Sorry for the lateness, guys! I didn't get a chance to finish this chapter before I left, and the trip took so much out of me that I kinda rested for a week or two. Sorry! Anyhow, I'm SO grateful to everyone who reviewed. I love you all! Glad you guys liked this story so far. Stick with me here! :-p AND A BIG HUG AND THANKS TO KAGEMIHARI AND MOONLITSPIRE FOR SO PATIENTLY EDITING MY WORK! :-p
... = translated French
"..." = English (occasionally w/ un-translated words from other languages)
/.../ = translated ancient Egyptian
'...' = private thoughts
italics = words/terms/pronunciations NOT in the language being currently spoken or in the English narration
bold = song lyrics
[?] = footnotes
AN = author's note
CHAPTER 3: Moonlight Sonata
"No, milady, I assure you, pink lilies look just fine," sighed Seto for the umpteenth time, his eye twitching.
Madame Geneviève, a robust, rosy-cheeked French woman in tan with a mountain load of gray hair piled above her head, looked at him incredulously, fluttering her plump hands madly. She spoke with a shrill, opera-like voice and heavily accented English. "Oh, no, my dear Commodore, pink lilies will certainly NOT do! After all, my daughter prefers purple lilacs and --darling, do try and leave some for the other guests!" she hissed to the young woman at her side that was currently stuffing croissants in her mouth.
Mademoiselle Jeanette choked a little and quickly dabbed her mouth with a white little napkin. She was pretty enough, Seto supposed, as pale and light as a young woman should be. She wore too much perfume, however, and the Commodore found it rather revolting to be anywhere in the general area.
"Anyways, now Commodore, really, purple is such a better color than pink."
"Mmph." Seto nodded absentmindedly, staring down at his lap and quite wishing he could prang his forehead against the side of the table.
"Sir, if it's any help, you have my fullest sympathies," whispered his first lieutenant, Andrew, who sat by his left. The young man was munching quite happily on some buttered bread and looking rather cheerful about the whole ordeal. Almost TOO cheerful.
"Oh, you're just dripping sympathy, lieutenant," mumbled back Seto under his breath.
Andrew sent him a grin. He was a wiry, slender lad, a bit on the short side and with dark, near-black eyes that glowed with warmth. He was twenty-four, a fine age for a first lieutenant, and renowned for his wittiness and his devastating charm. While his commanding officer was rather stiff and stolid, Andrew was a cheerful, talkative man, always smiling and commanding an audience. Having been Seto's closest --and probably only-- companion during their long military history together, he was also one of the few that could push Seto's buttons and not be decapitated on the spot.
They were an odd pair, side by side. There was Seto; tall, broad-shouldered, as still as a statue and built like a tiger. Then there was Andrew; thin, compactly built and with floppy, ever-moving limbs. There was Seto; silent, tight-lipped and glaring with icy eyes the color of the deepest oceans. Then there was Andrew; dark-eyed, bubbling, laughing, and flirting. At a glance, the only thing the two had in common was their uniform, and even that was different; Seto's, far more elaborate as a Commodore's attire should be, was crisp and neat, clean down to the very buttons; Andrew's outfit, the simpler one of a lieutenant, was rather messily tossed on and a bit crumpled, as if he had just woken up.
In everyone's eyes, even their own, the two men were unlikely friends.
Andrew, as apparent by his friendly nature, was born to a poverty-stricken but loving family of nine children, his siblings ranging from eleven years older to six years younger. Working in the fields for most of his young life, he spent a long, happy childhood on a tiny, crowded farm town where all the citizens lived within a mile of each other and knew each other like family.
Seto, on the other hand, was born and raised an aristocrat of England's highest classes. A member of royalty, he was raised in lonely mansions all over England, from London to the coasts. His childhood was not a warm, carefree one; in the elaborate and mainly empty rooms of his numerous homes, the boy usually remained with only a nanny and a few quiet-spoken servants that he rarely ever saw. Throughout his youth, he was lectured and taught daily by tutors that were quickly fired once they couldn't keep up with his talented mind. In his 'free time', he was taught hunting, horse-back riding, art, music, and sword fighting --all of which he excelled at. Still, despite being talented beyond any tutor's dreams, he never had much time to himself, to play with the toys that soon wasted away in storage or to look out the window and just ponder about theological things. Never once in the first ten or so years of his life was he allowed to speak with a child his age; most of the few that he met were peasants and servants, and he was told that they weren't worth his time.
Growing up bitter, lonely and far too smart for his age, Seto was drawn to the men of the British Navy; he liked how they gave or obeyed strict orders, how neat and orderly they filed into ranks, how brave and proudly they carried themselves, how willingly they gave themselves for both Crown and country. Finally, the boy's fascination grew to be too much and he eventually announced to his family --his two aunts and his grandparents, the King and the Queen-- that he was going to join the Navy; he had been only twelve then. The King and Queen, who hardly ever saw or understood this strange grandchild of theirs, were only too happy to get rid of him. By thirteen, Seto was enlisted in His Majesty's Navy.
Years later, when seventeen-year old Seto was already second lieutenant on the H. M. S. Dragon, sixteen-year old Andrew enlisted to earn some extra money for his family. A prankster at heart, he was ill-suited for the strict hierarchy of the Navy and never quite got the hang of 'following orders'. While he was admirably strong for his size and quite resourceful from his farming experiences, the youth was more adept to goofing off during training and getting yelled at by his superiors, one of which was Seto. On the other hand, Andrew found Seto fascinating from the beginning. Being raised around the idea of family love, the boy could simply NOT understand why someone his age could possibly be so stiff; therefore, he spent most of his midshipman days following Seto around and aggravated the poor young officer to no end, always trying to coax a little smile or laughter from the blue-eyed man. Most of his efforts went in vain. However, though highly annoyed, Seto eventually came to tolerate the boy, especially when he found that a little companionship did wonders for his temperament.
