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blood_wingedTitle: My Lord and Master, Chapter 3 of 7
Genre: AU/General/Romance
Word Count: 2112
Rating/Warnings: U, none.
Summary: Alfred Jones is the new manservant to the son of the late Lord Kirkland, a mysterious and secretive young man who seems out of place in his opulent surroundings. The previous manservant, Alfred's own father, said nothing of a youngest son and no one else appears to know of him, and Alfred wonders... what did the man do to warrant such secrecy? If he keeps his job for long enough, he may be able to find out.
-- In which Alfred finds out several things about his master, including a love of children's books. --
Alfred woke the next morning to the low sound of raised voices on the floor above. He opened his eyes groggily, feeling as if he would very much like to roll over and go back to sleep and it was only his sense of duty and knowing that he had a job to do that forced him to roll over and check his watch. It was a little after five in the morning, but curiosity spurred him to get up and quickly dress, pulling on his coat as he crept up the stairs and poked his head out of the servant’s quarters. The previous night almost felt as if it hadn’t happened, his mind hardly able to process that his cold and quiet master had engaged him in a game of chess that he was sure he had been allowed to win and had even answered a question or two. Alfred’s father had always spoken of his master warmly, as a friend, if a slightly strange kind of friend, and Alfred had wondered if he and Arthur might one day have that kind of friendship. It would have been better, he thought, to be working for someone who viewed him fondly than someone who only seemed to keep him around as a way to keep up appearances.
He followed the sounds of the voices, louder now, towards the front door and hesitated short of turning the corner, listening. Immediately, he identified the voice of his master, and one other, marked with a faint Scottish twang. Arthur was calling him William, a name that Alfred recognised but couldn’t place, and he pressed himself back against the wall, carefully peering around it. At the door, Arthur was stood still in his night attire, a taller, redheaded young man in front of him, smirking down at him as he spoke. Unable to quite make out the words Alfred almost moved away to head back to bed, and then the other man reached out and pushed at his master’s shoulder, not hard, but hard enough to make him stumble and almost fall on his bad leg. It was then that Alfred made himself known, clearing his throat and stepping around the corner, resisting the sudden urge to shrink under the hard gaze cast to him by the redhead at the door.
“Is everything alright, my lord?” he asked, and the visitor laughed – a harsh, barking sound that Alfred didn’t much like.
“’Lord’? Thes crippled brat is nae a ‘lord’.”
“Everything is fine, Alfred,” Arthur told him, barely glancing his way. “My brother was just leaving.”
William scoffed softly, but delivered a mocking bow and stepped back, and Arthur didn’t even wait until he’d turned away to shut the door. The moment he was out of sight the blonde man buckled, and Alfred was quick to catch him, his arms wrapped somewhat awkwardly around him and likely causing him some measure of discomfort. Arthur caught hold of his arms in a bony, vice-like grip and held on tightly for a moment, hissing out a sound of pain and struggling to find his feet, his cane clattering to the floor as he lost his grip on it in favour of using the younger man as a means of support.
“What a pleasant fellow,” Alfred said, doing his best not to draw attention to the odd situation as he juggled keeping his master upright and scooping the cane up from the floor, which he managed with some fancy footwork (if he did say so himself), before he gave it back to Arthur and could finally let him go. In the few months of his employment he had never seen the other look quite so ruffled, or quite so shaken, and he felt himself moved to pity for the man. He really did seem like a child in that moment, and then the hard light returned to his eyes and he straightened as best he could, knuckles turning white with his grip on the cane and his weight leaning mostly on his good leg. Alfred had his doubts that he would be able to walk in such a manner, and concern for a fellow man, even one as peculiar as his master, made him bold. “My lord, you should rest.”
“Perhaps you are right.”
He hadn’t expected such an easy battle, but the reasoning was clear enough as he followed slowly behind his master and saw how he leaned so heavily on that slender wooden stick and the way he shook as he walked. Alfred could feel sleep tugging at his mind and making his eyes gritty, but at the same time he couldn’t take his mind off the expression on the face of his master’s brother as he’d stood there. He’d never seen that kind of hatred shared in a look between family.
Alfred let Arthur move at his own pace and it took some minutes before he lowered himself into a chair, pain clear on his face as he leaned his cane up against the side of the chair and gingerly stretched his leg out. Moving away quietly, Alfred made his way down to the quiet and empty kitchen and made some tea, and by the time he had returned Arthur had composed himself once again, all trace of discomfort gone but the act of bravado wasn’t fooling the younger man. He poured the tea, handing the cup over and stepping back, his hands clasped behind his back.
