I hate it, how even as I try to I cannot disobey my etiquette but I can disobey my self-commands.
Slowly, a weary warm gaze melts through my tension and shows his clearer interpretation of my presence. I keep looking at him unsurely, my head lowered, and the slouch in my worn figure probably illustrating my weakness. He swallows and slowly reaches out over the table and stirs his porridge. Feeling my eyes on him, he raises his gaze from the bowl.
I watch him intently but angrily. His stormy dark blue eyes are not in the least displeasing or intimidating. I realize that even if he was, he did not look like a Spanish man at all, despite his hair which has the same charcoal brown look about it as most of them do. Still, I do not show my true sentiments, instead performing by the largest emotion within me: fear.
He gives me a questioning look and then glances at my porridge. I look down as well, not positive of my own permission to end my hunger with the food served. Most importantly I wished to see that it was no trick of poisoning. Vader had taught me how to tell if it was meddled with, but as I sit before the food now, between the restless agitations in my muscles, the sour limitation in my stomach, and dizziness of my head, I would hardly be able to test it.
“It won’t bite back,” he ensures.
I look up and find him watching me calmly. I do not wish to join in this game of humiliating myself before him just for my reason of self-defense. After all, I did have provocation to do so.
“Are you going to eat?” he tries again.
I hold back from amusing him.
He understands the match and sighs out forgivably. “Fine, you win. Call me your enemy, but please, do eat?”
I do not stir.
He waits.
I lean back farther in the chair; away from the food.
He looks as though relieved for a reaction but still concerned for my stomach’s well fair. “Please.” His face is now nothing but sincere.
I do not respond.
He sighs and stands, starting for the door. I stop as pride rises in my chest at my control in the encounter. I think of Vader’s words on the virtues and vanities of the world, and resist remembering how virtue did not include pride or contempt. I remember how Gilch had taken me close when they’d threatened to mean me harm. I resist this thought even more so. I feel some guilt ascend in my heart, and my beats already being weak, I can’t bare it. I remember his subtle eyes as I’d first looked into them; full of promise.
This ends it.
I shrink.
“Wait…” I hear his steps decease.
There is a moment of silence and I listen. Slowly, his steps restart towards the table, coming nearer to me. I fight the urge to stand and observe his every move to make sure he steers clear of my place. I manage not to do so and he rounds into my vision once more. He sits opposite from me and waits patiently. We are both quiet.
When I can’t find anything to distract my pounding heart, I speak. “Are you upset with my people?”
His face softens further as though I was a babe saying its first words. I try to look at him without seeing the care in his face but fail. “No. Your people have done nothing.”
I search his eyes. “What do you want me for?”
This time, his face is too sinfully soft.
I feel myself cringe.
“Nothing,” he says it truthfully.
It is too easy to believe. “Then why must you keep me here?”
He swallows and his face hardens a little. “Protection from…the average....”
He stops as though seeing deeper into me, understanding my need for a response of some kind to hold onto.
“Duty to the King is such that I must…I cannot answer you directly…but I feel there is some force out there which wishes to harm you.”
I give him a look. “I need to know why if I am forced to stay.”
He is gentle. “If I am to teach you, it would be guesses. I am not the right one to ask…I myself hardly understand why…if it would make you more comfortable, I could inquire after the answer for you to my superiors.”
I hesitantly re-meet his gaze. “When will you let me go?”
He watches me, his expression unreadable. “When I am directed”
I keep looking at him. “When...?”
“Soon enough,” he replies soothingly.
I want to implore, but feel that his answer is too explanatory. “Are you upset with me?”
He is gentle, and almost teasing. “No, but I feel that was part of your plan…to make me to be.”
I look down. “Then let me go.”
He firms a little. “I cannot…please pardon me and set aside that wish, for it is beyond what I may do.”
I look up. “You want me for something…please, don’t push me to…”
“I want you for nothing but your protection…as is my duty...only for a little longer…you shall make the rules, use my house as refuge…but please do not ask me such questions…they are worthless to either of us.”
It is rushed and earnest, as though trying to stop the words I had been implying from spilling from my mouth.
I look up hearing this in his warm voice. When I find a glass case over his expression, I look down again and I keep quiet.
He tries to meet my gaze. “Have I hurt you?” He sounds concerned.
I flush a little at the sensations the kind words give me and avoid his gaze.
He grows apologetic. “I’m sorry…I’m sure they will let you go home soon.”
I grow a little uncomfortable. “Please don’t sound so sincere,” I request it quietly, feeling his words deeper than I should and regretting it.
He seems a little confused. “How would you rather me sound?”
I squeeze my hands together. “Just not like that.”
He seems to take my seriously and I am glad that he does. I meant it. “Alright.”
I do not look at him. It was still gentle.
