Chapter 9 Propositions
Severus was properly dressed by exactly 7 in the morning. Just for the dun of it, he had forgone his usual black robes: he was wearing a white button down shirt with the top two buttons left undone and the sleeves rolled up to just past his elbows. He paired this with slim cut trousers in charcoal gray –something he had found in the closet of clothes Tristan had apparently gotten for him.
The Potions Master spent a few fleeting seconds thinking about the young Lord as he tied his long locks (with a leather tie by his nape), which apparently did not get too greasy if he was away from potions fumes for a while.
Tristan left right after their disastrous dance lesson. Severus knew that he was at fault. Normally he wouldn't bother but he knew he needed to set things straight and apologize to his host and tutor.
Then, there was that disturbing dream. Severus wondered if he should even take it seriously. His mind obviously was playing tricks on him.
He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he did not notice the pair of eyes watching him as he took his seat in the dining room.
"A sickle for your thoughts?"
Severus almost jumped up in surprise. In front of him sat a very wide-awake, very put-together and very cheerful-looking Tristan Peverell. The young lord grinned.
"Good Morning, Lord Prince,"
"Good Morning, Lord Peverell," The onyx-eyed man intoned formally. "I'm afraid I did not see you there."
"Nor did I think that you would, seeing that you were in a highly-contemplative mood. A pressing problem perchance?"
Severus took a sip of his tea: black with lemon. He noticed that Tristan took his the same way. He sighed.
"No," he then set his cup down and carefully eyed the nobleman. "Although, there are a few things that I would wish to discuss with you if you would allow it."
Tristan's smile dropped a notch, but only just. He reached for his own tea cup.
"Is that so?"
Severus nodded. For some reason, as Tristan's verdant gaze lingered on him, he felt like a recalcitrant child, coming clean for a naughty misdemeanor… wait, weren't Tristan's eyes blue? The man frowned as he stared at the younger's brilliant orbs.
"Your eyes are… green," he blurted out before he could stop himself. Tristan gave him a bemused look.
"As they have always been," The young lord said firmly. "Do we have a problem with my eyes?"
Severus froze momentarily before proceeding.
"No, I –it is of no trouble. My own eyes must have been deceiving me. I apologize for the rudeness."
"Never mind it, Severus." Tristan said, his eyes still not leaving the Potions Master's. "I'm sure that it was an honest mistake. Not many people take time to look deep into my eyes as you have."
Severus fought the urge to blush at the insinuation that he was staring into the other man's eyes. He cleared his throat loudly to cover up the awkwardness.
"Very well, I would still like to further apologize for what had transpired yesterday during our tutorial session. It was wrong for me to have misled you no matter how unintentional it was and usurp your position as my instructor –"
"No," Tristan waved him off. "I assure you, it was all right. I was merely caught off-guard. Forgive me if I had left in a hurry –I had pressing matters to see to or I would have returned yesterday evening."
"Indeed," Severus knew that the young man had been at least offended, but if he was willing to dismiss the infraction, then who was he to argue? "So I assume that we would be continuing with our lessons today?"
Tristan nodded as he started on his breakfast of pancakes drenched in maple syrup.
"No more dancing, if that's what you meant." He winked, spearing a forkful of pancakes and swirling it around his plate. "We'll tackle customs and traditions today." He brought the fork to his lips and slid the syrup-laden bite into his mouth. Tristan made a motion of closing his eyes as he chewed –as if savoring the food in his mouth, before swallowing –the act of which did not go unnoticed to the Potions Master. He found himself staring, yet again, at the young lord and chastising himself for doing so. He willed himself to look away and focus his attention on his own plate.
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Severus sat in an overstuffed armchair in the living area, a few minutes after breakfast. Tristan told him to wait as the young lord went to retrieve something.