There was so much about this family that he still didn’t understand. It was like something out of a story – the reclusive and little known young lord hiding in his mansion – and Alfred wasn’t sure, even now, that he wanted to be part of it. Yet, the thought hadn’t crossed his mind of leaving, and even more so now he was determined to sit this out. What might have happened, he thought, if he hadn’t been there? Arthur might have fallen and been unable to get up, or his brother might have hurt him.
“Tell me, Alfred,” Arthur said then, his teacup held up near his lips and a distant expression on his face. “How is your reading?”
“Passable, my lord.” He had never been much of a reader but he had always been told that it was necessary, and had been taught his letters at a relatively young age. “Though, I think that a Grecian epic may be a little beyond me.”
The older man laughed, a slightly dry sound with just a hint of merriment in it, and he gestured to a bookcase set against the wall at the opposite side of the room. It was light enough that Alfred would be able to read the titles on the spines. There were few of them that he recognised, though he noticed a trend in the ones that he did – they were children’s books. Alfred glanced over his shoulder at his master, who wasn’t watching him but rather gazing quietly at the fire, and then he looked back to the books, biting his lower lip as he slowly read the titles. One in particular caught his eye, and he drew it out, turning it over in his hands.
“What is it that you have there?” Arthur asked him, and he felt a pang of something almost like guilt as he held the book to his chest and turned, clearing his throat.
“Oh, it's...” he said, then hesitated. “My lord, your brother-”
“My brother is an opportunistic bully who would like little more than to see me out of this house,” the reply was quick and to the point, as if the question had been expected. “I do not think that he will rest until he gets what he wants but he already knows that I do not fall so easily.”
“I… I see.” The steps that Alfred too forwards were a little uncertain, but Arthur gestured for him to come closer and he cleared the space between them, seating himself across from the man. It seemed like days rather than hours since they had been sitting here playing chess, and Arthur looked as tired as he felt. He could only hope that the day wouldn’t be too hard on him, because at the moment, he didn’t trust himself to be able to manage anything too complex. Alfred toyed with the book in his hands and looked down at the cover, running his thumb over the illustration. He was sure that he had read it once before, or had it read to him, but the memory was lingering on the edge of his mind like a shadow and try as he might he couldn’t reach it.
“You can borrow that, if you wish.”
Alfred allowed a tiny, happy smile to touch his lips and he opened the front cover of the book, tracing one fingertip over the printed words that seemed to dance tauntingly before his eyes before they settled into a recognisable pattern.
“All children, except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Wendy knew was this. One day when she was two years old she was playing in a garden, and she plucked another flower and ran with it to her mother...”
It was only when he felt eyes on him that he realised he was reading aloud, and he smiled again, awkwardly this time, finding himself rather embarrassed to be caught doing such a thing, but Arthur didn’t seem to be even close to laughing at him for it. Alfred didn’t read very well, much better in his head than when he was speaking, but when Arthur made a small motion with his hand as if telling him to continue he found himself clearing his throat with a low cough and dropping his eyes to find his place, lips moving silently as he looked over the words he had already read and tried to find a rhythm for the rest. It was strange, but somehow comforting, and the by the time he looked up again, two chapters had passed and his master had fallen asleep, his head tipped to one side and lips slightly parted.
The younger man felt a flicker of concern, but it was warm in the room and Arthur didn’t look particularly uncomfortable, so Alfred cast his eyes down again and worked his way slowly down the page to find where he’d left off, his voice low but still audible as he read on. In time, the house began to wake around them and Alfred could hear the sounds of the kitchen staff and footsteps on the upper levels. He didn’t move, and when the door opened and a timid-looking maid poked her head around it he shooed her away with a small gesture.
Alfred set the book aside and stood, making his way back to the bookcase and looking it over in the better light. The shelves were dusty, but in an uneven way that suggested that several books had been removed and replaced, and all along the shelf the books were similar to the one he had just been reading. Books written for children, ones that would have been more suited for bedtime reading than the bookcase of a rich lord’s household. He glanced back over his shoulder at the sleeping blonde and made a quiet ‘hm’ sound, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.
He was learning, little by little and mostly by accident, the kinds of things that made his master tick. Apparently, fairy stories were something that he could add to the list. It was a surprising, but faintly endearing fact and Alfred thought that he was beginning to understand what his father had meant when he had said that the position of a manservant was one of the most trusted professions in the world.
Looking over to Arthur again he shook his head, feeling a tiny twinge of fondness for the sleeping gentleman. He moved across the room and drew a blanket from the back of the couch, draping it over the man’s lap and carefully tucking it around him. Picking up the book again, he sat down and opened it. He’s lost his place but it didn’t matter, he just started at the beginning again. Across from him, Arthur curled his fingers into the blanket and frowned slightly in his sleep. Alfred held back the urge to smile.
It is a position of care, his father had said, to know the intimate details of another man’s life and to be entrusted with keeping them a secret.
He was beginning to think that he understood what that meant.
