This part happens right before unmarried couple (and some time after Fen's Portrait: Volney Rain, which is where this interpretation of Volney originates). Neal is about seven, making it six years after Jon's coronation.
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The Talented Volney Rain, Part I
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Volney is nervous, terrified to the very core of his being for the first time since he won the regard of both of his monarchs and secured a more or less permanent spot as court artist. He's done something so wonderful, so absolutely perfect and necessary that it is bound to be misunderstood, bound to be hated. The best, most honest work of art he's ever made, ever will make, is done, signed, sitting in his studio and ready to be framed and hung, yet it is never going to make it to a wall because Volney was not able to resist (glorifying) the femme fatale of Tortall. The beautiful, treacherous, lonely, intelligent woman imprisoned high in her tower above the world by the man she'd tried to destroy – incidentally, the same man who will (can, he amends) destroy Volney's career so easily it isn't even worth noting. Volney has (signed a death warrant) made a painting of Delia of Eldorne who was Jonathon of Conté's one-time lover and would-be assassin, and Jon is coming to see it, and he is going to see, and then it will be all over. And if he doesn't see, then Volney is once again going to be back where he started: completely disillusioned with his patrons and wondering why he is wasting his time making such significant works for them. Especially since he's tried to teach Jon about art, himself.
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Several weeks earlier…
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Every once in a while, when Jon or Thayet orders it done, Volney gets to paint great epic things of the Lioness and Goldenlake the Giantkiller, and other great heroes-of-the-war(s). Usually, though, he spends day in, day out making women more beautiful, men more manly and adored family pets more beautiful/heroic/cherished than they have ever been, immortalizing them in all their false glory so that during social gatherings, so-and-so can turn to their guests and say, "Oh, yes, we had that fellow from court paint us a picture. Isn't he gifted?" Which is worth a laugh, and then they can spread along his prices and whatever bits of nasty court gossip are circulating about him at the time and have a good time shocking each other with scandalous half-truths and lies. Volney is nothing if not good at what he does, and while he usually just tells himself it's for the money, which it is (the right kind of scandal is, after all, good for business), the whole situation leaves him feeling more than slightly cynical. He became an artist because he believed there were other ways than fighting to make a point, but right now he's stagnating; on a plateau. He's good enough to do what he's doing for the rest of his life without getting any better than he is now.
Actually, Volney likes his other kind of commission better; the ones where the men and women come to him when he's all alone and dart furtive looks about, and speak in euphemisms and riddles in embarrassed undertones until he understands how many bodies, and which ones, and often which positions. His customers pay him well for these, tipping him for his silence, so Volney can go and spend a night picking up models from the lower city, enjoying their company on his clientele's charity and confined artistically only by the need to make his drawings sexualized, and not beautifully idealized.
But for now, Volney's mostly just frustrated and annoyed with himself and his work, and wants something more. He's not even sure what the something is, and he thinks he might look for it forever without finding it. This makes him short with the nobles (and the servants, and the other entertainers), so he withdraws himself from their company whenever possible.
One noble is annoyingly persistent and always manages to catch Volney whenever he looks like he might have a headache, and so worries about him accordingly. This is young Nealan of Queenscove, the Healer's boy.
Neal has been visiting him in his (very beautiful, well-lit, airy, expensive) studio for a couple of years now. He once found a couple of scraps detailing landscapes, buildings and current events, and asked to keep them. Although Neal offered to pay, Volney gave them away for free and now Neal stops by every once in a while. Volney even keeps things on hand for him that he thinks Neal will like. It is, after all, a refreshing break from his portraiture, and he would have done the sketches anyways.
Lately, though, Neal is a becoming a nuisance – very talkative and constantly telling him about the signs of depression (which Volney does not have, thank you very much), and offering medications and relief from the symptoms. To shut him up, Volney asks to do his portrait (for which Neal must be very, very still and not speak). It doesn't work for very long though, and by the end of the sketch, Neal is ruminating about knighthood, about which he has many romantic and idealistic views that will eventually be shattered. He is young, so Volney forgives him.
One such idea is that knights should have fabulous adventures, not sit around and run things. They should go and fight monsters and rescue ladies from towers.
