Gunther couldn't force away his grin as James spoke aloud from his chair in front of the library's roaring fireplace, thirty or so enraptured local children gazing up at him with sparkling eyes. He was reciting a folk story from memory with frightening ease and flair; his natural charm on full display for anyone paying attention.
The deep purplish-blue of dusk was peeking through the large long windows, and the event had an air of winter-time festivity; a warmth which only came from the knowledge of the frigid outdoors.
Beside Gunther, skirting the space in front of the tall dark-wood bookcases, on small dark-wood chairs, sat the children's parents, a few members of the storytelling club (that Gunther recognised from when they occasionally visited James in the hospital) and some interested locals who, up until the point the storytelling began, were lazily milling around browsing. Gunther had been forcefully ignoring the odd quirked brow when folk noticed his uniform.
"Hands chapped and muscles stinging, the corn harvesters puffed and heaved under the midday sun. As the light was at its brightest and the workers most-bustling, they heard a voice from the river declare:
"The hour but not the man has come.""
A gasp sounded from the enchanted audience.
"The river, who rushes with foam and thunder, shattering over broken rocks pulls all in her breath down into her glistening black depths. She eddies and sprays, and from her murky underworld arises…a horse."
Another gasp, and one of the smaller children who was already clutching at his mother's skirts, let out a wail. The woman gently hummed and patted the poor boy's head. Gunther's hand subconsciously travelled over his heart.
"It's mane stinking, sliming seaweed, its eyes darkest obsidian, its coat, mangy and ragged; it stands tall as the wicked depths lap at its bony legs. Once again it speaks:
"The hour but not the man has come."
The harvesters can but watch silently, agape as the kelpie rears, whinnying, before plunging into the watery abyss.
"Whence did it come?" They ask, "What could it mean?""
Gunther didn't realise how far forward he was leaning in his seat until he almost fell off it.
"Then, sure enough, from the top of the hill a man on a horse came spurring, headed directly for the swelling, spitting currents. The harvesters, now in no doubt of the kelpie's meaning, sprang up, screaming of the omen they'd witnessed, begging the man to change course, but he would none.
"Take another route!" They bellowed, "Wait out the hour of the kelpie!" …but he would not acquiesce.
Resolved, they surrounded him, slowing his horse, and forcibly dragged him from it, agreeing they would lock him in the nearby church until the hour of the kelpie was passed."
Gunther tore his eyes away for a moment, noticing how the room had further filled as more civilians were drawn in and now stood at the edges of the space, faces aglow with the fire and eyes unblinking as they listened intently.
"And so the harvesters returned to their work until the fatal hour was passed. Once the damnèd time elapsed, they unbolted the church door, flew it open and cried,
"Traveller, you may on with your journey!"
But alas, he did not respond. Once again they urged, but were met with cold silence."
"No!" A girl in the audience exclaimed, and Gunther caught James force away a smile as he continued;
"Ah, but the power of the kelpie is ever-reaching. Into the stone belly of the church they journeyed, discovering only an empty room, except…"
He paused, eyeing the audience who were hanging onto every word,
"…there, oozing in the middle of the floor, a shining puddle of dirty black river water, and the drenched, weathered boots of the doomed rider."
The audience erupted in gasps and outcry and it took them several minutes to settle down. Meanwhile Gunther watched his charismatic lover and lightly shook his head in disbelief. To have such total command over a space, James could easily have risen up the ranks in the scouts and inspired hundreds of young cadets.
A warm smile lit up James's face when he caught his eye, and Gunther felt his heart skip a beat and his face flush. It was unbelievable to him that James could still get such a raw, teenage reaction from him when they'd been together for so many months.
"Thank you all for coming." James announced, holding Gunther's eye a split second longer before addressing the room, "Next week will be the legend of the Bogles."
The audience clapped politely before slowly getting themselves together and standing to go about their evenings.
Gunther made his way directly over to James, his cheeks hurting a little from smiling, but he didn't have the power to stop;
"The hour and the man has come." He uttered as he approached the wheelchair.
James cracked into a grin as Gunther leant down and pecked him on the cheek.
"You big nerd." James said softly.
Gunther chuckled and squeezed James's hand, the light of the fire danced in his eyes;
"You must know I'm your biggest fan." He said lowly. Sincerity poured from him; it was something Gunther never struggled with.
"I did catch you almost fall off your chair." James said teasingly, and Gunther pressed his lips together, marginally embarrassed.
"You saw that? Darn."
"Darn?" James smiled, "Petra's been rubbing off on you has she?"
"Mm." Gunther reflected James's smile, "Yeah. She's affected all of us more than I think we'd care to admit. Eld's even started picking snowdrops for the kitchen vase." His eyes flitted to the ground, "I did have a question about your performance this evening."
"Oh?"
Gunther scratched his neck with his free hand, "Don't you think that story was a little much for these kids? Some of them aren't even school age."
James bat his arm, "You are such a goody two-shoes. It's a cautionary tale about not swimming in the fast flowing river!"
"I just think that-"
"I may have just saved them from the perils of drowning." James scoffed.
Gunther chuckled, squeezing his hand once more, "Fair enough. Are you hungry? Do you wanna go to The Plaice?"
"What place? Oh, the Plaice. You know you should really be clearer when you talk about that." James smirked, "Why not? Two visits in two weeks? We're becoming regulars."
Gunther nodded, made his way behind James's chair and began wheeling him towards the exit.
James glanced over his shoulder, "Stay over at mine tonight?"
Gunther looked into his light blue eyes, considered his adorable dusting of freckles. This man was so hard to deny.
He sighed, "I can't. Drills are at six tomorrow. I'm already pushing it being out this late."
"See - goody two-shoes." James chortled as they exited the library into the early evening.
James is telling a tale from scottish folklore known as 'The Doomed Rider' if you were wondering! i think the original is written in old scots - though i actually think the phrase 'the hour but not the man has come' in regards to an old water spirit is in old stories from all over the world, this one is just the version i know.