"Here we go," Tristan entered the room with a smile, carrying a moderately large box in his hands. Severus raised his eyebrows as the said box was laid on the low table in front of him. Tristan noticed the look and smirked."As you may very well have noticed, things aren't always what they seem –especially among the nobility."
Hearing the familiar phrase, Severus' thoughts wandered fleetingly back to his dream, but immediately shook then off. Now was not the time for such notions. He turned his attention back towards Tristan who was removing the lid of the generic-looking cardboard box.
"Symbolism is prevalent in out circle," the young man was saying. "a simple gesture can mean a thousand words and a slight fidget can begin a feud."
Severus found himself listening attentively. Not only was the topic of interest to him, but Tristan had a way with words: he never spoke too loudly, nor too fast –in fact, he was always almost whispering and his words lingered in his lips. The effect made the listener stop and stare and give him one's undivided attention. Tristan Peverell would make a good public speaker, Severus thought.
"This is a standard pocket watch," the enigmatic man was saying, holding up a brass chain watch for Severus' inspection. "Traditionally, these are given to wizards when they come of age, noble or not. It is quite useful and stylish to carry around. However, it serves as a more important purpose to a Lord and Head of a Noble House. Here –" he tossed the pocket watch towards the Potions master who caught it deftly in one hand. The man turned it over to inspect it and found his breath hitching. There on the back panel, was the Prince Coat of Arms. When he looked back at Tristan, the young lord was smiling at Severus.
"That –is yours to keep. I assumed that your grandfather would have wanted you to receive that on your 17th birthday, had he known what a great man you would have become."
For Severus, there was no other reply.
"Thank you,"
Tristan merely nodded and produced his own pocket watch. This one however, contained the Peverell Coat of Arms. It looked positively ancient.
"Nile Peverell's." He explained, seeing the other man's inquisitive look. "He was the last to own this –"
"Had he no direct heir?" Severus asked curiously. Tristan sighed.
"That is a lesson for another time, Severus. But to answer your question briefly, no. He did not. And before you ask, I was descended from his sister, Anastasia."
Severus nodded, briefly remembering a mention of Nile Peverell's sister in the journal he was reading; Anastasia, who married a Siegfried –whose last name Severus failed to remember.
"Shall we proceed then?"
"Of course," Severus said, and his thoughts were driven away from Nile Peverell's family tree. For the next hour, Tristan drilled him on the symbolisms of using one's pocket watch. Apparently, showing it off with the crest visible was one way of asserting one's position in society. A Lord never tells time from his watch like a commoner does. It was merely a tool for display. Asking time from another Lord was a big no-no; it shows that you deem him to be of lower standing and could indeed start a feud if said offended lord was touchy. There were also different ways on how one glances at the clock face: a quick glance denotes impatience (note to observer: "Hurry up!"), a lingering glance denotes contemplation ("I'm still thinking about your proposition."), while repeatedly looking at it signifies boredom ("This is a complete waste of my time!). Severus sighed deeply after Tristan pronounced his "quick glance" a "passable attempt."
"I wonder how on earth people manage to remember all of that," he rubbed the bridge of his aquiline nose.
"Usually heirs to the line are literally trained from infancy. But we both don't have the luxury of that so we make do with what little time we have… and don't worry, I won't have you declaring feuds on anyone anytime soon. Now let's get going to handkerchiefs!"
The next hour was then spent on having Severus pretend to offer his pristine white handkerchief to Tristan, who played the roles of a little girl, an older woman, and a young, single and unattached lady interchangeably. A Lord offers his handkerchief in but three instances: to comfort a markedly younger female, to offer support to a markedly elder lady, and the one Severus was having a hard time imagining himself doing, propositioning a young woman he was interested in. And it did not help that Tristan was supposed to be the lady he was going for.