This puts Volney on edge, because while he would much rather be painting these kinds of knights and this kind of story, in reality there's really only one lady in Tortall who is locked in a tower. He doesn't want to be accused of treason if anyone should hear him talking about her. Not that the King or Queen are that sort of ruler, but Volney has had dealings with other sovereigns before, and it's nice to and keep all your fingers. And your head. He changes the subject back to the headaches and lets Neal do something to his head with his Gift that makes him feel infinitely better (Neal can tell this even without Volney's thanks). He sends the silly, beaming child on his way with some cartoons of the new temple being built, and the court musicians entertaining at dinner. And then calls Neal back again because he forgot that he was going to turn the one of blonde Inory, the delectable viol player, into a painting. Neal looks upset – apparently that was his favourite. As he gives it up, his face crumples into resignation. Feeling harassed, Volney tells Neal he can keep the drawing once it's been painted. It would have sold for a good price to a paying customer, but Volney supposes he can draw another, later. He feels his headache coming back and reminds himself that he is building a clientele for the future and that at least Neal has good taste.
Volney thinks about it later, though – ladies trapped in towers. There are many stories and ballads but not so many paintings on this subject matter, and Volney can see all sorts of points of metaphorical interest. Especially since ladies are now tough, war-hardened knights, and it is the delicate but treacherous court women who are kept under lock and key, and one is hardly likely to rescue the other. There is so much untapped potential. And then he thinks that their majesties will never let him paint the woman who nearly killed them and pushes it out of his mind.
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He is doing a sitting of a dog that day. A beloved, yappy little family pet that will not stay still long enough for Volney to get a decent sketch. The little furball's owners won't stop feeding it pasties, and cooing at it in baby-language and laughing, and there are scores of children running around everywhere. He counts six, sometimes nine, and thinks there must be twins or triplets among them somewhere, or possibly it is a party, or a madhouse.
By the time he leaves, Volney's headache is back full swing and he is bound and determined to get permission to paint Delia of Eldorne, no matter what the cost.
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He decides to at least go in prepared. He inserts himself back into the public frenzy, talks to the other artists and artisans over drinks until they are sick of him, then finds his friends in the Rogue and begins to get an idea of how it will work. He manages to attain a conversation with the Provost to talk about jails, and to corner Numair about magic, pulling him out of one academic stupor and into another. And then he dresses startlingly well and goes to request an audience with one or the other of their Majesties; he doesn't know quite who to hope for.
It turns out to be Jon, alone in his chambers, dipping bread elegantly into his soup for lunch while sorting through a short stack of papers, and Volney is suddenly glad that he doesn't have to face Thayet's piercing stare just yet, as really, all this is about yet another of Jon's women. He would much rather tell her the 'good news' once he has Jon's support.
Jon is eyeing him as Volney enters and bows. He takes another bite and sits back, motioning with his hand for Volney to take a seat in one of the heavily embroidered chairs across from him. Jon's hand is holding a white linen napkin, and after Jon licks his lips, hand and napkin find their way up to pat dry Jon's blue-black beard. Volney realizes he's staring, but can't look away. He wishes he could put an ounce of the power Jon carries around with him into his paintings. He also wishes that he could paint Jon again sometime, but thinks that Thayet is unlikely to agree.
The lips move, and Jon is speaking: "Volney Rain. I haven't seen you in some time." The King is no wordsmith – his speech is plain – but somehow he can rouse his subjects to follow him unto death. Volney looks up and Jon has a little knowing smile on his face. To deflect his embarrassment, Volney lays out his idea, trying not to waste Jon's time with pleasantries. He lets the King fill in the details as though it were actually his plan, not Volney's.
In short, Volney will make drawings or paintings (or whatever will work best) of prisoners to update the Provost's records (the Rogue will probably be annoyed at him, but it shouldn't affect them too much if they don't get caught doing what they do). He will also try an experimental security system using the pictures as a focus to find escaped prisoners; Numair assures him the magic will work in theory.
Jon's finished his lunch by the end. He looks interested, especially about the new piece of magic, but Volney knows the unconvinced, "What's in it for you?" part is coming. And it does.