----------
<| Chapter Two | Chapter Four |>
Genre: AU/General/Romance
Word Count: 2112
Rating/Warnings: U, none.
Summary: Alfred Jones is the new manservant to the son of the late Lord Kirkland, a mysterious and secretive young man who seems out of place in his opulent surroundings. The previous manservant, Alfred's own father, said nothing of a youngest son and no one else appears to know of him, and Alfred wonders... what did the man do to warrant such secrecy? If he keeps his job for long enough, he may be able to find out.
-- In which Alfred finds out several things about his master, including a love of children's books. --
*****
Alfred woke the next morning to the low sound of raised voices on the floor above. He opened his eyes groggily, feeling as if he would very much like to roll over and go back to sleep and it was only his sense of duty and knowing that he had a job to do that forced him to roll over and check his watch. It was a little after five in the morning, but curiosity spurred him to get up and quickly dress, pulling on his coat as he crept up the stairs and poked his head out of the servant’s quarters. The previous night almost felt as if it hadn’t happened, his mind hardly able to process that his cold and quiet master had engaged him in a game of chess that he was sure he had been allowed to win and had even answered a question or two. Alfred’s father had always spoken of his master warmly, as a friend, if a slightly strange kind of friend, and Alfred had wondered if he and Arthur might one day have that kind of friendship. It would have been better, he thought, to be working for someone who viewed him fondly than someone who only seemed to keep him around as a way to keep up appearances.
He followed the sounds of the voices, louder now, towards the front door and hesitated short of turning the corner, listening. Immediately, he identified the voice of his master, and one other, marked with a faint Scottish twang. Arthur was calling him William, a name that Alfred recognised but couldn’t place, and he pressed himself back against the wall, carefully peering around it. At the door, Arthur was stood still in his night attire, a taller, redheaded young man in front of him, smirking down at him as he spoke. Unable to quite make out the words Alfred almost moved away to head back to bed, and then the other man reached out and pushed at his master’s shoulder, not hard, but hard enough to make him stumble and almost fall on his bad leg. It was then that Alfred made himself known, clearing his throat and stepping around the corner, resisting the sudden urge to shrink under the hard gaze cast to him by the redhead at the door.
“Is everything alright, my lord?” he asked, and the visitor laughed – a harsh, barking sound that Alfred didn’t much like.
“’Lord’? Thes crippled brat is nae a ‘lord’.”
“Everything is fine, Alfred,” Arthur told him, barely glancing his way. “My brother was just leaving.”
William scoffed softly, but delivered a mocking bow and stepped back, and Arthur didn’t even wait until he’d turned away to shut the door. The moment he was out of sight the blonde man buckled, and Alfred was quick to catch him, his arms wrapped somewhat awkwardly around him and likely causing him some measure of discomfort. Arthur caught hold of his arms in a bony, vice-like grip and held on tightly for a moment, hissing out a sound of pain and struggling to find his feet, his cane clattering to the floor as he lost his grip on it in favour of using the younger man as a means of support.
“What a pleasant fellow,” Alfred said, doing his best not to draw attention to the odd situation as he juggled keeping his master upright and scooping the cane up from the floor, which he managed with some fancy footwork (if he did say so himself), before he gave it back to Arthur and could finally let him go. In the few months of his employment he had never seen the other look quite so ruffled, or quite so shaken, and he felt himself moved to pity for the man. He really did seem like a child in that moment, and then the hard light returned to his eyes and he straightened as best he could, knuckles turning white with his grip on the cane and his weight leaning mostly on his good leg. Alfred had his doubts that he would be able to walk in such a manner, and concern for a fellow man, even one as peculiar as his master, made him bold. “My lord, you should rest.”
“Perhaps you are right.”
He hadn’t expected such an easy battle, but the reasoning was clear enough as he followed slowly behind his master and saw how he leaned so heavily on that slender wooden stick and the way he shook as he walked. Alfred could feel sleep tugging at his mind and making his eyes gritty, but at the same time he couldn’t take his mind off the expression on the face of his master’s brother as he’d stood there. He’d never seen that kind of hatred shared in a look between family.
Alfred let Arthur move at his own pace and it took some minutes before he lowered himself into a chair, pain clear on his face as he leaned his cane up against the side of the chair and gingerly stretched his leg out. Moving away quietly, Alfred made his way down to the quiet and empty kitchen and made some tea, and by the time he had returned Arthur had composed himself once again, all trace of discomfort gone but the act of bravado wasn’t fooling the younger man. He poured the tea, handing the cup over and stepping back, his hands clasped behind his back.
There was so much about this family that he still didn’t understand. It was like something out of a story – the reclusive and little known young lord hiding in his mansion – and Alfred wasn’t sure, even now, that he wanted to be part of it. Yet, the thought hadn’t crossed his mind of leaving, and even more so now he was determined to sit this out. What might have happened, he thought, if he hadn’t been there? Arthur might have fallen and been unable to get up, or his brother might have hurt him.
