// These characters (except for the OCs) belong to Tamora Pierce. The plot and OCs belong to me. In this chapter there is shounen-ai, slash and swearing : )
Fairy Tale
Sonatina
"Hey, Joren." Joren looked up from his task of combing Paxton's warhorse.
"Hey Garvey." Garvey leaned against the side of the stall, the dark ginger of his falling curls blending with the wood. Joren put down the currycomb and gave Paxton's palomino Astral a brisk once-over with the brush. "What's new?"
Garvey shrugged, hazel eyes watching Joren's swift strokes over the beast's golden hide. "Nothing. Sir Jerel is entertaining Mistress #10, so he kicked me out of the rooms for the rest of the day." And night, he added silently, returning Joren's smirk.
"Yeah? In that case I'll allow you to help me with these boxes." The blonde squire gestured to three wooden crates in the corner of the stall, two large and one smaller. "I cleaned out Paxy's last stock of vases, so he went out and got these. He's too lazy to bring them up himself."
"Alright," Garvey laughed, and moved to help his friend.
It was a long walk from the stables to Sir Paxton's apartments, even without the added burden of three heavy boxes. "Ugh," grunted Garvey, who had taken the two largest. "How can something made of painted hollow dirt be so heavy?"
"Stop complaining," commanded Joren. "You're the one who volunteered to take those two." His was the size and weight of a breadbox; Garvey's combined were that of the whole baker.
"You're just as lazy as your knight-master, you just can't get out of manual labor as easily," he accused. Matching his friend's pace, the boy noted that he topped Joren by half a foot, whereas the previous fall it had been only a couple of inches. Thank the Gods for growth spurts, he thought. It's better if I'm taller... "Hey Joren," he began, when a lock of his ginger hair fell into his eyes. He attempted to blow them out of the way, succeeding only in inspiring them to brush and tickle the tip of his nose. "Argh!" he growled, shaking his head wildly to no avail.
"Pa - the - tic," announced Joren, shifting his box into one hand and reaching over with the other. Garvey's breath caught as Joren brushed the lock across his forehead and tucked it behind one ear.
"Umm, thanks," he mumbled breathlessly when Joren had pulled his hand back. *Gods, am I blushing? I hope he doesn't notice...*
"Sure, you were saying?"
"Huh?"
"You said, 'Hey Joren--Argh!'" Joren reminded, mimicking his friend. Grinning, he pulled open the door leading from the gardens to the palace.
"Oh yeah." Yes, he was definitely blushing. "Well, uh, I was wondering about the Summer Festival?"
"Why were you wondering about the Summer Festival? We've attended it every year since we were ten." Gods, Joren was making this difficult. Garvey stepped through the door, which Joren held open for him.
"No, I mean, are you going? Um, with anyone?" Joren shrugged. Well, probably, but that's top secret. Can't tell Garvey about that.
"I dunno. Probably, but I don't know with whom."
"Oh." Garvey would have fidgeted had his hands been free. As it was they were sweating profusely, and it was all the ginger-haired boy could do to keep his grip on the boxes. "Well, um, I was wondering." His heart beat rapidly, pounding against his chest. It actually hurt. "Um, that is," he stammered. "What about me? That is, uh, would you consider--oh, fuck." The hair was back in his eyes; he couldn't see a thing. He felt a cool hand brush across his forehead, pushing the hair back. Joren's.
"Consider what?" Joren asked, sweeping the ginger locks from Garvey's eyes.
Gods, was the boy dense?! "Would you go to the Summer Festival with me?" The words rushed from Garvey's mouth in a tumble, and he bit his lower lip as soon as they escaped his tongue. His heart thudded in anticipation; his entire chest hurt as he waited breathlessly for Joren's reply. But Joren was scowling.
"No." Curt and to the point, like Joren himself.
And the throbbing heart rose into Garvey's throat, choking him until he couldn't breath. "Wha--why not?" Joren looked away, continued walking. Garvey quickened his pace to catch up. "You--you said you weren't going with anyone?" Gods, he sounded pathetic, his voice whiny to his own ears. Does he think I'm too clingy? Too--pathetic, not good enough for him? He blinked back tears. Surely Joren had a reasonable explanation, something that had nothing to do with his or Garvey's emotions.
