~ Uninvited ~
Stefano stood beside Zarchos on the island ferry landing, stroking the horse's neck as he gazed at the homes and shops of Atterstock. His peace in his features belied his mental conflict over his decision. Calling on the Falows without Gerik’s knowledge was a thin tightrope, easily snapped and dangerously simple to be misunderstood. He was brought from his reverie by the barge-master’s voice.
“My lord, will you be going across? My lord? Sir, can I help you something?”
Stefano shook his head and turned to face the ferryman. “I’m sorry, Marwick, I’m afraid I was lost in thought.” He reached into a pocket of his waistcoat and withdrew paper currency. “For your troubles.”
“My lord, as always you are generous beyond belief – but you have not ridden this night. Still, my family and I thank you. We shall have hot meals for some time now. I wish there was more I could do than simply saying ‘thank you’.”
“You need not worry over thanks, Marwick. You are always prepared, always available. It is us, those who depend on your service, that owe you the debt of thanks.” Stefano walked his horse off the landing to solid ground. “I shall return later. I have no time frame.”
“Understood, my lord. I and my ship shall be ready.”
Stefano smiled at the reference to a ‘ship’. Marwick has pride in his possessions and position within the community. It is admirable. He took a moment to rethink his actions before lifting himself into the saddle and heading for House Falow. If this does not end well, Gerik may never know. He parents certainly wouldn’t be the one to tell him. The timing is ideal; I am back a full night early so no one is waiting on me this night at the Keep. He gave Zarchos a light nudge and road the gentle climb into the hills where most of the great houses had been built. The steady, rhythmic ‘clop’ of Zarchos’ hooves against the cobblestones served to calm him.
His gaze again danced among the homes as he rode past. The artistry displayed is magnificent, they are indeed ‘grand’ houses. Flowers and ivies along window sills, ornate inlays and carvings on shudders, the rich of Atterstock engage the world in their feud of vision and showmanship. He paused at the turnoff for the path to House Falow. Well, Stefano – what will it be? Do you take the chance at infuriating Gerik for a gamble at reasoning with his parents? He sighed and rode to the gate. One of the guards he remembered from his last visit.“ I wish to see Lord and Lady Falow, should they be in.”
The guard looked him over before recognition registered in his expression. “Right. You’re the lord from the island. Fine mount, sir. Looks fast and strong. I am sorry, but we were not notified of any guests tonight. I will have to send a runner before we can permit your entrance.” He pointed at one of the other men stationed at the gate. “It is your responsibility this moon, Trell. Make it swift.”
“Yes sir.” The guard Trell began sprinting across the grounds toward the house. The two remaining guards were quiet.
Stefano didn’t break their silence. He backed Zarchos from the gate and dismounted. He scratched the stallion’s forehead lightly as he spoke to him assuredly. After an reasonable, though uncomfortable time period, the runner returned.
Trell stood hunched over, gasping for breath, which seemed to infuriate the others.
“Speak man. Shake your head. Do something, the lord waits. Don’t just stand there gulping down our air. Are we permitted to allow the lord through the gate?”
Trell shook his head negatively as he began to regain composure. “No. Lord Falow says … the lord from the island … is not to be permitted.” He stood full and looked at Stefano. “I am sorry, my lord.”
“Indeed. A fine turn of events. Fair eve, men.” Stefano lifted himself back into the saddle, then turned Zarchos and casually rode back down to the main street. He disregarded the prattle of the guards as he moved away. He stopped after rounding a bend. “Well, boy… Let’s have some fun.” He quickly scanned his surroundings, then moved into the shadows. He spurred Zarchos into a full gallop back toward the house. When they reached the gate, Zarchos cleared it with ease. One of the guards turned his head as if he might have heard something, but decided not.
Stefano stopped once he had neared the main doors. Think first, act second. Yes, Sire, I hear you. He slowly turned Zarchos to walk back down the hill. Half way to the gate he again nudged the stallion; the horse responded immediately and galloped back to the gate, jumping it just as easily as when they entered the grounds. Stefano remained at full pace through Atterstock until in sight of the landing. He then checked for mortals, and finding none he walked Zarchos out of the shadows and across the remaining distance to the landing.
Marwick looked up at the sound of the approaching rider and bowed. My lord, welcome. Are you ready to return to the island?”
Stefano dismounted and walked Zarchos across the landing and onto the small barge. “Yes, Marwick, thank you. I am ready to return home.”
“Very well, sir.” Marwick motioned to a group seated near the bow. Twelve strong men stood, moved to their stations along the sides of the ferry and began poling it across the sound. Upon reaching the island, they masterfully turned the craft, coming against the landing with the slightest of bump.
“Thank you again. Here, divide this between your men. They move your ferry with ease; one can barely see them strain at the effort.” Stefano handed the barge-master several bills as he started for the landing. Before anyone could respond to his generosity, he mounted his steed and lunged into a full run towards the Keep.
Stefano closed his eyes as he rode, smiling at the cool wind that whipped at his coat and hair as Zarchos raced ahead. He imagined the breeze pulling away his stress and anxiety. By the time he stopped in front of the Keep he felt renewed and relaxed. He dismounted and gave the reins to a stable hand who led Zarchos away. He brushed at his hair, shook his head, then tugged his waistcoat straight before walking to the front doors of the Keep.
Gerik sat at the bar, filling Viktor in on his childhood and being raised with often absent parents. If Viktor was bored by the conversation topic, he gave no sign, instead appearing to listen in rapt attention. They both looked across the room as the doors opened; Gerik stood and moved quickly across the room, encasing his sire in his arms.
“My love, how I have longed for you to return home.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “If I had to tell Viktor my upbringing once more I am sure one of us would have killed the other.”
Stefano kissed his chylde’s neck. “As quick and strong as you have become, I would wager that Viktor would be the victor in such a match.”
“I as well. Just don’t let him know.”
As the men walked back towards the bar, Stefano smiled at his manservant. “Viktor, a glass of house brandy, if you would. Have you heard from my Sire?”
Viktor set the drink in front of Stefano. “No, Master Stefano. I have tried a couple times during your absence, but have received no response. It is like it has been, my lord; I can touch his presence and feel the push of his existence, nothing more.”
Stefano took a long, slow drink before speaking. “Thank you, my friend. Vargon is … Vargon. He shall contact us when it is right to him to do so.”
“Yes my lord. It is good to have you home, sir. I will leave you and lord Gerik to reconnect. If you will excuse me.” He set the brandy bottle on the bar then turned and walked through the kitchen door.
Stefano pulled Gerik close and locked their lips in a kiss of undying passion. Their tongues waged a friendly war, jousting as soft moans were heard from the younger kindred. When they finally parted, both lords had shadows swirling deep and rapid within their pupils. Stefano brushed his chylde’s cheek gently before sharing his decision.
“I wish to invite your parents to a meal and discourse regarding our relationship.”