"Use your right hand, left denotes insincerity –and offer it lengthwise! Wrist out –it shows vulnerability. The crest should hang from the tips of your fingers facing the person you are offering it to!" Severus fought hard not to fidget at his drill master's words as he attempted to deliver. He used his right hand to draw his white handkerchief from his pocket, held it lengthwise with the portion containing his family crest dangling from the tips of his fingers. He made a show of flexing his wrist as he offered his proposition to the "lady" in front of him.
"My lady," he intoned in his rich baritone, bowing as per Tristan's directions, only half a head ("A Lord only bows deeply towards a Lady of equal or greater stature, never to one less, never to one he is propositioning, never to another Lord regardless of stature! Do not in any way bow to another man, remember that Severus! It signifies giving the other Lord power over you. So unless you would want to profess fealty to another man… A curt nod would do.")
Tristan was watching him with hawk eyes. When Severus emerged from his incline, Tristan was smiling. The young lord then grabbed Severus' wrist gently, his own wrist covering the Prince Family Crest on the white cloth, and curtsied. Severus watched with interest. Tristan noticed this and chuckled lightly. He then let go of the Lord-in-Training's wrist, took the handkerchief from him and held it against his chest. Severus looked utterly confused.
"What, pray tell, did just happen?"
Tristan was laughing good-naturedly.
"You have just earned yourself a steady, Lord Prince."
"A steady?"
"I have just accepted your proposition." Tristan explained. "Once a lady does what I just did, you become her steady –a constant escort of sorts. Depending on negotiations between you and her Head of House, you are one step closer to being engaged."
Severus looked curious.
"Just a hypothetical question: how does one Lord propose to another?"
Tristan dropped the handkerchief in surprise.
"You –you mean-?" The young Lord then recovered. "A hypothetical question, you say?"
Severus held the man's gaze and nodded as he made an effort to pick up the fallen piece of cloth. He brushed off the dust and placed it back in his pocket.
"I assume it has been done before?"
"Yes," Tristan said, still evidently dazed from the unforeseen query. "Only once in recorded history, actually."
"Really? Who?"
Tristan blushed.
"Nile Peverell."
"Ah, but of course," Severus breathed. "How did it end?"
"It –it didn't" Tristan stammered.
"I beg your pardon?" Severus asked, quirking his immaculate eyebrows. "You just said he proposed to another Lord…"
"A Lord-Apparent," The emerald-eyed man clarified. "Yes, but it never came through. It carried out like a normal proposition at first, but – but his chosen one did not complete the ritual."
"Do you mean he was rejected?" Severus could hardly believe that anyone I their right minds would have rejected Nile Peverell. If his dream was anything to go by, he himself would not have. Tristan however shook his auburn head.
"The ritual was never completed. An acceptance was what I had showed you. A rejection is done by literally "turning down" the proffered hand by the wrist. Nile Peverell's chosen simply walked off."
"Isn't that a rejection?" Severus clarified. Again, Tristan shook his head.
"No. Running away from a proposal is not a refusal. It is just that –running away. It breaks the ritual –"
"Is it that bad?" Severus felt that this was going somewhere rather unpleasant. Tristan stared at him.
"Breaking a proposition ritual is the worst one could do. The man proposing in a broken ritual can never propose to another. Ever."
The Lord-in-Training paled.
"You mean –"
Tristan sighed."The chosen one can still propose, in case of a man, or be proposed to, in case of a woman. But –Nile Peverell had never been able to profess love to another after his chosen one broke the ritual. Not that he still wanted to, I've heard."
"Is that why –but –" Severus let the information sink in. From what he had read, Nile Peverell was intended for an American witch whom he clearly disliked. So things probably did not push through between them if the young Lord Peverell proposed to another… Lord. But apart from Callista Reinhart, there was only one other mentioned in the diary that Nile had a remote chance of being interested in. But, there was no way… Severus looked at Tristan once more. He knew what the answer was to be, he felt. And yet, he knew he had to ask still. He just had to.
"Who – was Nile Peverell's chosen?"
Tristan looked at him sadly before answering.
"Euphrates Prince."