"I'm not."
"Then why won't--"
"I don't feel like it." Harsh and cold. Condescending even. Garvey's arms began to shake, his entire body did. Before he realized it, there was a crash and he was running without even knowing where he was going.
Joren turned about, upon hearing the crash. "Garvey? What--WHAT THE FU--!" The boxes had dropped sideways onto the floor, and Garvey was nowhere to be seen. I didn't think he'd take it *that* harshly, he thought, setting his own package down and kneeling before the crates, prying the open. "Pleaseletthembefine,pleaseletthembefine,pleaseletthembefi--SHIT!" Beautiful, colorful glass fragments glittered up at him, shimmering in the morning sun, joined by a cheerful receipt marked, "No exchanges, refunds or warrantees. All sales final." He sat back on his heels and moaned, "Sir Paxton's gonna kiiiiillll me!"
Garvey wrenched the door to his knight-master's apartments open and flew inside, only to find Sir Jerel and a tall, very beautiful, very nude redhead on the couch in a somewhat compromising situation. The woman shrieked and covered her bare breasts, and Sir Jerel sat up and glared daggers. "What the hell are you doing here?! I told you to stay the fuck out of he--" Garvey ignored both of them, striding quickly to his room and slamming the door behind him. In his own small chamber, the curtains of the huge window were pulled shut, leaving him in darkness and coolness. He stood, clenching and unclenching his fists, biting his bottom lip.
No, no, no! he screamed mentally. I won't! I will *not* cry over Joren of Stone Mountain! I-- He clenched his eyes shut, but tears leaked through anyway, streaming between his long lashes and down his pink cheeks. Without warning a sob wrenched his entire body, and he threw himself upon his bed, clutching his pillow and weeping until sleep overtook him.
***
Maybe I ought to feel a little guilty, thought Joren, then decided against it. It wasn't his fault Garvey took things the wrong way. All I said was I didn't feel like going, he didn't have to go break those vases. Upon arriving in the apartments before his knight-master's return, Joren had attempted to glue the pieces back together, but the result was something resembling an akward clay gorilla, rather than an expensive vase. The boy fervently hoped Sir Paxton wouldn't notice, then grabbed his uniform and jacket and left for work. "At least I won't have to be there when Paxy finds out," he muttered aloud, pulling the jacket over his shoulders and stepping out into the sunlit afternoon.
Joren stepped through the employee entrance, shrugging out of the jacket and glancing about for Claudia. Usually she arrived in time to greet him and exchange shifts and notepads, but the curly-haired woman was no where to be seen.
"Joren!" called a voice, and a well-dressed man with neatly combed brown hair and a suit and tie took Joren by the arm. It was Guillam, the enormously wealthy owner of the establishment. "Claudia's keeping this shift, I need you to be Eye-candy for table Three."
Joren bit back a groan.
"Yes, sir." Eye-candy was the term for when one of the staff played date to one of the customers. Sometimes Eye-candies served as someone to have a pleasant conversation with for lonely diners; sometimes they were asked to sit in customers' laps; Joren had even suffered himself to be fed by more enthusiastic customers a few times. Fortunately, as Guillam's was a dining establishment and not an inn, service was never expected to go further than that. Joren didn't mind the attention so much, but it irritated him mostly that unlike the other men who waited at Guillam's, due to his effeminate appearance Joren was usually requested by male customers. Shudder. Sighing, Joren stalked into the dining area and towards table three, near the back of the first floor and to the left of the entrance. On the way he was met by Claudia, who sent him a cheery smile and words of reassurance.
"Hey, kid, don't worry. Your guy's a hottie!" Claudia had a strange concept of reassurance. Joren scowled as Claudia took him by the arm and led him to table three. Seated at the table were three men, one in his 50s with greying hair, another in his twenties with dirty blonde hair and brown eyes, and the third, also in his early twenties, with tousled black hair and green eyes. The blonde winked at Claudia and Joren as they approached. Claudia blushed (something she didn't do often, Joren noted) and smiled at the diners. "Gentlemen, allow me to introduce Joren. Joren, these are Lord Devaux," --the old man nodded-- "Lord Blaise," --the blonde--"and..." Claudia trailed off and blushed. "I'm sorry, what was it again?"