As it seemed, the two young men complemented each other rather well. Andrew was always there to fill in Seto's stolid silence with laughter, while Seto was always there to get Andrew out of trouble. If Andrew was wounded in battle, Seto was the one with a flashing sword that came running to save him, while if Seto was the one to fall, Andrew always came up with some miraculous, utterly insane plan --usually against orders-- to rescue him from the clutches of death or something worse. If Andrew was being brash and irrational, Seto was always the first and only superior officer allowed to scold him, but if Seto was the one to attack without thinking, it was comforting to know that Andrew was always there to hold him back. Their friendship worked nicely; Andrew got his rare, well-earned laughs from Seto, and Seto, in turn, got a loyal friend and a worthy first lieutenant. It turns out that the farm boy, despite his lack of a proper education, was gifted with a sharp mind and real potential in military strategy, a skill that was growing increasingly rare.
Seto sighed under his breath as Mme. Geneviève dragged on and on about wardrobe decorations, occasionally lapsing back into French when she got really excited. How exciting wardrobe decorations could be was beyond Seto, who questioned inwardly why on earth the lady would ask a man's opinion on the matter in the first place. After a few minutes of tuning her out, he wondered briefly how long this woman could hold a conversation all by herself. And it wasn't helping that she was blatantly trying to hook him up with her daughter in the middle of random sentences about aforementioned wardrobe decorations.
Mlle. Jeanette sat by her mother's side and was playing the part of a single girl with enthusiasm, fiddling with her tiny hands in her lap and batting her eyes in the Commodore's direction whenever her mother increased the effort to bring out the young woman's 'attractiveness'.
Seto inhaled some more of her strong perfume --something with much too citrus-- and inwardly shuddered. With effort, he sent her a tight-lipped smile and mirrored his lieutenant, munching on a piece of bread; he wasn't really hungry, but any food was a bit more interesting than the two hyperactive ladies by his side. He winced slightly as he bit into the bread; it was a bit warmer and more flavored than the plain military kind he preferred, but he managed to swallow a few bites.
While Mme. Geneviève went on, Seto glanced down at the far left end of the table. Sophia sat there, dressed in gold and as pretty as a beam of sunlight, conversing happily with two elderly noble ladies that sat on either side of her. Being the guest of honor, Seto had been placed in the middle of the table, making him the center of attention; however, the position also left him very far from Sophia, who was the only lady Seto believed worth talking to. And seeing that Andrew was blatantly flirting with the pretty blond by his side and her sister on the opposite side of the table, Seto had no one else to turn to but Mme. Geneviève, who was now rambling about roses and how fast they can wilt if you don't put them in the right temperature water.
"Saluez le Prince Couronné!"
The cry made Mme. Geneviève jump, and for the first time since dinner started, she fell silent.
'Thank the Lord,' thought Seto, standing as everyone but the King and Queen rose. Bowing his head, he fought a smirk as he heard the doors open. He knew where the Prince was going to sit; only two empty seats remained and they both happened to be across him, one larger than the other and obviously fit for royalty. Seto wasn't sure if this was all some sort of sick cosmic joke, but whatever it was, he was surely going to enjoy it.
He heard small gasps of admiration and risked a small glance.
The Prince, accompanied by the ever-present Mahado and two more musketeers, stood at the far end of the lavishly adorned chamber under an even more lavishly adorned doorway, a delightful sight to both young and old eyes. He had changed out of his brilliantly colored formal robes into a tender colored one; his new attire was simple but elegant, comprised of a frilly-necked and frilly-wristed white shirt and a red vest embroidered with the elaborate gold designs of the Lancaster house. His shirt stretched down and parted to mid-thigh before it gave way to tight white breeches. The pant legs were tucked into knee-length white boots that wrapped wonderfully around the boy's slight calves and well-turned, delicate little ankles. A large white cape completed the attire, tied lopsided so it hung over one shoulder more than the other and ended up tossed around one of the Prince's forearm so not to trip him. The outfit was graceful and neat, and despite the style being strangely foreign, the Commodore raised an appreciative eyebrow.
"Good Lord..." Andrew whispered breathlessly over his shoulder, "That boy is candy for the eyes."
Seto worked to find his voice, coughing delicately into one hand and hiding a faint blush under the broad rim of his hat. "...Indeed."
He watched with the eyes of a predator as the boy slowly but gracefully made his way to the farthest end of the table, stopping to greet his father with a small bow and kiss his hand. The King gave him a small, quick smile, watching with a sharp eye as the Prince, followed by Mahado and two musketeers, made his way down the table to kiss the Queen's hand. Seto caught the faint scent of a strange, rose-like smell as the Prince walked by and was greatly relieved to find that it was far easier on his sinuses than whatever horrid perfume Mlle. Jeanette used. Sophia greeted the Prince warmly, patting him fondly on the cheek and flashing him a brilliant smile. Seto noted, with a bit of relief, that Yami showed no animosity toward her; if anything, he gave the Queen a quick peck on the cheek before making his way toward Seto and the two empty seats.
Mahado's flashing emerald eyes met with Seto's and hardened, but Seto paid him no heed, watching hungrily under a bowed hat as the Prince delicately seated himself, proper down to every last strand of hair. The youth flashed a dazzling, radiant smile to those watching him appreciatively and nodded, indicating that they could sit.
A quiet murmuring went up as the guests sat, women primping their dresses just right and squirming in their corsets. The men, Seto and Andrew included, flicked their jackets back before they sat, a move that seemed rehearsed but was a merely a reflex embedded in them from years of proper etiquette and getting wrinkled jackets when they didn't. Those men with hats and swords set them aside for young servants to collect and put against the wall. Seto felt distinctly uncomfortable as he did so, reluctantly handing over his pistol as well; if there was anything he hated more than stupid festivities, then being utterly unarmed was it. Naval marines and sailors alike learned a long time ago that if you didn't carry a sword, you would most likely die by one, and if you didn't carry a gun, than your sword would be of no help in the first place.
When the final guests made themselves comfortable, the food began to arrive in great, hot plates. As servants filled the room and scrambled about with steaming plates of meat and pots of stew, the whispering rose steadily into comfortable, steady mumbles. Seto noted with amusement that, besides those women trying to flirt with bachelors such as himself --or vice versa, as was the case with the younger members of Seto's crew-- the English mainly stuck with the English and the French with the French. To Seto, who was raised in the most proper of English households, it was rather rude to not speak the language of guests, but nonetheless French conversations clashed with English words and mingled in a confusing mess. The King was speaking rapidly in French with some nobleman, while the Queen continued on her conversation with the two of the older gentlemen of Seto's crew, obviously delighting in what must be her first English conversation in a very long time.
