🎵F: Cassius Dandylock🎵
When it becomes too hard to hold it in any longer, Cassius swallows. A girl with hair like a southern shrub - where the summers last forever and the leaves never shed - stands before him and holds a blade to his throat. Wetness spreads down from where his jugular passed against it, though he holds out hope that it is only the coolness of the scalpel and his own paranoia playing tricks. He looks into the girl's eyes for a reaction to give him a hint, but she only squints them shut in response. "Are you sure you want to do this?" she asks. "You look nervous."
"Yes, I'm sure," he decides. "Well, It is King's orders, so I suppose I have to be." The squire girl laughs at this. She knows well more about biding Gavin's wishes than he, he remembers. "It's just that this is my first shave, and I've had just about as many blades as I can bear pointed t'wards me. It's for the wedding," he explains. The king has asked him to come to the wedding in disguise as a noble man. Apparently, they have short hair and wear outfits of black silk. For the contrast, he presumes. His code is only in place when he's even asked to be at the event, which is only the important parts where it would be considered rude for him to be absent, else Gavin has asked him to look after the children all his guest will bring. Cay doesn't mind doing it, but a part of him minds being asked to.
The girl is not interested in explanations. "You jest," she gawps. "The hairs you have now are hardly enough to constitute a beard all together, and you mean to tell me this is a life's work? What, have you only just flowered-" she trails off into giggles, prim hands covering her bawdy mouth. "How old are you?" she asks, voice squeaking through her fingers.
There is a pause as Cay takes time to thank the gods that his blushes do not show. Tell her a line to one of your songs, the older ones, he thinks, and let her laugh it off. But his turns dense and settles in its bed. "Nineteen," he splutters out, shrinking into his shoulders and giving his reflection an uncomfortable look in the slate of polished silver hung across from his chair. He's not too far astray from looking nineteen, he doesn't think.
The razor is dropped from his neck and placed into his palm for safekeeping. Dubious hums fill the cluttered stock room they are set up in. "That's younger than I imagined," the squire - she shares a name with a flower, or at least the memory that she does flirts with him - says as she takes to his head again, now with fingertips. Hers are smooth, for a working lady (while his are rough, for a boy at play) and they trace the ridge of his ear with delicate grace. "You're just about my age," she continues, spooling one of his dreads around her index. Cassius laughs once to hopefully convey that such a fact means nothing to him. It works so much as it reverts her attention to the blade. "Are you certain this must go?" she asks, holding up a bundle of his bundles of hair and making eye contact by way of the mirror. "They are so fun and southern."
It almost makes him happy they're coming off. Taking the lack of any objection as an affirmative, she starts at the shaving. Autumn besets his scalp. They look like caterpillars on the unfinished floor. The sight of it makes him want to close his eyes, and the squire's purring voice makes him want to close his eyes. It puts him at ease when she turns her razor to his chin, though this is an outcome estranged from any intention.
When she bids him open them, it's towards the silver again. The hair that was once on his chin is on his head, and the hair of his eyeball has replaced what was on his chin. He pokes his cheek twice to see if the man on the other side of the plane does the same. He does. Ignoring any questions looking for his opinion on the new look, he makes a face and wipes it away with his hand, and makes a face and wipes it clean.
Nothing.
*
"Did you kill anyone?" they ask.
"No." Cassius tries to think back to the man he saw in the polished silver. Neonate hair, what were his eyes like? If he remembers right, he wasn't to far astray from looking like he didn't.
"Aww! But you told us you were a knight. So does that mean you don't have any stories?" The protests all come at once.
Cay chuckles. They're just kids, he thinks as if he was mentally writing the sentence down on parchment. In text so that the tone of the phrase is undecided. Dismissive, or horrified? He isn't sure what to think. These kids are his for no more than an hour, so brusquely, it doesn't matter what he thinks. "I've just finished telling yous a story," he says, skirting the crux of contention. The kids concede this point, but reiterate that they would like to hear a war story. "Ah! Are little kittens to childish for you now?" He tosses the leather-bound nursery rhyme back over the arm of his rocking chair and flashes an impish smile. "I suppose there are a few things I learned from the war that would be good to share." Lady Portia of Glareesi's two darling twin girls are sat in the front row and start shaking with excitement at this. A boy whoops somewhere further back into the nursery. "Have yous' ever heard of brapheustic plovers?" Underground answers spread like secrets across the floor; Cay thinks he hears a few 'no's. "They are these little tiny birds. It is said that there are only two of them in existence, but they fly around so quick that people see them just as much as any other bird. They are most often seen in the wake of war. At first, people thought they were like vultures: following destruction for the thirst of blood," Cay growls this, and the children jump up in excitement. "And the very first soldiers feared them because of this. It was only their mothers who learned of the plover's true nature. These birds are not scavengers, even better than us they do not partake in mindless pursuits." A few crinkled noses remind him of his audience and to temper the fruit of his vocabulary. "They follow battles and watch the conflict, then they fly out into the destruction left behind and look into the faces of the dead. It's a very sad job, and also why the plovers are little just like you! If they were old like me, they would just get sad and depressed seeing so many dead bodies, but you guys won't stop smiling that easily, huh? The plovers are just like you, they don't stop no matter how many wars we wage. And after seeing the faces of all the dead, they travel across the world like this," he snaps, "looking for faces they recognize, the families. When they find a soldier's family, they sing to them, like 'tweedle tweedle tweep'.
