// These characters belong to Tamora Pierce. The plot and OCs belong to me : )
// Warning: This chapter contains slash.
Fairy Tale
Arieta
Joren awoke to find himself sprawled across the massive bed, covered in morning sunlight, his head cradled against Laurent's chest and the brunette's arms around his own slender frame. Slender frame without clothes. Hmm... was his exact thought, mind too sleepy yet to form any association between his present state and the previous night's events. His eyes moved up to Laurent's face, the suntanned features evened out and peaceful in repose.
*The guy from the restaurant? What...--* His eyes widened. *Oh yeah!* But before he could scream, leap out of bed or strangle the sleeping prince, Laurent's eyes opened. The prince smiled sleepily down at the blonde.
"Bonjour, Philippe. Did you sleep well, my lamb?" he asked, stifling a yawn. *Lamb? Don't make me gag...* Joren's mind was still to hazy to incite him to anything more than a lazy roll of his eyes. Laurent moved under him and with a startled yelp Joren found himself on his back, with the green-eyed man's tongue lavishing attentions at the curve of his jaw.
"Isn't it a bit early for that?" he asked groggily, attempting to ward the brunette's face away with a lazy swipe of his hand. Laurent laughed and pulled back.
"It is never to early for anything of the sort," he replied, sounding now fully awake. He rolled off the bed and strode to the closet, selecting a shirt and tunic and pulling them over his large frame. "You may stay 'ere as long as you like," he told Joren, pulling on a pair of leggings. "There is an extra key on the desk that is for you. I 'ave business to attend to, but I wish to see you later this afternoon, there is something I wish to discuss with you." Joren, experienced in such expressions himself, could tell by the sparkle of the raven-haired man's emerald eyes that he probably wouldn't care for the topic of discussion, but after a restless night he cared more about gaining sleep than answers.
"'kay," he murmured, snuggling under the soft sheets and resting his head upon the feather pillow. Within seconds he had returned to sleep. Laurent chuckled softly to himself, gave the sleeping blonde an affectionate pat on his silky head, and quietly let himself out.
***
It was well past noon when Joren reawoke. "Hmm, still gone?" he murmured softly, sitting up and glancing about the empty apartment. Stretching his slender form, he slipped out of bed. *Where--ahh...* His nose wrinkled in disgust, the blonde held up yesterday's clothes from the pile they'd been tossed into much earlier that morning. "Wearing dirty clothes is so gross," he moaned to himself, holding the clothes out in front of him. "Eww, and they're wrinkled too. I can't wear these..." His eyes fell upon the closet, still open, revealing the prince's wardrobe. After a moment's deliberation, Joren approached the closet. "Well," he reasoned, "if he's gonna sleep with me, the very least he can do is lend me some clothes." He settled on a pale blue silk lace-up shirt, which completely dwarfed him, and even with the wide sleeves rolled most of the way up they still shadowed his wrists. He pulled on his black leggings from the day before--those were okay to wear twice in a row, and it was unlikely Laurent would have any pants that would fit Joren's obviously smaller frame. Grabbing a comb from the desk, Joren pulled it through his tresses until they resembled something more like hair and less like tangleweed vines. His strip of leather used to tie it back had disappeared somewhere last night, and rather than search for it he allowed his hair to remain as it was, the silver locks framing his high cheek-bones and pointed chin, half hiding his blue glass eyes, and curling down his back. Naturally curly hair--the curse of Stone Mountain. Too bad he was out of the charmed shampoo used to keep it straight. Joren sighed. "Now to business." The boy leaned over the desk facing the window, shuffling through the scraps of parchment.
"To the acting prince, to the secretary of state, to Mommy..." but none held anything of interest, only descriptions of the visit so far, the king's wish for him to stand down, the wonderful food, a rather detailed description of a certain serving boy at a certain restaurant (elaborate enough to make Joren blush), but nothing regarding the reason behind his war, nor any future actions. "Come on," Joren muttered. "There's got to be something!" A scrap of paper on the ground caught his eye. It appeared to have slipped from the desk and been hidden under the chair. The squire bent down to retrieve it. Unlike the others it was printed on pink paper, the sort Joren's mother used for invitations, and when Joren lifted it to his nose he could smell the faint scent of expensive cologne.
"A love letter?" he asked. Like the others, it was written in Kangenese, which fortunately Joren had taken as his foreign language during studies as a page. It was, however, unfinished. "Would he really write any useful information in a love letter?" wondered the boy, but being Joren he felt compelled to read it.