Seto glanced at the Prince. The boy ate with small, tiny bites, one hand tucked in his lap and the other gracefully wielding a silver fork. He ate mechanically and unenthusiastically, and Seto had a feeling the boy was purposely not meeting his gaze. Annoyed, the Commodore shifted his glance to Mahado, who was surprisingly not glaring at him but at the Prince. The musketeer hadn't eaten at all, and his gaze on the Prince was fierce, accusing and unwavering, anger mingling with worry. Curious as to what might have made the cavalier upset, Seto looked back at the spiky-haired Prince, scrutinizing him a little closer.
The boy seemed unnaturally pale. His dark cheeks were so pale, in fact, that he looked positively sickly in his white attire. The thought made Seto's stomach clench. He had half a heart to comment on his observation, but decided against it. There were too many people here and most of them would take offense --even suspicion-- if an English Commodore randomly asked about a French Prince's health.
Sighing, Seto stared down at the soup that had just been placed in front of him. Lord, he hated fancy foods. Unlike his crew and every other man in the military who dreamt about nothing but good food when sailing abroad, he actually thrived on plain military food; it was harsh, raw, and basic, much like how he saw life. This creamy, heavily flavored gunk put before him was like pure sugar on his tongue, and eating too much of it made him feel sick. Andrew claimed it was due to his Seto's unnaturally fit state, the Commodore being so used to active naval duty that his body could no longer stand such rich foods. Seto, on the other hand, just blamed it on psychological logic. After all, the only time he saw such a rich meal was at social gatherings like this one, and it was common knowledge that he hated social gatherings, so therefore associated good food with aforementioned hated gatherings.
He sighed again. He wasn't in a conversational mood and he wasn't hungry, but if he didn't look like he was eating, Mme. Geneviève was going to start blabbering about the reproduction habits of flowers again. Sighing, the Commodore lowered his head and picked up his spoon, inwardly making a face.
"A toast!" came a bubbling, female voice from his left.
Seto looked up, feeling a bit relieved.
Sophia stood at the far end of the table, smiling broadly, one slim arm raised to offer a pure silver goblet filled with rich, red wine. When she stood, everyone else followed in an instant, and soon she had everyone standing and mimicking her position. Seto followed, lifting his own goblet.
The Queen looked at Seto, beaming. "A toast, my friends, to our dear Commodore!" She waved the goblet in the young man's direction. "France's humble congratulations to a brave protector of the seas!"
"Oui, oui!" came the simultaneous cry. ( Yes! Yes! )
Seto managed a modest nod of his head. He stood a little taller, chin high, one hand resting gently against the small of his back.
"A votre santé!" intoned the King with a nod. ( For good health! )
"A une longue vie!" cried a Frenchman. ( For long life! )
"For good sailing!" chirped one of Seto's crew.
"By God, for more promotions!" cried Andrew passionately, drawing chuckles from both the French and English.
Seto shot him a raised eyebrow.
"...For freedom," came a new voice, soft, tiny and gentle.
Seto's gaze snapped in front of him, fixing on the Prince. Yami met his gaze evenly, his fair face serene.
Indeed, Seto's initial observations were confirmed; the boy seemed far too pale. Not only that, but he wasn't standing as straight or as regal as he had when the Commodore had first seen him in the throne chamber. Still, Yami managed a weak smile when their eyes met, a warmth in his eyes that Seto rarely received from anyone but Sophia.
Seto felt his heart skip and shook himself inwardly, nodding briefly at the Prince. The edge of his thin lips twisted upward. "...For freedom..." he echoed, so quietly that almost no one else could hear.
The Prince smiled a little at him, albeit tiredly.
"To the Commodore!" cried Sophia once more.
"Pour le Commandeur!" echoed the natives and the guests, some in English, some in French. ( For the Commodore! )
Seto thanked them with a small bow, watching everyone simultaneously drink before tipping his head back and drinking a few sips from his own goblet. The only thing he truly enjoyed of the French was their wine; although it was a little sweeter than the toned-down old English types, it felt simply delightful as it burned its way down his throat.
Followed by many of those present, Seto settled back in his seat with a flick of his jacket, watching in amusement as a few stranglers --Andrew and a few fans of the Commodore included-- stood for a great deal longer, downing their goblets entirely before sitting. Amazingly, the Prince was among them. For such a slender boy, he had an impressive tolerance for alcohol. Beaming at the stunned Commodore, the boy sat and briefly flashed him his goblet --it was totally empty.
Seto blinked a few times, then blinked some more when the boy asked a servant to refill his goblet.
"I'll have you know, Commodore," purred the Prince just out of hearing range of a scowling Mahado and the other guests, "that I am full of surprises." He grinned cheekily and Seto was glad to find that the wine had brought a little bit more color back into his pale cheeks.
The Commodore raised an eyebrow, keeping his gaze even though the corners of his mouth twitched upward. "Indeed."
Seto never really considered suicide before, but he was very close to doing so right now. He was, quite literally, surrounded by women, most of them plump, rosy-cheeked mother-daughter pairs trying to catch his romantic interest. Jabbering in both French and English, they came like a swarm of vultures on their prey, and the moment Seto had taken a step away from the table, he found himself cut off by huge dresses, flapping fans and big hair. In a brilliant move worthy of military strategy, the woman had also dragged along their hapless husbands and brothers, sending them to cut off any means of escape while they settled themselves around the Commodore's path.
"Really, ladies," Seto stated politely, inwardly wincing, "I am not going anywhere anytime soon. I was merely heading to get my belongings and a cup of wi--"
He didn't even finish his sentence when, promptly, a mass of daughters scampered off from the group to the refreshments table and returned with cups and cups of wine, most of which they enthusiastically offered to him. Someone grabbed his sword and pistol --there was a brief fuss over them as well-- before presenting them to him with flourish.