“Tell me, Alfred,” Arthur said then, his teacup held up near his lips and a distant expression on his face. “How is your reading?”
“Passable, my lord.” He had never been much of a reader but he had always been told that it was necessary, and had been taught his letters at a relatively young age. “Though, I think that a Grecian epic may be a little beyond me.”
The older man laughed, a slightly dry sound with just a hint of merriment in it, and he gestured to a bookcase set against the wall at the opposite side of the room. It was light enough that Alfred would be able to read the titles on the spines. There were few of them that he recognised, though he noticed a trend in the ones that he did – they were children’s books. Alfred glanced over his shoulder at his master, who wasn’t watching him but rather gazing quietly at the fire, and then he looked back to the books, biting his lower lip as he slowly read the titles. One in particular caught his eye, and he drew it out, turning it over in his hands.
“What is it that you have there?” Arthur asked him, and he felt a pang of something almost like guilt as he held the book to his chest and turned, clearing his throat.
“Oh, it's...” he said, then hesitated. “My lord, your brother-”
“My brother is an opportunistic bully who would like little more than to see me out of this house,” the reply was quick and to the point, as if the question had been expected. “I do not think that he will rest until he gets what he wants but he already knows that I do not fall so easily.”
“I… I see.” The steps that Alfred too forwards were a little uncertain, but Arthur gestured for him to come closer and he cleared the space between them, seating himself across from the man. It seemed like days rather than hours since they had been sitting here playing chess, and Arthur looked as tired as he felt. He could only hope that the day wouldn’t be too hard on him, because at the moment, he didn’t trust himself to be able to manage anything too complex. Alfred toyed with the book in his hands and looked down at the cover, running his thumb over the illustration. He was sure that he had read it once before, or had it read to him, but the memory was lingering on the edge of his mind like a shadow and try as he might he couldn’t reach it.
“You can borrow that, if you wish.”
Alfred allowed a tiny, happy smile to touch his lips and he opened the front cover of the book, tracing one fingertip over the printed words that seemed to dance tauntingly before his eyes before they settled into a recognisable pattern.
“All children, except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Wendy knew was this. One day when she was two years old she was playing in a garden, and she plucked another flower and ran with it to her mother...”
It was only when he felt eyes on him that he realised he was reading aloud, and he smiled again, awkwardly this time, finding himself rather embarrassed to be caught doing such a thing, but Arthur didn’t seem to be even close to laughing at him for it. Alfred didn’t read very well, much better in his head than when he was speaking, but when Arthur made a small motion with his hand as if telling him to continue he found himself clearing his throat with a low cough and dropping his eyes to find his place, lips moving silently as he looked over the words he had already read and tried to find a rhythm for the rest. It was strange, but somehow comforting, and the by the time he looked up again, two chapters had passed and his master had fallen asleep, his head tipped to one side and lips slightly parted.
The younger man felt a flicker of concern, but it was warm in the room and Arthur didn’t look particularly uncomfortable, so Alfred cast his eyes down again and worked his way slowly down the page to find where he’d left off, his voice low but still audible as he read on. In time, the house began to wake around them and Alfred could hear the sounds of the kitchen staff and footsteps on the upper levels. He didn’t move, and when the door opened and a timid-looking maid poked her head around it he shooed her away with a small gesture.
Alfred set the book aside and stood, making his way back to the bookcase and looking it over in the better light. The shelves were dusty, but in an uneven way that suggested that several books had been removed and replaced, and all along the shelf the books were similar to the one he had just been reading. Books written for children, ones that would have been more suited for bedtime reading than the bookcase of a rich lord’s household. He glanced back over his shoulder at the sleeping blonde and made a quiet ‘hm’ sound, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.
He was learning, little by little and mostly by accident, the kinds of things that made his master tick. Apparently, fairy stories were something that he could add to the list. It was a surprising, but faintly endearing fact and Alfred thought that he was beginning to understand what his father had meant when he had said that the position of a manservant was one of the most trusted professions in the world.
Looking over to Arthur again he shook his head, feeling a tiny twinge of fondness for the sleeping gentleman. He moved across the room and drew a blanket from the back of the couch, draping it over the man’s lap and carefully tucking it around him. Picking up the book again, he sat down and opened it. He’s lost his place but it didn’t matter, he just started at the beginning again. Across from him, Arthur curled his fingers into the blanket and frowned slightly in his sleep. Alfred held back the urge to smile.
It is a position of care, his father had said, to know the intimate details of another man’s life and to be entrusted with keeping them a secret.
He was beginning to think that he understood what that meant.
----------
<| Chapter Two | Chapter Four |>
