Lord John William Grey (honourably) wrote in antecedents, @ 2010-08-28 23:26:00 |
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It had been more than three months since Lord John Grey had received the anonymous letter from Rome -- it had not been signed, of course, but the content and the hand it was written in made it obvious who had sent it. It came as a relief then that Grey no longer felt the pang of betrayal and loss when he looked at the charcoal drawing of Roman columns, able to remember Percival Wainwright fondly now. He had burned the letter shortly after reading it, despite its anonymity, but even now he could recite the short message from heart: The seagulls on the Tiber call all night, and call your name. "Ave!" They cry. "Ave!"
After the initial shock of hearing from the man he had loved, and saved, Grey felt a surprisingly sense of peace. The letter he had burnt, but he was able to keep the drawing as a reminder of all that he had been during that time. What had transpired between them was over and done with now, and while it was necessary not to look back with feelings of regret and remorse, Grey was relieved that there was no anger left, either at himself or at Percival.
Even had there been reason for him to continue feeling upset, it would have been dwarfed by the sheer amount of action Grey manor was seeing since Percival's disappearance. Not only had his beloved cousin Olivia given birth to her first child, named Cromwell Percival John Malcolm, for the men who delivered him, but his eldest brother welcomed a new addition to the family as well. Lady Dorothea Jacqueline Benedicta Grey, only a few weeks younger than her cousin, was reason enough for the manor to be filled with guests and family alike. The past year had been eventful to a fault and remained so, but Grey could look back with no small sense of pride at his accomplishments: he had not only solved the mystery behind his father's murder and restored both his honor and title, he had survived war yet again, opened his heart (regardless of the results), and protected Olivia from a suitor who would leave her shamed.
It was only now, three months later, that he was finally able to feel the exhaustion from his endeavors, settled back into his own apartment and glad for it. He had collapsed into his favorite armchair by the fire almost immediately after stepping in through the door, and his lips twitched upwards into a smile as he heard Tom Byrd's thankful sigh of relief that his master was able to keep his clothes in pristine condition. "Shall I take your sword and coat me Lord?" Half sunken in his chair and warmed by the fire, Grey opened one large, blue eye and settled it on Tom's freckled face. "I'll be fine, thank you, Tom." Raising the back of his hand to his mouth, Grey managed to suppress a yawn before glancing back wearily to the fireplace. "Supper then, me Lord?" He could tell Tom himself was eager to retire to bed and Grey could hardly blame him -- if he himself was exhausted from the last years adventures then he could imagine how his young friend felt. They had essentially been through hell and back together, after all. "I'm quite all right Tom. You don't have to wait up for me," he added with a dismissive way of his hand. "We'll have another early day I'm sure. My mother requests that I join her for breakfast..." Pausing to look at the crumpled face beside him, smiled with a hint of exasperation. "Which means that we'll be expected to remain for dinner as well."
"A long day indeed, me Lord." Tom appeared to have wilted some, but bowed and turned on his heel to leave. "Good night, me Lord," he added, looking over his shoulder.
Grey nodded in response, his gaze once again falling back to the flames dancing in the fireplace. It must be close to eleven o'clock and he felt too tired to move -- every muscle in his body seemed to ache in unison, and even the thought of rising for a glass of brandy seemed like too much effort to be worth the trouble. Instead he resigned himself to reading the few letters that had arrived for him at this address, most of which were from Harry Quarry. Military gossip was enough to put him to sleep, and did, and before he could finish reading the last passage of the note Grey had nodded off himself, warmed as he was by the fire.
At first he had thought he was dreaming of Hector and their last night together before the Battle of Culloden. They had lain together in the grass, far away from their fellow soldiers, Grey's head rested in the crook of his lover's arm, and while he could recall Hector's face as though he had seen him just yesterday -- the deep blue of his eyes, the tanned skin and body made firm muscle -- Grey had never dreamed this vividly. Stretching out his fingers, he could swear that he could feel the damp wetness of the grass beneath his fingertips, could still hear the faint rustle of the trees around them. Hector was almost always in his thoughts, yet it had been years since he dreamed of him quite like this, and somewhere in Grey's mind he realized the oddity of it. The image of his younger self faded as he was roused from his dreamlike state by the coldness that seemed to engulf him and he shivered involuntarily as a chill ran up his spine. It was only when he realized that he was cold and damp that his wide, blue eyes sprung open revealing his surroundings...or what he could make of them.
