father," he managed, and was proud that neither his voice nor his knees trembled.
Lionel did not release his dagger. "See that thou recalls such timely," he reminded his son. Their eyes met and held for the space of three breaths or more before Alexander deliberately allowed his gaze to drop.
Even with eyes averted, he could see his father's smile of delight at the win. "Continue thy work and keep thyself pure," Lionel instructed, before he turned on his heel and swept out of the room in as grand a fashion as he had arrived, calling for his servants and men-at-arms.
"God speed to thee, father," Alexander said aloud, in case there were listening ears. Then he turned and angrily upended the silver tray on which had sat the decanter and goblets of undrunk wine. "And may the Devil take thee whilst thou moten sleep!"
"Haps haf I comen poorly," issued a voice from the doorway behind him.
Alexander's dagger was in his hand before his mind knew the drawing of it. "Clark," he sighed, gladness warring with frustration in his heart. "Thou might ask to be announced."
Clark shrugged, as he often did, and spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "The manor teems with the procession of thy father," he explained. "Seemed it to me that thou wouldst be better served, did I comen to thee unprepared."
Alexander nodded. "In troth, my heart is gladdened to look upon thee."
Clark blushed. "As is mine, my lord." He smiled slyly, and added, "And as it is to see the back of thy sire's robes."
Alexander chuckled. "No more so than am I," he confessed as he moved to the fireplace and collapsed into one of the heavy chairs. "Sit thee, Clark, and keepen company with me."
Clark pulled a cushioned footstool to the edge of the hearth, then tugged off Alexander's boots by turns and drew his stockinged feet onto his broad thighs. "Forsooth, my liege," he scolded lightly, kneading the knotted muscles of calf and arch, "thou art as a fisherman's net."
Alexander tipped his head back to rest and closed his eyes briefly before opening them to gaze down upon the dark head. "Aye, for so does my father delight in making me so," he admitted. "Venture thee what gift he haf for me this morn."
Clark tipped his head to one side, considering. "Naught less than a basilisk would I expect," he said finally. "Nay -- a dragon moten be best of all."
Alexander barked with delighted laughter. "Aye, but then might I invoke Saint George, and slay me this dragon and thus my father's very manhood."
Clark reddened again in the firelight. "Mayhap the beast might turn on him and so saven all the trouble," he muttered.
Alexander blinked, arrested by the unusual malice in Clark's tone. "Clark?" he asked.
The boy looked away, into the fire, biting his lip.
"Clark?" Alexander asked again, more gently this time. "Aught amiss?"
The dark head shook briefly.
Alexander leaned forward, swinging his feet from Clark's lap and wincing as they met the icy flagstones. "Nay," he said slowly, ignoring his discomfort and gazing at the averted face. "Speak thou to me only of the truth."
Clark worried at his lower lip and Alexander was briefly distracted by the flash of white teeth. He put one hand on Clark's shoulder, and the boy turned his head so that Alexander could look into green eyes fraught with dismay. "'Tis only," he began, but his voice cracked and he drew himself up as if to brace against an onslaught.
Alexander did his best to look encouraging. "There be nothing thou canst say to cause me to drive thee from my side," he said reassuringly. "Come, Clark, tell me this thy fear or tale."
"My lady mother," Clark tried again. "The scandal." He looked up helplessly, dark hair tumbling over his eyes. "Grant merci, my lord -- ne not make me speak aloud her shame."
Alexander sat back in his chair as he entered this new information into the puzzle. "The man Alice Perrers bought to disgrace thy mother?"
Clark nodded miserably, kneeling at the side of his lord's chair. "Thy sire," he said softly. "Full sorry am I, my lord. Wouldst I fain not haf given thee this knowledge."
Alexander nodded as well, left hand finding Clark's hair and stroking gently. "Much is sense, now," he said aloud. "Thy father's loathing is of a reason."
Clark clutched at Alexander's hand with more desperation than was seemly. "Mercy, dread lord, grant merci," he repeated. "Speak thee not of this, I beg of thee!"
"Nay, Clark, nor will I speak, though all the demons of hell be after me," Alexander hastened to reassure him. Such scandals were fairly routine at court, and Clark's mother was a respectable matron now, but any whisper could jeopardize her standing in town.
He wondered what Alice Perrers had promised his father in exchange for his help in banishing a rival.
Clark made a small noise of concern, and Alexander glanced down, squeezing the boy's hand in a heartfelt gesture to soothe.
