Darkness, shadows fading slowly a taking the form of blurry objects; morning had arrived once again. Letting out a low grown he extended a hand, groping around in the half light, squinting through semi closed lids as he fumbled for one of the luxurious down filled pillows. Finally, his search was rewarded as he felt his hand grace the smooth edges and he pulled it roughly over his face, blocking out the few rays of sunlight which were beginning to slink through the open windows and dance merrily on his contoured features.
"Good morning" drifted the lilted, Irish tones.
He must be dreaming, who would be in his room this early? Why was he hearing the voice of his servant in his dream? This was beyond a bit strange and he closed his eyes tighter, wrinkling his nose in an attempt to fall back into blissful, uninterrupted slumber.
"Not one for rising, are ya' sir?" that same voice, 'get out of my brain' he thought with an agitation that was rising to anger.
'I'm just trying to sleep, let me sleep' he thought desperately, slipping into a bizarre argument with his own brain, of which he appeared to be losing. But the voice persisted and eventually, with a laborious sigh that tore at his throat, he opened a bleary pair of eyes and allowed them to grow accustomed to the light which was now streaming into the large room, throwing long shadows up the wall as it began its slow arc through the sky.
"There you are, sleepy head. Thought you weren't goin' t'get up now didn't I?"
"Rory?"
"Who else?"
"What are you doing in here, I was asleep..."
"'was' being the important word there, as in, past tense. Now, you're friend is due to arrive later today and you are due to take you're due at the stable yard to get your horse and set off to meet him in, ooh...all of about an hour?"
"an hour? Rory, why didn't you wake me sooner?" he retorted, sharpening up as he snapped his eyes wide and glared at his footman.
"I tried, sir"
"oh, it's irrelevant now. I need to get dressed!"
"That would be a good start, sir" he replied with a coy smile. The light tones and seeming banter seemed out of place for the footman and heir of the estate but clearly it was being considered acceptable, or perhaps not as he received the sharp end of a very frosty reply.
"Just leave, I'll dress myself. Surely there's some other duty you can be performing, I don't know...I have to get to the stable yard though" with that, he threw back the muffling down filled duvet and swung his legs over the side, allowing his bare feet to brush lightly over the plush rug that covered the cold, oak floor. He didn't look up again, or say anything else and neither did his servant. In fact, only the dull 'clunk' of the door latch closing gave light to his departure following the mysterious silence of his steps.
Pulling on his clothes roughly he lumbered around the room, crashing chaotically in his still half sleep. With a final blundering tug he pulled on his boots, lacing them up tightly and scrutinizing his reflection briefly in the elegant mirror, straightening his shirt collar and forcefully smoothing his wayward hair, still rumpled from a night time of rolling around in fitful slumber. With one final glance back he ripped the heavy door open with ease, heaving it shut behind him with a loud crash that ricocheted off of the cold stone walls of the long corridor, echoing from the high ceilings. Footsteps seemed to resound as he shuffled hastily, jogging slightly as he pondered how much time had elapsed since Rory's ill-timed awakening. Managing to dodge past any human company managed to save him a few minutes and within a short time he found himself pushing his way through the wide doors and feeling the sunlight bathe his skin and illuminate his clothing. Breaking into a jog he bustled along the shingled drive way, feeling the small stones crunch beneath his hard soles. Passing by the neatly manicured hedges and precisely sewn flowers without a sideways glance, his mind focussed solely on reaching the stable yard on time.
The wooden gate was closed and the stables seemed empty all bar the occasional lethargic snort of a horse contentedly munching the sweet hay that sat so abundantly in their racks. Still air and the saccharine smell of fresh hay and horses hung heavy in the air, intermingling with the crisp spring morning.
"Kurt?" he spoke loudly, his voice cutting the still air like a blade.
"Kurt?" he repeated, louder this time as he peered curiously around the majestic yard scrutinizing each shadowed corner, squinting into the blinding light as he tried to make out the shape of his absent stable boy.
"No need to shout the stables down, the horses are quiet this morning and in no need for you are your raucous tones, braying all over the yard"
"There you are" sighed Finn, walking over slowly toward the appearing figure and squaring his strong shoulders.
"The evidence suggests that, good morning. I trust you're here for your horse" replied Kurt, running a hand over his pristinely positioned hair before straightening the neckerchief that was tied round his neck stylishly. He looked oddly out of place tending the stables, although they too reflected and air of immaculate tidiness and an almost fashionable edge, with his clear skin, perfectly smoothed out hair and a slight pout. But here he was, the stable boy, stood in front of the son of the lord and it was odd to note that it was almost as if they suited each other's roles better. The stable boy, so pristine and seemingly conscious of his dress and appearance, fairly wiry and less believable to be tussling with rogue or flighty horses; and the son of the lord, athletic, handsome, all the things believable of a lords some but somehow seeming as if he would be better equipped to be tending the horses. Still, conclusions and links such as these can be drawn from most things if subject to enough scrutiny.