He blinked several times at the darkness around him, unsure at first if he was still dreaming, before realizing that he was truly no longer in his apartment. His hearth and chair were gone, as was Tom Byrd, replaced instead with a rather disconcerting meadow. The full moon above was enough to give him some light but his mind was racing much too fast for him to make sense of his thoughts as he stood shakily on his feet. Trying to process where he was and what he was seeing, he found his thoughts quite at odds with his sense of logic. "Impossible." His voice sounded strange to his ears as he spoke to himself and yet there was no denying that he was no longer dreaming. His face itched where blades of grass had adhered themselves to his cheek, and his coat and breeches were damp from lying exposed to the elements. If he was awake enough to notice the discomfort he felt then surely..."But it is rather illogical, is it not?" Taking in a deep breath, he pushed back the strands of light, blonde hair that had loosened from its binding and now flew in his face. "Surely not a jest." His apartment kept in London was small compared to his home in the countryside, allowing for no more than himself and Tom to live comfortably, and if there was one thing he would place his life upon, it was the knowledge that Tom would never betray him. The boy, he knew, was too indebted to him for finding his brother and taking him in. It was, Grey knew, impossible.
Gaining both his bearings and control of his thoughts, Grey began to survey himself for damage: his coat was in fine condition as were his breeches and boots, and after a quick survey of his pockets, realized that he still carried the same amount of money as he had on his person earlier. At least he had not been robbed by the O'Higgins brothers. Again. His gun was still present as was his sword, which he was suddenly rather thankful for, but it left him with no clear motive for why he had been abandoned in the wilderness. Not prone to sleep walking nor drunkenness, Grey thought it quite unlikely that he had merely wandered off by himself. Yet having no idea where he was -- his eyes flickered up quickly to search the skies for the north star -- he could at least find his way back to civilization by the stars. With any luck he might find a cottage with a carriage or spare horse that he might borrow. He grimaced at the thought wondering how likely that might be. Either way, he realized that he was in for a long night and an equally long walk.
Grey thought himself to be making good time, but after what seemed like hours of trudging along miles of pitch black countryside, he was beginning to question that particular notion. Without wood, flint and tinder he had little option but too move on, unable as he was to make a campfire for warmth, and found himself greatly looking forward to dawn when he might finally get a sense of his surroundings. As it was the only sense of direction he had was the north star overhead and the faint sound of a creek in the distance. His throat was parched and the exhaustion he had felt earlier seemed tenfold as he continued, but at least there was some beacon of hope in which he might pursue. While he had no particular interest in keeping himself further entertained with his thoughts, he found himself being snapped out of them by the sound of heavy breathing coming from behind him. Stiffening, Grey lifted his head to the sound, only now noticing that his footsteps in the grass had not been the only ones as he laid his hand carefully on the hilt of his sword. I'm being stalked, he thought grimly, his breath shallow in his chest as he braced himself. There. He could hear the beasts paws crushing the blades of grass underfoot. Steady, man he told himself, steeling himself to the chill that crawled over his skin. Taking in a steading breath, the blonde soldier waited until he heard the sound of wait lifting from the grass to spin on his heel, drawing his sword in a flurry of steel as he swiped at the beast that moved to pounce him. Bigger than anything he had seen, Grey found himself face to face with the amber eyes of a massive cat, it's fangs and claws bared as it hissed at him. It let out a rumbling growl as it watched him, one of its great forearms dark with blood.
John Grey had never seen a Mountain Lion -- they weren't native to either England nor Scotland -- and yet he knew enough already to be incredibly wary of the beast before him. It's tail flicked as it watched him, and Grey felt his breath catch as he noticed that, beyond the fact that a giant cat was eyeing him like he was dinner, there was something greatly amiss. Even in the darkness he could see the tendrils of smoke-like substance extend from the creature's fur, almost seeming to engulf the beast like some sort of hell spawn. He took a tentative step back as he readied himself for the next assault -- it occurred to him then that he should have loaded and primed his pistol beforehand, desperately wishing for it now -- and the cougar seemed to respond. Shifting it's weight on his flanks it emitted an ungodly sound as it propelled itself towards him, lunging at Grey with all of its several hundred pounds.
He himself let out a yell as the claws of one paw ripped into his arm, and in a moment of nearly Herculean strength he was able to dislodge the animals weight from his other arm that held his sword, pushing against the things chest with all of his strength. Barely able to keep the lion's fangs from ripping into his face, Grey desperately sought a way to gain the upper hand in this struggle, and fingers stretching, reached the grip of his pistol. Clutching the unloaded piece of metal with his injured arm, he adjusted himself enough to grip the barrel instead, cracking it against the creature's skull with all the force he could summon. Swiping fiercely with his sword as he gained enough distance from the massive cat to replace the pistol and better grip his sword, waited for the beast to make its next move. "You, Sir, are sorely mistaken if you expect me to be an easy meal."