Disclaimer: The characters in this story were created solely by Sherwood Smith. This is pure FanFic.
As Vidanric slowly twirled the silver candleholder in thoughtful manner at his usual desk, there was an opening of the tapestry of his room. Savona walked in with deliberate steps and so interrupted his cousin's deep thought.
"For the tenth time I have caught you playing with that. I am supposing the reason is something nondescript?"
Vidanric opened his mouth to answer, but careful not to fall into his cousin's trap, he replied, "Oh, it's nothing, just…" at this Savona raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Well, just thinking how lucky my parents were to have such a nice wedding gift," he finished lamely.
Savona managed to stifle an uproar but instead gave out a small but obvious enough chuckle. "And thinking about when you can have your very own too, I suppose?" He leant in closer on his cousin. "Don't try to hide anything from me, dear smitten-boy. I've known you too long, and too deeply." At this he gave a smug look and cracked one of those smiles which made all the ladies swoon. "My, what an incident," clearly referring to the time where Meliara had flung the very same candleholder across in an attempt to strike Vidanric and knock him down.
Vidanric sighed, not for the first time that day. He looked into his cousin's face. "You're right, Russav, you know me well. Perhaps too well."
"Still thinking about your little Countess, aren't you? Well, if you miss her so much, go see her then!" He further encouraged this with a brotherly prod.
Just then, Branaric entered, without notice, as usual, but it was his careless style that made him unique, especially in the dreary court.
"It delights me to find you here, Lord Vidanric, Marquis of Shevraeth," he imitated with a near-perfect courtier's drawl, giving an elaborate bow. "Duke of Savona," he acknowledged. He was greeted back courteously by the latter.
Vidanric lightened up slightly, glad to see that his training of this once-court-ignorant Count had really pulled through. He decided to gesture back as respectfully. "And I you, Lord Branaric, Count of Tlanth." The two friends smiled at each other, Branaric happy to have learnt some proper courtier manners too.
"My purpose of coming here, oh esteemed Marquis, is to tell you that I have been instructed by the Princess of Rensalaeus to bring you to a land not-so-far-away, in order for you to get away from all this hustle."
"And where might that be?" Vidanric could not make a guess, but his heart skipped a beat when Branaric proudly proclaimed, "My castle."
After Branaric had finally persuaded the persistent Vidanric who was bent on finishing some work, he left the room, probably to pursue other matters (such as his very own impending wedding).
The moment Branaric had stepped out of the room, Savona burst out into a fit, unable to contain his mirth for much longer. With a partially irritated look on his face, Vidanric looked up from his daze and glared into his cousin's eyes.
"Ha, ha! You should have seen your face, oh, smitten-boy. Your eyes shone like the stars at just the very mention of her place, oh if only she could see this," he said, half-laughing, such that even Vidanric had a slight bit of trouble making out his words. Savona was clearly enjoying himself at the expense of Vidanric, who knew exactly what was going on through his cousin's mind, but was determined not to express it.
"May I ask, cousin, what the very funny matter is?" he asked in a reposed manner, trying to act as nonchalant as possible.
"Oh, come on, smitten-boy, just admit it. You're in l-l-love!" Savona responded chiming, singing the last word with an increasing tone.
Vidanric continued to pretend to ignore his cousin, who had adopted the name 'smitten-boy' for him ever since he had come back from his defeat of Galdran. Savona gave him another pat, possibly feeling half-sorry for him, yet at the same time still not being able to stop feeling a sense of amusement. For once, his artful cousin, though not as glib as himself, but still suave enough, was at a loss for words. Or perhaps too deep in thought about a certain something, or someone…
But the heady Marquis got out of his ephemeral reverie quickly and dismissed his cousin by giving a stiff yawn and muttering something about being tired after a hard day's work (even though all he did the whole morning was practically stare at the candleholder) and something about needing to rest.
The Duke left him to his causes, still silently chuckling to himself as he left the room with the same deliberate step he had used when he had entered.