Sweatdropping, Seto nodded politely at them and carefully accepted his weapons along with one cup of wine, sipping at it absentmindedly as the women began to bustle amongst themselves, some giggling, some eyeing him admirably, others making a fuss to fix their hair and dress. Their male companions looked helpless and embarrassed, shuffling uneasily under the Commodore's disapproving gaze. A few, claiming to want a drink, escaped from the clutches of the masses, hesitating only briefly to send a look of pity in the naval officer's direction.
Seto watched them go, wishing he could just follow their lead. Alas, he could not. Having been trapped in this type of situation more times than he wanted to count, he felt a rising sense of dread at the decreasing space between him and the flock of women. He inwardly sighed in despair. It seemed he had no choice this time but to simply play along and wait the night out.
"Oh, Commodore, do tell us poor French ladies about your adventures on the sea!" cried one pretty young woman in surprisingly good English.
Seto inwardly sighed but managed a thin smile, retying his sword with one hand and refitting his hat with the other. "Ladies, ladies... There really isn't much to tell..."
"Oh, I heard you've hung so many awful pirates!" exclaimed a mother.
"Yes, actually, we hung three the other day at the gallows back in London and--"
"Are they hard to find?"
Seto managed a small laugh. "Milady, they seem rather fond of coming after me."
The women giggled.
"Oh, do you get hurt when you fight them? That would be so horrible if you do!"
"Well, that depends. My ships--"
A plump lady squealed, waving her fan. "Oh, your ships, Commodore! Do tell us about them!"
Seto straightened unconsciously, feeling slightly less off edge now that they had wandered into a familiar territory. "Well, they're--"
"Oh la la, est-ce que vos bateaus sont grands??" asked a French mother. ( Oh, are your ships big? )
"Oui," replied Seto in French, frowning, "mais pour les bateaux, les dimensions ne sont pas trés importantes parce que--" ( Yes, but for ships, the size isn't very important because-- )
" Est-ce que vos bateaux sont longs aussi?" asked another French woman, a daughter this time but ugly to boot. ( Are your ships long also? )
"Et vite?" ( And fast? )
Seto's frown depended. "Oui..." he answered slowly, carefully. He had a feeling the subject of these ladies' interest wasn't so much his ships as was... Dear Lord, they weren't implying something, were they? 'Heavens, where's Andrew when you need him?!' Out of the corner of his eye, Seto spotted his lieutenant in the corner surrounded by his own admirers, flirting shamelessly with a pretty brunette. The Commodore sighed and rolled his eyes briefly. So much for their normal 'Urgent Military Business' plan.
Evasive action was needed. Immediately. Seto's eyes darted about from under the shadow of his brow. His list of allies looked pathetically thin...
"Ah, Seto, there are you!" With great flourish, the Queen appeared out of nowhere brandishing a glass of cider and a very large smile. Much to Seto's relief, the other women parted and bowed for her. "Come, darling," Sophia linked arms with Seto, pulling gently and winking at his clear look of relief, "You simply must dance with me. This waltz is one of my favorites!"
Seto made a face at her but followed, figuring that even dancing was better than being around single ladies any day. He noted the waltz --one of Beethoven's-- twinkling through air from a piano set in the corner, with a young musician was having a grand old time beating out the tune. People swayed in beat with the bouncy melody, gliding about the ballroom with goblets of wine and friends in tow. The Commodore frowned. Having been so busy trying to save himself from the female vultures, he had failed to notice that the dinner table had been completely cleared away and every guest, like him, had been up and about, chatting amiably. Quite a few, like him, were just beginning to notice the music, and many pulled a partner --usually a reluctant one-- to the center of the floor for a cheerful little dance step.
"Are you really going to make me dance?" mumbled Seto as he was pulled along by Sophia.
The Queen handed her glass to a servant and her place at the end of the dance line, on the woman's side. The women were currently doing a little bounce step, and without hesitance, Sophia joined them perfectly, lifting the hem of her skirt and tapping her delicate, high-heeled feet along; toe, toe, heel, toe. "Oh, come now, Seto, you're a wonderful dancer!"
Seto sighed for the countless time this night and lined up with the other men, bowing as one with them when a verse was struck. Then, following a traditional dance he had repeatedly done enough to perform it in his sleep, he took Sophia's slender hand led her toward his direction a few paces, then switched places with her in three steps and turned to face her, clapping twice. [1] Then the step was repeated, with the men bowing as the women did their little tapping, then switched places again with their partners.
Hands together, walk forward, clap, turn, hands together, walk the other way, clap.
Seto did each step effortlessly and elegantly, albeit mechanically. As he led Sophia about the dance floor in tune with the other couples, he let his mind wander. The single women and their mothers still stalked him from afar, choosing to watch him along the edge of the dance platform and bat their eyelashes at him once in a while from behind their fluttering fans. Ignoring them, Seto looked beyond and shook his head helplessly when he saw Andrew flirting successfully with three girls at a time. 'Shameless, that man is...'
He felt someone's sharp gaze on him and scanned the room for the source, blue eyes narrowed as his body continued on without him. His sharp eyes fixed on the Prince, who was huddled with Mahado and two musketeers in the shadow of the farthest corner. Mahado, thankfully, was not paying the Commodore the slightest bit of attention as he chatted amiably with his two cavalier friends, though keeping unnaturally close to his young charge.
Realizing that he had been sighted, Yami looked away quickly, no doubt embarrassed.
Seto's eyes narrowed even more. He did not like to be watched.
Sophia, as she twirled around her nephew's tall frame, followed his gaze and smiled a little. Without missing a step, she accepted his hand and twirled under it, noting with amusement that Seto, though still dancing, wasn't paying her the least bit of mind. "You should talk with him," she suggested innocently, bringing the Commodore's gaze down to her.
Seto sent her a withering look.
"Well, you should," stated the Queen, her cheeks rosy from the dance and her golden locks bouncing as she went. "He's rather lonely."
Seto glanced at the Prince again and saw that Sophia spoke the truth. While plenty of people, both men and women, were eyeing the Prince, none had the gall to speak with him for more than a few short sentences; either the English were too shy and soft-spoken to do so or the French had some sort of order from the King to leave the boy alone. 'He looks miserable...' observed the Commodore, feeling somewhat better that he wasn't the only one that didn't enjoy these pointless parties.