"Dearest Juli," he began, and abruptly stopped. Juli? Didn't Laurent prefer guys? *Maybe it's a cover-up,* thought Joren, though he had no idea why the prince would do such a thing. Deciding to ponder this turn of events later, he continued. "Without your presence, I feel as though my heart will break with loneliness. But do not worry, for soon everything will be fine. Let us speak of our plans when we meet. I have decided we should come together when May meets June at...um." Connexion de l'Orange? "Connexion de... well, l'Orange means the Orange, de is of... the something of the Orange. What's Connexion?" the boy asked out loud, wishing he'd brought his dictionary with him.
"It means 'port,'" replied a voice from behind him. "Connexion de l'Orange is a port on an island just west of the Copper Isles, where I am scheduled to go after my stay at Tortall." Joren whirled around to see an unsmiling Laurent.
"Oh, Laurent! Ah, you're back...early." Joren glanced through the window at the clock tower, visible in the distance. A quarter past four. "Well, maybe not. So, did you have a good time? I just got up...just a minute ago...uhh..." Laurent's face didn't betray any emotion. Joren winced and decided to go for the direct approach.
"So, who's Juli?"
"Nice clothes," replied Laurent, without his characteristic grin. Joren paled.
"Um. Mine were dirty?" Laurent glared.
"I don't recall giving you permission to read my letters, Philippe. My personal letters." Joren shrank back. The usually amiable prince looked angry, a mood that made him really, really scary. The squire couldn't fight his way out of this one; it would defeat the purpose of his mission. So he took the only other obvious alternative.
"Sorry!" he cried, launching forward and embracing the angry prince, burying his head a startled Laurent's chest. "I was only curious, I swear I'll never, ever, ever do it again!" He reached up to wrap his arms around the man's neck, looking up at him with huge, liquid baby-blue eyes. "Please forgive me?" he whispered, expression hopeful. Inwardly amused, he watched as Laurent struggled in the internal battle, having used the tactics that worked on ol' Paxy every time (well, almost every time).
"I forgive you," Laurent conceded finally. "But don't let it happen again." Joren smirked at the firm tone.
"I won't!" he exclaimed brightly, pulling Laurent's head down to bestow a peck on his cheek. "So, you wanted to discuss something?" Laurent blinked at the mood change.
"Yes, well...come with me to the tailors. If you are to be seen with me, you must wear clothes so that I may show you off." He held Joren out at arms length, the way Joren had done with his clothes previously. Hungry green eyes swept over the boy's figure. "Not that you don't look wonderful right now, of course." The feral gleam in the prince's eyes made Joren's cheeks redden. The prince gave Joren another hungry look, then sighed.
"Alas, Philippe, if I take the time to ravish you now, we will be late," he said regretfully. He took Joren by the arm. "Anyhow, we must have you fitted. I'm sure you will look stunning in it."
"Huh? What's 'it'?" asked Joren as Laurent propelled him to the door. The prince smiled mysteriously.
"You will see."
"So, where were you?" They tromped down the stairs, Laurent releasing Joren's arm and taking his hand. As they stepped into the afternoon, Joren reddened at the looks they received from other pedestrians, though he wasn't sure if they were aimed at the holding of hands or his own rather casual choice in dresswear. He hadn't even put on shoes, he realized as his bare feet came into contact with cobblestones. Laurent noticed it as well.
"Ah, you 'ave no shoes, Philippe! Never fear, I shall 'elp you." That said, he grabbed hold of Joren's waist and lifted him, finally settling the boy in his arms, holding him like a kitten. Needless to say, this got them even more looks. Laurent ignored them. "Well," he began, in answer to the query, "I first went to a meeting with your king, Jonathan. 'E is in a bit of a temper about something."
"He's always like that," replied Joren dismissively. "He needs to get laid." This drew a laugh from Laurent.
"Then, I met a boy for lunch. 'E is not a bad sort, though I think your king 'as set 'im up with me to steal information or something."
"Like what sort of information?" asked Joren innocently. Laurent smiled gently down at him.
"Nothing that would interest you, my dear Philippe," he replied sweetly. Damn, thought Joren, but kept the smile pasted on his face. "Anyway, this boy seems to talk alot; the reason I think we were set up is because 'e always mentions a girl. I do not think 'e really likes me, but was asked to accompany me to these things. 'E is at every event I have gone to so far in my stay."
"What's his name?"
"Nealan of Queenscove. Do you know him?" Joren made a face. "I take that as a yes?" Laurent chuckled. They had almost reached the tailor's.