He decided to muse on court politics later.
So? What do you all think? Is this working?
I haven't decided yet if I'm going to write in the other characters that we know and hate. I mean love. If I do . . . Lana goes to a nunnery at the earliest opportunity!
Opinions?
ETA: This actually takes place between Parts II and IV. I think. Well, it's after the bath and before the revelation, anyway.
Lionel, Lord Luthor, swept into the manor house one morning with full pomp and pageantry, as was his wont.
Alexander greeted him personally at the manor gate, called for his chancellor to attend to the details of a large baggage train, and promised to wait upon his father's pleasure in his own rooms.
Lionel kept him waiting long past the noon meal and into the dreary afternoon. The sun was low in the sky before he graced Alexander with his presence, even more richly garbed than before.
Alexander gazed critically at his father's attire and was hard-pressed to hide his smile. "Forsooth, sire, hast thou not yet wearied of sumptuary taxes?"
Lionel arranged himself in the best chair in the room and flicked one wrist in a negligent gesture. His sapphire velvet houppelande was long, befitting his maturity, and boasted the new, dagged sleeves like those worn by the Italian princes.
The firelight caught on elaborate gold embroidery and winked in the jewels that adorned the long fingers and decorated the ceremonial sword hilt. Alexander could hear the light chime of the gold chains that lifted the lengthy, pointed toes of his father's leather slippers.
In contrast, Alexander wore a fitted cotehardie of charcoal wool lined with miniver as a concession to the winter chill of the manor. Warm, fur-lined boots like those worn by the mountain lords in the Florentine court were hidden beneath his robes. A red velvet surcoat embroidered with the Luthor arms was his only sign of luxury.
Lionel's gaze swept across his son's figure and the narrowing of his eyes showed what he thought of Alexander's choice of robe.
"The king could not keep his mistress nor pay for his foreign wars without such taxes," Lionel said calmly, before frowning. "Speak French with me as do folk of the civilized world. Thou will make a poor showing at court without mastery of the gentle tongue."
Alexander could not prevent the flicker of exasperation that crossed his features at the rebuke. Had it not been his inadvertent use of English, it would doubtless have been some equally unimportant offense.
French or English, Lionel would likely be correcting Alexander's grammar by feast-time, as if he were still in skirts.
"Of course, father," he said dutifully, and turned towards a side table. "Wilt thou take wine?"
Lionel nodded his maned head. "It pleases me to see thy efforts at smallholding," he said, with something almost like fondness in his tone. "I may yet see thee lord in my stead."
Alexander kept his back turned and busied himself with the decanter and goblets ready to hand. He could have called a servant for the task, but pouring by his own hand gave him time to school his expression.
"What, sire -- and settle on my brother only the second son's part?" he asked lightly. "I fear he will not take such leavings lightly."
Lionel waved his hand dismissively and accepted the cup. "I will remember thee to him when I see him next at Candlemas."
"That is but a sennight," Alexander said with some surprise. "Did he return from the Holy Land so quickly, then?"
Lionel scowled. "It seems I am cursed with a surfeit of scandalmongers for sons," he said darkly. As if the statement recalled some earlier anger, he set aside his untouched wine and rose from his chair. "I must be for the road before dark."
"But thy horses are scarce rested, sire," Alexander said, barely masking his jubilation at his father's early departure. "Surely thou wilt wait until the morrow. There is snow promised for tonight."
Lionel pinned his eldest bastard son in place with a fierce glare. "Thy wit is misplaced," he warned. "Like to thy station. I am not yet so old that I cannot get another son."
Alexander bent his head in pretended submission. "Of that I am assured," he said, and should have left at that, but temper loosed his tongue as always. "Many ladies once at court have had that assurance also."
Lionel placed one hand on the jeweled dagger thrust through his belt as he crossed the room and stood consideringly before his rebellious son. Alexander knew well the sharpness of that blade, having watched his father use it at board and hunt with equal deftness.
"Must I curb thy tongue in ways more fit to horses?" Lionel asked, the very softness of his voice a greater threat than his words. "Mayhap I have left thee among farmers for too long a time. Thou have become like to a poor dumb beast, and understand only the whip and the blade."
Alexander swallowed dryly, and cursed himself for the loss of control. "I am at thy command, as always, father," he managed, and was proud that neither his voice nor his knees trembled.
Lionel did not release his dagger. "See that thou recalls such timely," he reminded his son. Their eyes met and held for the space of three breaths or more before Alexander deliberately allowed his gaze to drop.