"Tweedle tweedle tweep!" the kids repeat on cue from his hand signals. It goes back and forth, different sections of the crowd crying out the line over and over.
"Tweedle tweedle tweep," someone says, but in a factual way that distinguishes their voice from the dozen kids in harmony. Since when has Leo been watching? They share a smile, though hers is quick to fade. "Princess Jess arrived in the hall some moments ago. She's just about ready to take her walk, and is wondering what all the noise is about."
*
All the war has been scrubbed off of the great hall. Johnathan has rolled around in the grime, groveling at His Majesty's feet, and his suit has picked up the dirt. The blood that was spilled has been sopped up by the roll of carpet which Jessica now walks. It's beautiful. So are their smiles. If two enemies can look at each other like that, then what is the substance of friendship, of love? Ah, Cassius has trouble with weddings. As a minstrel, he has worked many of them, and his practice has done nothing to help him accept the disconnect everyone else seems so willing to. This isn't love. He wants to run out onto the stage and shout it to the twinkling lights.
Oh romantic bard, I think we'd both have our throats sliced. He doesn't remember who told him that. They're probably dead anyway. So why not go out dancing?
The crowd, a sea of bodies penned between velvet balustrades which wrap around the procession, prickles with anticipation when Jessica reaches the podium. Gavin and Garner are together directly behind the mystic, and look deviously pleased with the reaction. This is just a story they are telling, and everyone else are the children. Gods, the nursery would push back harder. Was he brave like they were when he was a kid? Then he thinks of all the bravery he knows to be in the crowd and realizes it doesn't matter. Leo is beside him, stuffed into a corset, which he finds as funny as she probably does his haircut. Mumford may as well have not changed since the day of the feast, (Cay ignores the warm memories which the thought brings flooding) which is not a slight as it may sound, but an attestment to his consistent composure... The crowd brings him from his thoughts with another reaction.
Jessica and Johnathan have kissed and wed. Cassius did not see, though he wouldn't say he missed it. Hooting and celebration follow them to the dining room and last well after everyone is seated.
Three rings from a chalice just manage to settle the new room. Gavin gets up from his seat between Garner and his new son. Their table is dressed up in white, and adorned with glass silverware. Everyone else's are naked and scattered with tin. "Don't they look lovely?" he asks to undo all the work he has just done to quiet the masses. "Alright, alright. I would like to say some words on such a momentous day for both my family, and our land. Adrigole sea to sea! At last. I am sure that my new son would rather I didn't, but he can fight me afterward. Perhaps at the dice table rather than the battlefield this time. Give yourself a better chance." Gavin barks like a hound and slaps the poor boy's back hard enough to bruise over. Cay watches the life go out of Garner's eyes and move directly into Johnathan's. This is not supposed to happen. "So stand with me, stand on top of your chairs, and raise your glass. Raise your glass for Elusia, free from the reign of their headstrong king who will make a much better husband! Raise your glass for Adrigole!
Everyone does. Garner with trepidation, Johnathan shaking with anger. His eye twitches with every undulation in the King's boisterous bellows. The glass he's holding shatters from the pressure of a constricting grip. Blood bursts into the air as if he had been shot in the hand by an arrow. In fact, the shard he's left holding in his hand is larger than any arrowhead Cay has ever seen. He reels back in disgust, and everyone around him does too. It's nothing compared to what comes next. While the rest of the room is still on the back foot of a reaction, Johnathan lunges at the King and drags his own wound across his neck. He and the few of his envoy who were invited into the castle are able to escape before anyone else can even think 'no'. And they think no. Garner dives toward his King, who has crumpled backwards. He cradles his head and starts sputtering incantations, but cannot stop Gavin's final breath from leaving his lips. It stinks of alcohol.