"Go. TALK. With. Him!" commanded Sophia in a mock-order tone, giving him a little nudge in the Prince's direction.
Yami watched the Commodore move about with fascination. The officer was one of the tallest present and yet he moved like someone half his size, each step elegant, smooth and perfectly in tune with the other men and the music. He simply radiated poise and power, an Adonis-like figure of outstanding charm and talent. Yami wanted to sigh, hugging himself lightly. Surely such a fine man would marry some pretty woman and go down in history in flame and glory. He was sure of it. And he was almost as sure he would be no part of that history.
Feeling the prickly sensation of being watched, the Prince was suddenly shocked to find that he had been openly staring and that, worst of all, the Commodore had noticed. The tall man had turned his head over his shoulder and had fixed his icy blue eyes on the Prince from across the room. Yami ducked his chin, fighting a blush. He sensed Mahado shifting his gaze at him briefly and gave the musketeer a small, reassuring smile. Frowning, the cavalier sighed and went back to his conversation with his two old friends, buddies he's had since way back when in their training days.
"May I steal you for a moment, your highness?"
The deep, silken voice made Yami look up sharply.
The whole world seemed to slow and grind to a halt before his very eyes.
Looming above him, the Commodore's deep, blue eyes twinkled down at him as the man smirked, a cup of wine in either hand, "Or are you too... preoccupied?" One edge of his lips rose upward.
Yami's heart beat madly and leapt up to his throat. Sweet Nut, those beautiful, Ra-forsaken eyes...! He could stare in them all day! Indeed, he indulged himself the pleasure of doing so for a few seconds, lost in those sparkling blue orbs. The boy worked his mouth wordlessly for a moment, then coughed and found his voice. "No, I--" He felt Mahado stiffen and, without looking, rested a hand on the musketeer's arm to still and silence him, "I'm quite free." He gave the Commodore a small smile and felt his heart melt when the movement was briefly returned.
Seto led the Prince with his elbow --being that his hands were occupied-- to one of the small balconies on the far side of the room, parting the sheer curtain for the boy to pass before following him outside himself.
It was a beautiful night, quiet, serene and peaceful. The sky was clear and starry, a dark velvet filled with tiny twinkling stars and a stunning crescent moon that bathed them in silvery light. A chorus of crickets sang sweetly in the distant grass and an owl hooted softly from a nearby tree. The balcony overlooked the main entrance, giving them a beautiful view of the large white courtyard and the weeping willows that surrounded it, the trees swaying to unheard music. Glittering in the moonlight, a large, rectangular marble pool dominated most of the courtyard, dotted with elegant fountains and lovely statues of a scantly clad Aphrodite. The twinkling, bell-like sound of falling water joined the crickets and the owl, followed by distant laughter from the night-shift gaurds and musketeers chatting from afar.
Seto took a deep breath of clean night air and immediately felt immensely better. He exhaled slowly, relishing the quiet moment. "My Prince, I have to admit," he started casually, sipping at the bittersweet wine and offering Yami the other cup, "I highly doubt your guardian likes me very much."
Hesitantly accepting the goblet, Yami held it to his lips and sipped shyly, looking down into the courtyard at nothing in particular. His lovely face shimmered eerily with reflected light from the fountain waters below. "I apologize for him," the boy whispered quietly, embarrassed, "Mahado doesn't take too fondly to Englishmen."
"I see," Seto leaned against the railway, looking out. The small feathers in his hat rustled as a breeze blew over them, the same breath of wing tugging at the frills on his shirt. "And what about you, your highness?" he asked finally, looking at Yami and seeing the boy blink his beautiful red eyes at him. Raising an eyebrow, the Commodore chose his next words very carefully, "What do you think of us Englishmen?"
Yami blushed furiously into his cup, scrambling for an answer that wouldn't be terribly embarrassing. "...I don't hold animosities toward anyone," he whispered finally, voice small.
"Indeed." The Commodore calmly took another sip, looking out into the fountain with stony silence.
For a while, there were no more words between them, just an awkwardness that hung in the air.
Out of the corner of his eye, Yami could not resist but study the officer's marvelous profile with no little amount of adoration. Those beautiful sapphire eyes... That strong nose... Those pale lips... That elegant jaw...
Jumping when the Commodore's voice broke the silence, the Prince quickly looked away lest he be caught staring at the Englishman for the second time in one night.
"I've been... meaning to ask you something, your highness," stated the Commodore suddenly, awkwardness in his suddenly tight voice. He straightened to his full height, his free hand resting against his back once again, a reflex burned into him from years of military training. For a moment, he was silent, brow furrowed as if searching for the right words. "When I was receiving the toast, you wished me.... freedom," he murmured, blue eyes troubled as they turned and fixed on Yami, "...Why?"
The French Prince met Seto's eyes evenly for a minute before looking away, flushing lightly. "Well, I..." he trailed off, uncomfortably.
Seto said nothing, watching the Prince carefully and urging the boy on with his attentive silence.
Yami sighed, voice tiny, "... I thought it was something you wanted."
At this, the Commodore's thin eyebrows arched up into the shadow of his hat, nearly disappearing into his wig. With some effort, he kept his voice even. "What makes you believe that?" he asked gently, truly curious.
Yami's exquisite crimson eyes flashed in the moonlight with a thousand emotions, none of which Seto managed to catch or even remotely understand. The lovely Prince turned away, uneasy. "... It's nothing, Commodore. Think nothing of it," he mumbled quickly.
"No, truly, your highness, speak your mind."
Yami gave him an odd look, then sighed. "Well, its silly, really... I--I merely thought that you looked so uncomfortable here... with all these people, I mean. It seemed so... unnatural for you." Yami winced as he spoke, clearly expecting some kind of harsh scolding to come his way. When there was none, he continued, voice dipping softly. "A fine Commodore like you belongs on the ocean, sir... On a ship, at the very least." His voice fell once more until it was barely audible. "Not here."
