A/N Half way there! This chapter is going to be interesting, because I get to write about an ancestor of mine, a pretty famous one at that! I'm not directly descended from him. He's something of a many times great uncle or distant cousin, it's kind of confusing. ( says he's an uncle, but family stories say cousin.)
This chapter takes place between Grilled Cheesus and Duets, from Blaine's point of view.
My name generator actually failed me for this chapter! I had to go to a Scottish baby name page, and found Kester, which is old Gaelic for Christopher. I figure that would work ;).
PS Check out Wench Works on YouTube to hear Bhaltair's song, along with some other entertaining songs.
…
Play the Pipes for Me
Scotland, 1297 AD
The late summer breeze was cool that September morning along the banks of the River Forth, as smoke from the campfires drifted over the gathered soldiers. They knew the call to battle could come at any time, but for the moment, there was an eerie calm.
Bhaltair, one of the Wallace's soldiers, wandered among the gathered men, noting that the combined forces of Wallace and Moray seemed small compared to the reported forces of the enemy. He trusted their leaders, though, and had faith that they would be victorious when the battle did come.
He was lost in thought, still wandering the encampment, when someone called out. "Kester, why don't you grace us with the sound of your pipes? All this sitting around waiting is getting on my nerves!"
The voice that responded was high and clear in the morning air, the words sharp and biting. "Angus, I would play the pipes if I could, but your stench has taken the air from my lungs. Do us all a favor and go jump in the river. Perhaps the English will get a whiff of you and turn tail and run."
Most of Moray's soldiers in the area laughed at the boy's cutting wit. Bhaltair was intrigued, wanting to see the face that matched that voice. He moved around to the far side of the tent from which the voice had come. The sight he came upon was shocking to say the least. The pale boy was about seventeen, with long auburn hair worked into two braids on either side of his delicate, elfin face. The blue and green tartan he wore matched the faceted gems of his eyes almost exactly, lacking only the flecks of grey that dotted those beautiful orbs.
The darker boy realized he was staring when the other boy smiled curiously at him. "See something interesting, do you?"
Bhaltair smiled. "Intriguing, actually. I am Bhaltair."
The pale boy smirked. "Kester. Are you one of Wallace's men?"
"Aye. He's my uncle," the curly haired boy admitted. After a moment of awkward silence, he asked. "You play the bagpipes?"
The pale boy nodded. "Aye. Do you play?"
"I prefer the lyre. Perhaps we can entertain the men later with a song or two, if those cursed English don't get up their nerve and attack."
The taller boy smiled. "Perhaps."
…
"Earth to Blaine, come in, Blaine!" Wes practically shouted in his ear.
"I'm sorry," The dark haired boy blinked. "My mind was still on my history homework. What were you saying?"
The Asian smiled at him. "I asked if you'd decided which song you wanted to sing for our next performance in the commons?"
"Oh, yeah, I've narrowed it down to either Last Friday Night and Teenage Dream. I thought we could practice both of them and see which ones sounds better."
Wes nodded. "Good choices. I can see you doing either one."
Blaine smiled and sat back as the meeting continued. Nick elbowed him in the ribs. "Hey, I was wondering if you could do me a huge favor?" he whispered.
"What's that?"
"Jeff's cousin is getting married, and we've been invited to the wedding. The bride's family is coming out here from Cincinnati for the ceremony, and her brother needs a date. He's eighteen, and Gillian says he's a really great guy who just broke up with his boyfriend after he found the jerk cheating on him."
Blaine rolled his eyes. "Come on Nick, setting me up on a blind date for a wedding of people I've never met?"
"You've met Jeff's cousin, Daniel. He was at sectionals last year."
"Oh yeah. But still, a blind date?"
"Come on, Blaine, you'd be doing Jeff and me a huge favor, and he and I wouldn't be the only gay couple there for everyone to gawk at."
"Fine, but you owe me if he turns out to be a creeper."
Nick smiled at him.
…
Scotland, 1297 AD
"Look sharp men," the Wallace called out. "The English have made a move towards the bridge at Stirling, but backed off. They've called for negotiations. Most likely a stall tactic as they search for a better place to cross the Forth."
"Good luck to them," Kester called out. "They'll have to go far out of their way to find a better crossing."
Several men agreed with him. The pale boy sat beside Bhaltair at the fire, where the curly haired boy sat absently plucking at his lyre. They sat in companionable silence as they listened to the conversations around them. The Wallace and some of the other leaders talked strategy, while some of the older men talked about other skirmishes they'd seen.
"Nephew, why don't you play us a song? Give the men a break from talk of war for a bit."
"Of course, Uncle. What shall I play?"
It was one of the older men who replied. "Play us a love song. Something to remind us what we're fighting for."
Bhaltair thought for a moment, and then began to play. Kester picked up his pipes and joined in as the darker boy began to sing.
Oh summer days and heather bells
Come blooming owre yon high hill,
There's yellow corn in a' the fields,
And autumn brings the shearin'.