The green-eyed man smiled. "Just Laurent," he replied softly, in a silky foreign accent, and took Joren's hand. Raising it gently to his face, his lips gently brushed across Joren's fingers, causing two circles of red to rise to the pale boy's cheeks. Why am I BLUSHING? I've done this tons before, growled Joren's inner voice. Aloud, he stammered,
"A p-pleasure to meet you, sirs." His eyes swept quickly across the table, taking in the men's elaborate velvet clothing, the swords sheathed and resting against the chairs with jeweled hilts still exposed, and the three glasses and bottle of the restaurant's most expensive wine. And only three chairs, all three occupied.
"Shall I get you another chair," Claudia asked Laurent, "or would you prefer to have him sit in your lap?" Laurent eyed Joren appraisingly. Joren eyed the floor appraisingly. At last Laurent smiled.
"I wouldn't want you to go through too much trouble," he replied, moving his grip from Joren's hand to his waist and pulling the boy into his lap. "Though perhaps you could bring us another glass of wine? Shouldn't want the poor boy to be thirsty, after all." His companions laughed, and as Claudia turned to go, Blaise caught her by the hand.
"Perhaps we could meet when you leave this place?" he suggested, in the same smooth accent as Laurent. Claudia blushed again.
"Well, I live rather far away," she replied doubtfully. Blaise laughed.
"I don't. We could spend the night where I am staying," he answered, causing Claudia to go even redder.
"I'll think about it," she giggled, and hurried away. What's with her? Joren wondered, but his musings were distracted by a touch. Laurent's hand had loosened Joren's marigold sash and found its way under his tunic, and currently was involved in tracing its way up his stomach.
"Excuse me," said Joren firmly, removing the man's hand from under his shirt. "So, where are you from?" Gods, these types were so odd. Best to keep the customer's mind on conversation and nothing else. Laurent seemed to take the hint and smiled, showing a mouth of dazzling white teeth.
"Kangen," he replied. "We are here on business." Kangen? Wasn't that where Joren's mission was from? This guy probably knew him, then.
"Oh? And what business might that be?" He jerked in surpise, peeled the hand from his inner thigh, and placed it on the table. Blaise and Devaux sniggered. Apparently Laurent wasn't getting the hint.
"Ah, foreign affairs. Nothing that would interest a beauty like you, I'm sure." Well, so much for attempting to gain any information. "Would you care for a drink?" Joren assented, and Laurent lifted his own glass to the boy's lips and tilted it back. Joren nearly choked as he felt fingers tracing across his throat, rubbing the bottom gently as he swallowed.
"Hey, if you don't mind--" he began, but was cut off as a finger was laid across his lips. Green eyes looked into his.
"Excuse me...was it Joren?" The black-haired man smiled. "Joren is such an 'arsh name for one such as you. I believe I shall call you Philippe." Blaise outright laughed at this, and Devaux chortled into his glass. Joren had a feeling he oughtn't be putting up with this.
"Excuse me?"
"I prefer the name Philippe to Joren. So, for tonight, you are Philippe." Joren opened his mouth and closed it again, in an accurate impression of a goldfish. The rules didn't say what to do when a customer wanted to change one's name. I guess it won't harm anything, he internally scowled. As long as he quits touching me...
+++++
"Well, that didn't totally suck," mumbled Joren to himself as he began his trudge home. It was well past midnight; apparently the Kangenese trio found Guillam's "delightful" and Joren completely charming. Actually, "adorable" was the term Laurent had used. What a strange guy. They didn't leave until well past closing time, and Laurent had refused to let Joren go without giving him a goodnight kiss, a proclamation that had sent his friends into throes of laughter. At last they departed, heading towards the wealthy side of town, Blaise clutching Claudia around the waist. Joren had politely declined Laurent's offer of spending the night with him. "At least I'll never see those weirdos again..."
***
To be continued...
/* I hope you liked this chapter! If you did or if you didn't, please review or email me. Because I love feedback….'till next time. */