Blue eyes widened slightly and briefly flickered toward the boy. Not for the first time tonight, Seto was genuinely surprised. Was he really that easy to read? The thought was frightening. Frowning a bit, he rested his weight on one foot and took another sip of his forgotten wine. "Well well, your majesty..." he murmured thoughtfully against the brim of his cup, "You are gifted."
Yami blinked.
Seto arched an eyebrow toward him, smirking. "You can read people well." He nodded, as if pleased, "It is a rare gift." 'Albeit one that worries me a bit,' he added to himself.
Yami blushed at the compliment. "Thank you, Commodore, but I'm afraid you're mistaken. It was a wild guess. After all, either you liked or you didn't like being here. I merely opted for the latter."
Seto snorted. "Well then, you were correct." He gave Yami a thin smile with more warmth than he even realized he gave. "Though the party was lovely, I dare say I certainly do not enjoy these gatherings much."
Yami's gaze drifted behind them into the warm glow of the party, "Neither do I," he whispered, faintly.
Their gazes met once more and for the first time, they both smiled at each other. No glares, no wary looks, no frowns, no furrowed brows, no formal words... Just nice, small smiles.
"Oh, there you are! Dear GOD, man, you must simply try this cake. French chocolate, no doubt, and-- oh, hello, your highness!" chirped Andrew, grinning broadly with two plates of cake, one of which was currently half eaten.
Seto turned with eyes that could kill.
Andrew, on the other hand, was far too immune to the look to be worried. He did, however, step down a step, frowning a little and looking back and forth between the two on the balcony, "I'm sorry... Am I interrupting something?" he asked innocently.
Seto wanted to scream. JUST when he had the near-mute boy talking...! Thankfully, years of military training kicked into gear and he managed a stern glare, his lips pursing with discontent.
"No, sir, you're not," said Yami gently, inwardly sighing through he shifted his smile from Seto to Andrew. "I don't believe I caught your name, monsieur?"
Andrew lifted his chin proudly. "First Lieutenant Andrew Giles, your highness, but Andrew will do just fine." With difficulty, he shifted one of the plates of cake to the other hand; then, with grace even Seto admired, he successfully balanced both plates on one hand and leaned down to kiss Yami's hand, bowing with flourish. Looking up from the Prince's fingers, the lieutenant grinned. "Has anyone told you how fetching you look tonight, my fair Prince?"
Yami colored a little, smiling broadly. "Quite a few people, actually, but thank you for the praise nevertheless."
Seto noted that the boy looked positively radiant with that smile and made a mental note of it. "Now, Andrew, really--"
"Chocolate, sir!" Andrew shoved the untouched cake in Seto's face with enthusiasm, "French chocolate, by word! Have you had it before?! It's positively marvelous, I tell you!"
"I've had it quite a few times, actually, and--"
Andrew waved the cake in the Commodore's face and Yami almost laughed at the utterly baffled look on Seto's face. "Sir, this cake needs your immediate attention," the lieutenant said with an overly grave tone, planting the plate firmly in the officer's grip, "I believe you will do your duty, dear Commodore." He looked so dead serious it was ridiculous.
Seto raised an eyebrow as lowered the plate, sighing with exasperation. "Andrew, I really doubt this is necessar--"
Andrew ignored him. He turned to Yami, positively beaming. "Your highness, would you like some? I'm afraid I've already touched this one, but I'd be glad to get you a slice."
Yami shook his head a little, "No thank you, good sir," he said with a soft sigh, respectfully, "I'm not very hungry tonight."
Seto sent the boy a sharp look. Again, he noted that the Prince's cheeks had reverted to being sickly pale.
"Ah, 'tis a shame," murmured Andrew. He turned briefly to Seto, raising an eyebrow. "You, sir, are going to eat. Under the oath of the British Naval Code, I tell you."
Seto sighed again. "Andrew, really, I--"
"Oh, lieutenant, why don't you show that musketeer that wonderful cake?" piped in Yami suddenly, hurriedly. Now that Andrew had parted the curtains of the balcony, Mahado had spotted them and was making his way toward them, looking positively murderous and obviously intent on breaking the little party up. "He is a very dear friend," the Prince hurried on, "but I daresay that he hasn't been eating much recently and I worry that--"
"Not to worry, dear Prince," announced Andrew with a broad grin, "He looks like he could use some cheering up anyhow." With a wide smile, he took Seto's cake out from the Commodore very hands --again, Seto looked baffled and Yami didn't hide his giggles this time-- and ambled down the steps toward Mahado. "Hello there, dear cavalier!" he called cheerfully.
The musketeer didn't notice the British officer until it was too late. Blinking, he almost ran the shorter man over and stopped briefly to utter a pardon, ever the gentlemen. Seto and Yami watched with amusement as Andrew cheerfully greeted him back and motioned to the half-eaten cake in his hand. When Mahado politely declined and shook his head, Andrew pushed harder, leading the protesting man to the dessert table. The musketeer, as he was being pulled away by the elbow, sent an angry and confused glance over his shoulder toward Yami's direction. The boy merely shrugged and sent him his most innocent expression, grinning.
"I uh... apologize for my lieutenant, your majesty," said Seto finally with a small cough, his normally steely voice a bit sheepish. "He can be very... persistent."
Yami laughed a charming, twinkling laugh. "Well, Commodore, I rather like the man. I haven't met anyone with such a wonderful sense of humor in years."
"An absolute madman he is sometimes," Seto agreed thoughtfully, a bit fondly, "He has a problem with authority, as well. And, as you've seen, he's... rather fond of food," he explained awkwardly, shaking his head helplessly, "And the worst thing he, he's under the impression that I'm far too skinny for a man my size."
Yami blinked, than laughed again. "Yes, well, I suppose out on the open sea, everyone needs a mother figure around to look out for them."
Something flashed in Seto's eyes and they suddenly became distant and narrowed.
Yami felt his heart sink; was there something he shouldn't have said? Biting his lip, he glanced around awkwardly and saw a horde of women hurrying toward them out of the corner of his eyes. Apparently the ladies had spotted the two men through the balcony curtains. The Prince's lovely eyes narrowed dangerously. Ra forbid someone take this beautiful man away from his side!