Bonnie lassie will ye gang
And shear wi' me the hale day lang?
And love will cheer us as we gang
Tae join yon band o' shearers.
Oh, if the weather be owre hot
I'll cast my cravat and my coat
And shear wi' ye amang the lot,
When we join yon band o' shearers.
And if the thistle is owre strang,
And pierce your lily milk-white hand,
It's wi' my hook I'll cut them down,
When we gang tae the shearin'.
And if the weather be owre dry,
They'll say there's love twixt you and I
But we will proudly pass them by,
When we join the band o' Shearers.
And when the shearin' it is done
And slowly sets the evening sun,
We'll have some rantin' roarin' fun,
And gang nae mair tae the shearin'.
So bonnie lassie bricht and fair
Will ye be mine for evermair?
If ye'll be mine, then I'll be thine,
And we gang nae mair tae the shearin'.
As the music faded, the pale boy smiled shyly at the golden eyed boy. Bhaltair smiled back. "Would you care to go for a walk?"
"Aye, though there be no shearin' around here."
…
Blaine laughed at the black haired boy sitting beside him in the reception hall. The bride's brother, Patrick, was a natural born comedian, and had the three Warblers falling out of their seats.
The boy was Hot, too. Blaine was actually a little attracted to the raven haired boy. They'd danced a couple of times after the meal had been served, and it had been nice, especially when the taller boy had started singing along to La Isla Bonita.
"You sing beautifully."
The compliment seemed to make the other boy sad. "Eric sang that song for me the night we first met. He said I was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen."
"Eric? Your ex?"
The older boy teared up a little. "Yeah, the jerk. I thought he loved me."
"Well, he's an idiot for letting you go. You really are beautiful, and your voice is amazing." They left the dance floor, and Blaine offered the other boy a tissue.
"I'm sorry," the boy said as he wiped his emerald eyes. "I didn't mean to ruin your night. I should have told Gillian not to ask Jeff to set me up with someone. I'm not really ready to start dating again yet. You must be horribly mortified."
"No, it's fine. I'm actually enjoying myself," Blaine assured him. "I'm not really looking to date anyone myself either. My dad still isn't okay with me being gay, but he's trying. I'm taking it slow, not rushing into things."
They returned to the table with the other two boys, and Patrick had started cracking jokes at his own expense, making them all laugh. All in all, Blaine had really enjoyed the night, and he'd exchanged phone numbers with the other boy, though he knew they'd just be friends.
…
Scotland, 1297 AD
The two boys walked in silence along the banks of the River Forth for several long moments.
"You sing very well. You have a lot of emotion in your voice."
The curly haired boy smiled. "Thank you. You play the pipes beautifully."
The pale boy blushed. "I learned to play because my mother loved the sound of the pipes. She said no other instrument could ever make music come alive the way the bagpipes did."
"It certainly comes alive when you play them. What happened to your mother?"
The glasz eyed boy glared out across the water towards the English encampment. "Both of my parents were murdered by the bloody sassenach bastards. It is why I joined Moray's soldiers. My mother taught me to sing and play music, but my father taught me to fight."
"I'm sorry."
The pale boy smiled at him. "So what is your story, Bhaltair, nephew of the Wallace?"
"There's not much to tell. I fight for the freedom of Scotland beside my uncle and other kin."
Blue green eyes studied him. "Your heart is not in the battle, though, is it? You are a sensitive soul. Music is more your passion."
The younger boy blushed. "I have many passions."
Perfectly formed eyebrows rose in question as pale pink lips quirked into a smile. Golden eyes met his, before the shorter boy leaned in and laid a kiss to his mouth. Both boys sighed and deepened the kiss.
In a lush field of Scottish heather, well hidden from prying eyes, they lay together in the late afternoon sun and shared their love.
On the morning of September eleventh, the English cavalry crossed the Bridge near Stirling Castle. The Scottish that followed Wallace and Moray waited and watched from the higher ground. The bridge was narrow, allowing only two riders abreast to cross.
When the Scotts estimated that enough of the English soldiers had crossed that would be nearly even odds for them, they attacked. With only a portion of their soldiers on the northern shore of the river, the English were easily overwhelmed by the Highlanders.
Kester and Bhaltair fought side by side, their swords flashing and glinting in the morning light. The victory was nearly won when one of the English war horses reared in fright after it's rider was unseated.
The pale boy shouted a warning, but it was too late. The darker boy had fallen beneath the animal's flailing hooves. The full weight of the beast and it's armor crashed down on the curly haired boy's chest, crushing his ribs.
Kester cried out and ran to his lover's side. The shorter boy could barely breath, and blood bubbled from the corner of his mouth. "Bhaltair!"
The wounded boy reached up and cupped the pale cheek. "Pl- please, love. P-play the pipes for me, o-one more time."
With tears streaking his porcelain cheeks, the auburn haired boy raised his pipes and began a sad tune, as he watched the light fade from golden eyes.