"He's really dumb," replied Joren with a scowl. "And that girl he was talking about, was it Keladry?" Laurent nodded. "Well, she's not really a girl," continued Joren in a low voice. "She only dresses as one." Laurent raised an eyebrow.
"Is that so?" They had reached the tailor's; balancing Joren in one hand, Laurent pulled the wooden door open and stepped inside. The front room was full of girls, all of whom giggled when the two males entered. Ignoring the whispers, Joren looked over at the seamstress who stood behind a counter. For some reason, she seemed awfully familiar.
"Lalasa!" exclaimed Laurent. "I 'ave brought the boy we discussed. 'Ave you thought of any designs?" It suddenly clicked. Kel's servant. Oh no.
Joren stifled a groan and attempted to hide his face in Laurent's arm. "Yes, sir," the girl replied meekly, with a startled glance in Joren's direction. The squire could have sworn he saw an evil smile light the passive girl's features. No, it couldn't be. The girl was far to weak for--"If you'll step this way?" Lalasa led the two to the back room, where Laurent gently set Joren down. Lalasa surveyed Joren critically. There was that smile again, but only for a brief second.
"Excuse me, you'll have to take off your clothes," she said softly. "I can't take measurements while you're wearing them." Joren's breath caught.
"I know my measurements," he replied crossly. "It's not as though I've never been to a tailor's--"
"These are different measurements," she replied smoothly. "For a different type of clothing." Where did she get the audacity to talk like that to a noble? But Laurent was nodding in agreement. Joren began to reluctantly remove the massive shirt, when he froze. He couldn't undress! That afternoon, he hadn't put on any--
"Underwear, too," said Laurent, a tint of amusement in his voice. If Philippe turned any redder he'd have to be served with whipped cream.
"Wha~at?!" the boy exclaimed incredulously. Lalasa covered her uncharacteristic smirk.
"For this outfit, you will require a different type of undergarment," she explained meekly. She wasn't embarrassed, this kind of thing was part of her job. Joren glared at Laurent, who smiled unflinchingly back. How, oh how, do I get into these things? the squire asked silently.
A short time later saw Joren shivering and completely nude. Lalasa was busy with a strip of measuring tape, taking down numbers for the size of his waist, the girth around his shoulders, and of his chest around the height of just below his shoulders. She would pin scraps of fabric around him, every so often "accidentally" jabbing him with a pin. He winced but ignored it. Let the common vulgar thing have her fun. He was confused about the measurements, though--they weren't typical for the sort of clothing he was familiar with. And the style of the cloth she was fitting him with seemed awfully strange as well. Joren was getting suspicious. At last Lalasa stood, taking a large sketch from the shelves of the wall and scribbling down the measurement numbers beside it.
"Hey," said Joren into the room's silence. He had a bad feeling about this, and Lalasa's smirk as she gazed over the design sketch wasn't helping.
"Just a moment, Philippe," said Laurent. He was studying a book full of fabric samples, rubbing his finger over them and squinting. "Which do you prefer, sugar pink or buttercup?"
"What the hell kind of question is that?!" squeaked Joren. This was bad, oh, he just knew he wasn't going to like this. "What kind of crazy clothing is this anyway? It needs completely new measurements and undergarments, and you want it in those colors?"
Laurent looked up at him, innocence written all over his handsome face. Joren knew that look only too well. The one he used on Paxton all the time, that he had used on Laurent just an hour or so ago. "Why," the prince said sweetly, "it's for the outfit you're going to wear at the ball, of course." Joren glared.
"What kind of outfit," he asked in his most steely voice.
"One that I can use to show you off, of course!" Laurent exclaimed. Joren didn't smile. The raven-haired man sighed. "Would you like to see the design?"
"Yes." Well, not really, but it was better than not knowing the reason behind Laurent's façade and Lalasa's periodic bursts of uncharacteristic laughter.
"Very well. Lalasa, my dear, show my lovely Philippe what he'll be wearing when he accompanies me to the ball." With an obedient nod, Lalasa scratched down the last of the measurements and turned the sketch around to show Joren.
"It's one of my best works yet," she exclaimed proudly.
Joren took one look.
"You've got to be joking. No way. No no no no no no NO way in hell will I EVER--"
"I think it's cute," Laurent offered. "You'll look great." Joren looked from him, to Lalasa, to the sketch, and to Laurent again. *If they recognize me, I will never live this down,* he thought, before dropping in a dead faint.
to be continued...
/* Another chapter done *phew* -_-;; thanks for your past reviews and please tell me how you felt about this one (or any of them)… I'd give you a date for the next chapter but I know it'll never happen…*/