At the table still, Jessica turns back to the crowd with tears in her eyes. "He'll be heading west. Bring me his head!"
No, Cassius thinks.
But his company is already moving. "There are horses kept for the guests' returns just outside the gate," Mum says, already leading them that direction. "We'll just pray the squires didn't give any up to the Elusians." Other knights jog up to them to get in line with boughs of supplies, and hang on Mum's words. After Vere disappeared, he was made commander. It suits him. He throws the castle door open like a commander. "Tibus, Oscar, did you let that scoundrel steal a horse?" he yells as he mounts a black stallion. They tell him no sir and point out the way he ran off. It is indeed west. This pleases Mum, and he's almost smiling until he sees Cassius atop the second best horse available. "You will fight this time? Just as I do?"
"Yes."
"Cay," he implores, " The fealty you swore went away as Gavin did. There is no longer a greater reason for you to lie." Cassius accepts this with a nod and Mum waits for further action but none is taken. He supposes he must be more direct with his accusation. "But you do lie."
"Sometimes on a pillow, yes, but never on a horse." And with laughter, he rides off after Prince Johnathan, leaving Mum and Leo with only the choice of whether to follow him. They do, and are startlingly quick to overtake the lead. Together, they ride.
The spot they end up catching sight of the Elusians makes Cassius blink twice. It is a field he has described many time over, and seen even more. Johnathan is the other side of the bridge. "This is not right," he says without trying to. Mumford looks back at him as he dismounts, unsurprised he has conjured a new reason to balk from the fight. "If asked you to leave with me now," he asks Mum and Leo, "would you do it?"
"You said you were ready to fight." The bugle Mum is pulling from his saddle holds more attention than he does. He has already accepted that letting him come was a waste.
Cay goes silent to argue with himself. You knew this is where we would end up when you got upon this horse. When Jessica asked for his head you said no. That wasn't your answer for yourself, but for everyone. You know what you came here to do. Before any war can break, they must first cross that bridge. "But I didn't say who I was fighting for," he decides. And he walks ahead of their forming line and to the very center of the wooden plank bridge. His fellow knights look at him with eyes wide as the Folhest.
When he realizes his motives, Mumford charges him down with the gait of a commander. "What will this achieve? What will saving this murderer achieve?"
Cassius bristles, and looks down to his friend's hilt. His hand is on it, and its grip is taut. "Maybe I'm not saving him," he answers, "maybe I'm saving you... Or Leo. As I said, I have a bad feeling about this. I have seen this place in a dream. The war was over, Mum. You said everything was going to be-"
He is interrupted by Mumford clapping him over the ears. He pulls him in so their foreheads are planted against each other, nervous sweat intermingling. "Cassie, you've got to come with me. Please. Don't make me do this."
"Cassie?" he breaks into laughter, "Where did that come from?" Mumford laughs too. It's almost like there aren't armies either side of them. Then Mum lets his head drop.
"If only they made Leo commander. She would listen to you. She's a much better person than me." They both turn to look at her, and they both have to agree. "You're really not going to move away, are you?"
"No. But that's okay. If you blow that bugle for war, if you feel you must, then at least keep it by your side and after it's done, blow me a song. If you must, write me a song so that I am not lost face-first in this dwindling creek. Breath for me if you decide that I cannot. That is all I ask of you. After all you have done for me, and all we've been through, I cannot ask you to spare me but..." The silence hangs until Mum has to turn away. That reminds Cay of one last thing he has to say. "I love you, you know. More than you'd believe."
Mumford turns half-ways back and accepts it with a nod. "Leo and I love you too."
Cay looks down at his feet and smiles a rueful smile. He realizes he's content just as the bugle blows.
*
A pair of brapheustic plovers fly over the Adrigolian army as it returns from victory. Its commander holds a head at arm's length. They look at it, and memorize its features. They inspect bodies left upturned in the field, and those sprawled across the wood plank bridge. Somewhere among those, they see a man laid down in the stream bed, a gash across his back. "I remember this one," one of the plovers say. "He used to sing like we do, He used to have feathers like we do," it says as it hops along his shaved head. "I'm going to miss him."
"Tweedle tweedle tweep," says the other plover.
*
"It's not much, but I'm not the writer he was," he hands the parchment to Leo. "I'm happy with what I have, though. It's not what I'm supposed to feel, but how I actually feel. I feel like he would like that in the end. I call it The Burglar of The Bridge." He watches as Leonor reads it.
There was nothing to do
but he had to do something.
He took my dear friend
and he left me with nothing.
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