"Err, yeah...I've got to go and meet a friend who is coming to stay for a while. His name is Blaine, he's descended from royalty, a prince, basically" he spoke simply and to the point as Kurt regarded him impassively through wide eyes under perfectly manicured eyebrows that rose up quizzically at the mention of the name.
"A prince? Mingling with the cream of the social strata, I see. I've prepared Tarquin, he's in the end stable." Kurt was direct and precise, seemingly fitting to everything about him and he reclined lightly against the rough stone walls of a stable as he watched Finn wander slowly toward the end stable, unbolting the door and disappearing inside without further word.
It wasn't long before Kurt felt a warm breath on his ear as a velveteen muzzle moved closer, nuzzling his face gently with a soft snicker.
"Good morning girl" he said quietly, raising a hand and caressing her long face, his hand grazing lightly over the sharp cheekbones that jutted from the elegant face just below the wide doe like eyes. She replied with a soft whinny, attempting to nip his ear and hair playfully, ruffling it with her muzzle before snorting loudly into his ear. Flying pieces of mucus bombarded his ear and the peachy cheeks.
"Brilliant, thanks for that" he retorted absently, smoothing his hair back expertly and extracting a unspoiled handkerchief to deal with the flecks of hack and feed that now spattered his cheeks. The mare replied with a further series of soft neighs and snorts.
"Yes, a prince. Graced with royalty soon, dear" he continued to speak, embracing a monologue of which the mare seemed interested in. Pricking her ears she flicked them occasionally, nosing his pocket in the hope that he would produce a titbit of some kind in reward for her troubles, but he was distracted by the reappearance of Finn from the end stable. Emerging from the shadows he held the pieces of leather in his hand loosely, followed closely by a powerful white horse whose muscles clung to the lean frame, rippling ever so as its hooves clicked sharply on the hard cobbles. Neck arched its expression was serious and it surveyed the yard with an air of powerful arrogance.
"Thank you, Kurt. I'll be back around sun down, I'm meeting him at the far side of the forest just short of the river and I shall accompany him back from there"
"I'm trusting you planned to be out all day and bought food" Kurt asked plainly.
"Oh, right...no" replied Finn with a bemused expression overtaking him.
"I didn't think..."
"I thought as much, here, I packed two" said Kurt smoothly, reaching into his satchel that was slung against a nearby wall, and producing a smaller bag containing a thick slice of bread and various fruits, vegetables, some cured meat, cheese and some water.
"Made the bread myself and everything" he continued with a half smile, looking up from his bent over position and blinking slowly as he straightened up.
"Adverse to the baker?" suggested Finn, again with a confused look spreading across his handsome features.
"No. I'm just able to cook without it looking and tasting like vomit. Something which I theorize you may be unable to achieve, judging by your response." The cool response was delivered with warm tones and Finn looked awkward before breaking into a lopsided smile.
"Yes, I am joking. Although no doubt I am correct. Now go, don't want to keep your prince waiting!" he said with a wink, full aware of what he was inferring and enjoying the slow spread of crimson that was curdling Finn's cheeks.
"M-my prince? He is his own person, and I don't know how you could suggest such a thing. Oh dear...I mean, really!"
"Stop, just stop. Bad Kurt, bad, bad Kurt...I get it. Now go, or you'll be late" he watched him with raised brows as he regained control of his slurring, rapid fire words and turned away with his large horse striding powerfully in his wake.
"Bye, Kurt" he said simply, swinging a foot into the stirrup and clambering onto the back of the large horse, eager to move on and by now pawing the cobbles with a scraping noise that grated upon the ears.
"Safe journey, Finn" he replied, already turning and walking away as Finn urged his horse onwards, setting off to the west to meet the prince who would be a welcome visitor in the sleepy country village and a fitting guest for the stately manor home. As his horse picked up a rhythmic trot his figure shrank rapidly and Kurt reassumed his repose against one of the walls, allowing his posture to slouch and his mind to wander, wondering just what this visitor would be like. He would probably be arrogant. A pompous, spoilt boy with a high opinion of himself because he was born into a title which he no doubt did not deserve. Fully clad in beautiful clothes, fabrics that he, as a stable boy, could only hope to own and would he appreciate them? No. Yes, he was fairly certain, he was not going to like the arrogant intruder one little bit.