Even with eyes averted, he could see his father's smile of delight at the win. "Continue thy work and keep thyself pure," Lionel instructed, before he turned on his heel and swept out of the room in as grand a fashion as he had arrived, calling for his servants and men-at-arms.
"God speed to thee, father," Alexander said aloud, in case there were listening ears. Then he turned and angrily upended the silver tray on which had sat the decanter and goblets of undrunk wine. "And may the Devil take thee whilst thou moten sleep!"
"Haps haf I comen poorly," issued a voice from the doorway behind him.
Alexander's dagger was in his hand before his mind knew the drawing of it. "Clark," he sighed, gladness warring with frustration in his heart. "Thou might ask to be announced."
Clark shrugged, as he often did, and spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "The manor teems with the procession of thy father," he explained. "Seemed it to me that thou wouldst be better served, did I comen to thee unprepared."
Alexander nodded. "In troth, my heart is gladdened to look upon thee."
Clark blushed. "As is mine, my lord." He smiled slyly, and added, "And as it is to see the back of thy sire's robes."
Alexander chuckled. "No more so than am I," he confessed as he moved to the fireplace and collapsed into one of the heavy chairs. "Sit thee, Clark, and keepen company with me."
Clark pulled a cushioned footstool to the edge of the hearth, then tugged off Alexander's boots by turns and drew his stockinged feet onto his broad thighs. "Forsooth, my liege," he scolded lightly, kneading the knotted muscles of calf and arch, "thou art as a fisherman's net."
Alexander tipped his head back to rest and closed his eyes briefly before opening them to gaze down upon the dark head. "Aye, for so does my father delight in making me so," he admitted. "Venture thee what gift he haf for me this morn."
Clark tipped his head to one side, considering. "Naught less than a basilisk would I expect," he said finally. "Nay -- a dragon moten be best of all."
Alexander barked with delighted laughter. "Aye, but then might I invoke Saint George, and slay me this dragon and thus my father's very manhood."
Clark reddened again in the firelight. "Mayhap the beast might turn on him and so saven all the trouble," he muttered.
Alexander blinked, arrested by the unusual malice in Clark's tone. "Clark?" he asked.
The boy looked away, into the fire, biting his lip.
"Clark?" Alexander asked again, more gently this time. "Aught amiss?"
The dark head shook briefly.
Alexander leaned forward, swinging his feet from Clark's lap and wincing as they met the icy flagstones. "Nay," he said slowly, ignoring his discomfort and gazing at the averted face. "Speak thou to me only of the truth."
Clark worried at his lower lip and Alexander was briefly distracted by the flash of white teeth. He put one hand on Clark's shoulder, and the boy turned his head so that Alexander could look into green eyes fraught with dismay. "'Tis only," he began, but his voice cracked and he drew himself up as if to brace against an onslaught.
Alexander did his best to look encouraging. "There be nothing thou canst say to cause me to drive thee from my side," he said reassuringly. "Come, Clark, tell me this thy fear or tale."
"My lady mother," Clark tried again. "The scandal." He looked up helplessly, dark hair tumbling over his eyes. "Grant merci, my lord -- ne not make me speak aloud her shame."
Alexander sat back in his chair as he entered this new information into the puzzle. "The man Alice Perrers bought to disgrace thy mother?"
Clark nodded miserably, kneeling at the side of his lord's chair. "Thy sire," he said softly. "Full sorry am I, my lord. Wouldst I fain not haf given thee this knowledge."
Alexander nodded as well, left hand finding Clark's hair and stroking gently. "Much is sense, now," he said aloud. "Thy father's loathing is of a reason."
Clark clutched at Alexander's hand with more desperation than was seemly. "Mercy, dread lord, grant merci," he repeated. "Speak thee not of this, I beg of thee!"
"Nay, Clark, nor will I speak, though all the demons of hell be after me," Alexander hastened to reassure him. Such scandals were fairly routine at court, and Clark's mother was a respectable matron now, but any whisper could jeopardize her standing in town.
He wondered what Alice Perrers had promised his father in exchange for his help in banishing a rival.
Clark made a small noise of concern, and Alexander glanced down, squeezing the boy's hand in a heartfelt gesture to soothe.
He decided to muse on court politics later.
So? What do you all think? Is this working?
I haven't decided yet if I'm going to write in the other characters that we know and hate. I mean love. If I do . . . Lana goes to a nunnery at the earliest opportunity!
Opinions?