"Come, dear Commodore," announced the Prince quickly, linking his arm through a stunned Seto's and pulling gently toward the right, away from Mahado and Andrew and the approaching women. "Let us go before we are chased down by hounds."
"Hounds?" A thoroughly confused Commodore shifted his gaze from Andrew and Mahado to Yami, then to the growing mass of females to their left. His eyes widened briefly and he sent Yami a grateful smile, albeit a rare one. "Why, yes, that sounds like a marvelous idea."
Seto, with a victorious and happy Yami on his elbow, found himself in the corner of the room far from most of the other guests, just watching everyone else eat and chat and dance. Yami had yet to let go of his arm and, while Seto found this odd, the officer had absolutely no complaints. If anything, the Prince's lovely figure beside him was a blessing; seeing royalty with a high-ranking British naval officer was enough to intimidate any sane guest, so therefore the two were left in comfortable silence, still sipping their half-finished wine. Neither could find anything to say, so of course, they didn't speak at all.
Still, Yami was elated. True, he was feeling far more tired than he had been earlier, but with the gorgeous, blue-eyed Commodore's arm to lean against --Ra forbid the man notice-- there really wasn't anything to protest about. He sighed a little, daring to rest a cheek against the thick blue jacket, inhaling a salty, slightly musky scent he realized must be the aroma of the ocean. It smelled foreign and delightful, and Yami fought a blush at the thought. [2]
Contrary to the Prince's belief, Seto did notice the shift of weight on his arm. Glancing down from his cup of wine, he was pleasantly surprised to find the charming little Prince, obviously tired, leaning very very gently on his arm. The action was hardly noticeable, but extremely unfamiliar to a man who had been raised in a society where the slightest affectionate touch usually meant you were one, married, two, courting, or three, in the privacy of one's bedchambers. Seto felt warmth burning upward from his neck to his cheeks.
Lord, what was wrong with him? He had taken scolding from the Admiral himself and had been shot by pirates on numerous occasions, but now he, of all people, was getting flustered at the mere thought of someone hugging his arm! The right thing to do, of course, was to be a proper gentlemen and merely move away, but the only thing he wanted to do right now was just stand still and let the lovely boy rest on his arm all he wanted to. So, bewildered, the Commodore did just that; he stood perfectly still, barely breathing, watching the Prince intently out of the corner of his eye. 'Lord, the boy really is beautiful...' he thought dazedly.
"Commodore!"
Pulling off a rather hard task, the sweet voice startled the Commodore half out of his skin. He snapped to attention, feeling terribly embarrassed and half choking on his wine. Yami, also startled, shifted off his arm and blushed furiously.
Taking in a deep breath, Seto straightened and nodded respectfully at an approaching Sophia, "Your majesty..." he greeted, coughing a bit around the tightness in his voice.
The lovely woman approached them with a wide smile; if she noticed their awkwardness, she said nothing. "Ah, there you two are!" There was a glint in her eyes that made both men uneasy.
Seto inwardly groaned. He was, once again, surrounded by single ladies, only this time they were much closer than he ever wanted them to be. Thankfully, he was not their center of attention this time. Instead, Edward -- the young boy that had warned Seto before of dinnertime-- was the one being lavishly praised as he sat before the piano, half blushing from all the compliments and half attempting to play a charming little song that Seto vaguely remembered from his childhood.
"Isn't it a marvelous song, Seto?" By his side, Sophia sighed blissfully. "Oh, I haven't heard it for many years. Do you not remember, darling? I used to play it for you all the time."
'Ah, that would explain it,' Seto thought to himself, nodding and managing a small smile. Sophia and her lovely piano skills were one of the extremely few happy memories of his childhood. As a princess, she had often visited him in his various homes and had noticed that he had been lonely. Bless her soul, she used to cheer him up by playing some piano songs for him while he worked away at his studies on a nearby table. Though he rarely admitted to it, Seto loved her for it.
Edward finished his song and was rewarded by laughter and applauding from the numerous people that had gathered, Englishmen, Frenchmen, and royalty among them. The young boy blushed furiously and managed to mumble a quick 'thank you' before leaping off of the piano bench, apparently unwilling to play another song or to even be anywhere in the general vicinity.
A few guests, losing interest, drifted away, while some went to praise Edward some more and others simply stayed by the piano and chatted amongst each other.
"My dear Commodore, why don't you play a song?"
Once again startled, Seto sent Sophia a horrified glare.
The Queen only grinned at him with innocent, twinkling blue eyes.
The remaining guests --most of them either Seto's crewmembers or the single ladies that still awaited his undivided attention-- broke out into excited gossiping.
"Oh, Commodore, do play!"
"Une bonne idée!!" ( A good idea! )
"How simply wonderful! A musical talent as well!"
"Well, Commodore, give us a song!"
Feeling everyone's eyes on him, Seto frowned and backed away a little. "No, really, I couldn't. I haven't played since I was a child," he protested meekly.
"Darling, certainly you still remember all those songs I taught you?" laughed Sophia, giving him a playful shove toward the piano. "You were such a wonderful player!"
"Yes, Commodore," came a soft voice by his side. Yami looked at him with sparkling eyes and an amused but sincere smile. "Please play. I want to hear."
Seto gave him a long, blank look, then finally sighed, his expression unreadable. "Yes, yes, I will then." Ignoring the rising bustle of excitement and the increasing number of single women that flocked over, the officer settled his goblet of wine on the top of the piano and maneuvered himself on to the bench, flicking his jacket over the back side. He felt a little too much like some renowned maestro at a concert, and the thought made him shudder.
For a long moment, the Commodore stared blankly at the keys, a visible wince on his face. "I apologize," he started with a sigh, to no one in particular, "I really don't remember much of anything."
"A simple song then," someone offered in encouragement.
"Yes, like--" Sophia drifted off, deep in thought. "Like..."
"Moonlight Sonata!" someone else suggested. [3]
"A wonderful choice, lad!" cried Sophia, turning to Seto with a smile, "Yes, darling, play for us the Moonlight Sonata."