Volney tries to throw him off subject: "What, do I need another reason besides doing my duty to the Crown, and getting to take a break from painting orgies and hyperactive little dogs with ribbons tied around their ears?"
"Yes, besides that", Jon laughs, waiting (not taking the bait).
Volney takes a minute to collect his thoughts. "I am very interested", he begins, "in making a body of work about people who have fallen through the cracks. I have some, but not much experience with such people" (he backtracks hurriedly as Jon just looks at him) "mostly in other countries, where judicial systems are much harsher and there are unfair imprisonments and sentences for everyone from beggars to nobles…", here, Volney trails off and blinks. "… But in the case of most prisoners here, the public knows why they've been convicted and feel safer for it. Which means that rather a lot of inmates are either badly educated, crazy, or chose of their own will to live their lives the way they did. While that is intriguing in and of itself, I can finally paint subjects that I won't have to turn into demi-gods. And because it will be commissioned, I won't have to fit it in on my own time, so I can give it my complete attention." For the sake of the moment, Volney allows himself to light up with fanaticism: "I will give you a collection of work that is so far ahead of its time, Tortallans will speak of it for centuries."
Jon thinks it over. Volney waits, his glow fading. And finally Jon says "Alright…."
Volney jumps in again. "There is one more thing, actually."
Jon gestures him onwards, rolling his eyes.
"In the matter of the trials with the focus, might I suggest that for a test subject we use Delia of Eldorne? It would be a little cleaner and brighter in a tower than a dungeon, and the lady would be very unlikely to try and run away". Volney holds his breath.
Jon considers him. And then chuckles a little menacingly and says, "By all means. I'll tell her she should expect you, myself."
Volney wonders what that's all about. "I would actually like to do a large painting of the lady. In addition to the better working conditions in the tower, I had a conversation about women imprisoned in towers with one of the children running around the palace that struck a chord with me."
"Ah. By any chance would that have been Nealan of Queenscove?" Jon queries casually.
Volney is startled. "Well, yes, actually. How did you…?"
"He comes by your studio often, doesn't he. Do you talk much?" The tone is light, but Jon is too interested in the answer.
"He talks about everything. I can barely get him to stop." Volney wonders where this is going. "I usually just save drawings for him – doodles of the castle and sometimes people."
"Are they very accurate?" Jon wants to know. He is giving away nothing.
"I suppose some of them could be, but usually the ones I work up are the ones I keep to make into paintings. Most of them are too sketchy - you'd have to know the people or the place before you could see a resemblance." What is Neal doing with the pictures?
Eventually the King sighs and nods. "It should be all right", he mutters. He turns to Volney and says, formally: "You have my permission to do as you like concerning Delia of Eldorne."
"Thank you, Your Majesty." Volney nods, rising from his chair to stand when Jon does.
"You know," Jon smiles, "it's a good thing you're not married." Volney raises his eyebrows. "It would take a very special woman to stand by and watch her husband act like a schoolboy with a crush whenever he talks about his work."
Jon is stepping closer slowly and Volney, already flushed, swallows. Volney is usually so collected, but lately his depression (which he has finally decided to acknowledge, at least to himself) and his current surge of interest in his work have left him off balance. He wants, needs, for this to go well and it's turning him into an utter fool. "Speaking of wives," Volney finds his voice, "how is yours? If she's around, I should pay my respects. I haven't seen her in a while."
"And you won't, today." Another step. "She's off intimidating her Rider groups." Jon reaches up and rests an open hand on Volney's shoulder. Jon has a somewhat wistful expression, and Volney knows he is feeling a little trapped. It makes him seem human. As he reaches up to run his fingers over Jon's lips and Jon's hand trails down his chest, Volney thinks that the cost of his request is going to be more than worth it. So long as, no matter what she suspects, Thayet never finds out.
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Thanks be to Imo, my fearless beta. Through the swampy mire of incoherency and run-ons did she tirelessly wade. And if you haven't already, go read her fics (pen name, sarcastic rabbit), because they -are- the sweet, sweet love of villainy and because shameless plugs are flying in all directions. It's sort of like dodgeball.
Sally