Sensing Yami's gaze boring into him, Seto sighed once more and took a deep breath. Rolling up some of the frills around his wrist, he ran his hand across the keys for a second before he settled his fingers on them. Yes, this felt vaguely familiar... He began to play, pressing the keys uneasily and struggling to recall memories of a distant time where he, as a little child, used to sit with Sophia in his lonely little room and poke away at the piano under her persistent instructions. Now, many years later, his playing was awkward and slow at first, but years of practice came flowing through his hands at last and evened out the sound. As the familiar melody washed over him, Seto felt the strain of the last few days and hours suddenly lift from his shoulders, breathing deeply as tension flowed from his system with every strike of the keys. He would never admit it, of course, but he rather liked music. It wasn't like a person; you created it, you warped it, and you did to it what you wanted to do. And the result was usually beautiful if you could play right. Sometimes he truly did miss Sophia and all her songs... especially at night when sailing on the farthest part of the ocean, with nothing but the crashing of waves against his ship's hull and the occasional footsteps of his crew to keep him company.
Girls sighed blissfully as the beautiful song came strumming out of the large piano, giggling occasionally at each other. The others watched the Commodore and whispered among themselves all in appreciation and wonder. A few elderly women swayed gently to the song, immersed in the rising and falling of soft notes. Now by her husband's side, Sophia beamed, tapping her small fingers in tune with a song she no doubt taught Seto herself.
Yami watched the Commodore with fascination. The man, posture elegant and proud, seemed totally engrossed in his activity, his blue eyes closed as in blissful concentration. His deft hands glided about the piano, crossing each other gracefully and striking keys with elegant care, never once ceasing their movements. The feathers on the officer's dark hat shook with every movement of his head, dancing their own little ballet to the music as he shifted to reach distant keys.
The Prince felt his heart flutter and the rest of the world fall away. Ra, this man was talented beyond belief. A Commodore at twenty-five, a charming gentlemen, a most eligible bachelor and now an able musician. This stern, rather arrogant naval officer certainly didn't look like the musical type, but here he was, playing away like he was born to play the piano... Ra, what other gifts did this wonderful man hide behind that cold complexion?
Yami blushed at the implications of that thought and inwardly scolded himself.
"Etes-vous fièvreux, votre majest?" questioned a concerned French voice in his ear, making the Prince jump. "Si je peux dire, vous me semblez quelque peu rougi." ( Are you feverish, your majesty? If I may say, you seem rather flushed. )
Yami turned to find troubled green eyes peering at him with open worry. He shook his head quickly, "Non, Mahado, je ne suis pas malade et je n'ai pas une fièver. Tu n'as pas besoin t'inquiètes." ( No, Mahado, I am not ill and I do not have a fever. You needn't worry. )
"Mais je dois." ( But I do. ) Mahado's eyes shifted briefly over Yami's shoulder to Seto, who stilled played away. Those same green eyes hardened, unreadable. For a long minute, the musketeer simply eyed the Commodore, then turned toward Yami, lips pursed and eyes warm once again. "Vous devriez vous reposer. Il se fait tard." he offered gently. ( You should rest. It is late. )
Yami opened his lips to protest but ended up sighing. Yes, he should. Caught up in the song, he hadn't yet noticed that the wine had worn off and he was left with limbs that felt like soft putty weighed down by dead weights. Accepting Mahado's hand, he nodded a good night to the Queen, then turned toward Seto, biting his lip. He wanted very much to say goodnight to the handsome Englishman, but he couldn't bring himself to stop the marvelous music.
So, finally, he turned to Mahado and nodded.
Without another word, the musketeer led him gently through the mass of people and through the now empty chamber --most of the people now having crowded around the piano. The twinkling sonata followed them as they passed into the darkened hall, echoing sweetly.
Yami, despite himself, found himself humming the delightful song, swaying gently as it carried him away to sweet thoughts about a certain blue-eyed British officer.
[1] - From what I've seen in movies and read in books, 17th and 18th century European dancing included women in corsets with huge hair and even bigger dresses as well as men in tights and heels. Therefore, the dance steps were EXTREMELY simple and required no more than hand to hand touching and a little walking around... I think.
[2] - I know, the arm through elbow thing is really a man-woman thing, but I couldn't think of a proper gesture for Seto and Yami that involved touching more than just hands. I mean, you can't have them blatantly groping or something in front of everyone else, but I didn't want them to be standing like four feet away from each other cuz of the hand thing. Besides, I thought it might be cute. :-p
[3] - Moonlight Sonata is a real song, and an extremely famous one at that. It's an extremely beautiful and slow piano piece, by Beethoven (a thanks to Kagemihari cuz I forgot who wrote it) Anyway, I highly suggest anyone who hasn't heard of it to go and find it. The title should be enough to get you the song.
AN: AAAUUUGGGHHH! This story just seems to keep dragging on forever! I wrote most of this chapter before I left on my trip and tweaked it around a bit once I got back. Originally, this was part of Chapter 2 before I separated it; now its gotten far too long so another chunk of it has been set aside to become Chapter 4. (SIGH) Anyways, hope it isn't TOO boring. If things go as planned, then the next chapter should be a romantic midnight scene under the moon and the one AFTER, hopefully, the first to take place on the ocean. (YAY!) Sadly, however, I have no idea where this story is going to go once they start sailing. HELP!
And by the way, Andrew is MINE. :-p ALLLL mine. And I love him to bits. His name is a combination of two character's names from Pirates of the Caribbean, my inspiration for this fic; Norrington's First Lieutenant Andrew Gillette (the guy who made the infamous 'mermaid' comment) and Giles, the old guy with the huge side burns that used to work under Norrington and later joined Jack as a pirate. :-p Thus, the name Andrew Giles. It has a nice ring to it. At least I think so. XD His character is actually half based off --you guessed it-- Mokuba and half off both Gillette and Groves, Norrington's Second Lieutenant. Norrington's two lieutenants (in fanfics, anyways) are sarcastic, humorous, and often bicker between each other to make the two funniest British officers I've ever seen.... besides Murtogg and Mulroy, the two hilarious, rather dim-witted Marines that tried, many times, to capture Jack Sparrow and usually just ended up getting in everyone's way.