When I don’t respond, he speaks again, more firmly. “Is there anything else?”
I curl my fingers together and squeeze harder. “Yes,” it comes out softer than before and I blush to think he might not even hear it. By the way that he stays quiet though, I suppose he has. “Don’t…touch me,” it is smaller than intended and I can feel his confusion already mixing with my desperation in the air.
“What is your meaning?” It is earnest and not at all demanding, but no longer too soft.
My need to speak again makes me feel jitters. I pinch my nails into my palm. “I want…boundaries.”
He sounds concerned now, but I can hear he is trying to keep up with me. “I can’t understand exactly…what sort of boundaries?”
I feel my pulse dashing. “Just…don’t touch me the way you did…yesterday…” I am digging holes in my skin now with nerves.
Even though I can’t meet his gaze I feel him soften. “No,” it is soft again. This time I welcome it. “I wouldn’t have…I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
It is sorry. I almost forgive him.
“I won’t.” It is a promise, one that I accept and halfheartedly allow forgiveness for.
I keep looking down as I keep my hands clasped together.
“More?” It is gentle.
I swallow hard and feel a little relieved at his acceptance to my wishes. I think a moment. “What will happen to my family?”
Now that I think of it, I had only assumed they would be killed. Since I am not in the middle of the spectacle however, I am not so sure of the assumption anymore.
I look up here, the topic not being so personal, yet more personal to me on a different level. Seeing the pity on his face however, I wish I hadn’t looked.
“I…can’t precisely tell you.”
For some reason, I believe him. How would he know after all?
“If you want…I could see to it that I am informed of their…situation.”
I look up to his gentle suggestion. I look into his eyes and for a moment I linger here, forgetful of the fear
I had felt. I feel he knows what it is like to lose loved ones. I know not why, but somehow his sensitive expression displays this.
I nod and I can see he takes it down somewhere in his list of to-do’s to keep his promise. Wanting to let it all out here though, I continue. “You don’t think…don’t know that they weren’t…” I hesitate. “Hurt?”
He watches me with the same soft look casted across his features, only now, that glass surface of calm has sheltered his possible emotion. “I cannot rightly say.”
Though it hurts, I respect him for it. As a matter of a fact, I appreciate his honest answers, however much it shakes me.
“Are you alright?”
For a moment, I do not process what he said. When I do, it takes me even longer to think of how to connect to my emotions.
“No,” it is all I can think of, but I at least say it lightly as to not worry him. I don’t know why I consider it (his worry) but I do.
“Will you eat?”
It is soft once more, but not so soft that I can’t think of what to do with myself. I glance at the food, but seeing it makes me sick. I shake my head a little and he now seems to accept my refusal.
He reaches out and slowly takes my bowl from before me. I look up and watch as he also takes my folded and wrapped napkin and unrolls the fork from within it. He dips it into the still warm and steamy porridge. With a pause, he stands up and removes the bowl from the table. I hear him set it near the stove which is behind me. This time as he draws near, I do not feel quite so jumpy in my seat.
When he sits again it is, I notice, with more grace and ease. “May I know your name now?”
I look at him pleadingly.
He seems to understand. “Tell me when you are ready then.”
I watch him a moment unsure of how he could be so kind when his people are acting from the very opposite quality. I look down and refuse to stare.
“You have lived your whole life here then?”
I look up at him again, this time with disbelief.
He seems to remember. “Oh, right…when you are ready,” he lifts his hand and waves aside his question for me without further inquiry.
I look down again and fiddle with my dress where it has lost some thread from my struggle yesterday. I stop and feeling watched look up again. He watches me calmly, a keen sense of care in his face. He looks away and I do so as well, my heart hammering. I remember his words precisely; “You make the rules.”
I am in control.
“Who are you anyways?” It is small again.
He looks up and that faint smile slowly lights its way across the storming ocean of his eyes. “I thought who I was mattered little to you if your brain has me programmed as enemy.”
I blush out of embarrassment and a little irritation for being pointed at for my callousness. This was not true at all…at least not entirely. “No…your name is your name, but you can be whoever you prove to be and what you are capable of.”
He smiles faintly. “You are very hard Dutchling…I am glad I am not your courtier.”
At that last part, for some horrible reason my insides go tragic. I hate it, but they do, and it ruins my appetite further.
“Ms. Thimlet,” I correct softly, blushing at the quake in my voice.
He watches me. “Miss Thimlet,” he says it back to me sincerely.
I fiddle again.
“Not otherwise?”
I look up at him. “No.”
He unleashes a faint smile.
I do not smile back. “How come you do not know my family name if you are to take care of me?”
He maintains my gaze. “I’ve had to memorize important things…what the King wants me to know. We are like his little warriors doing what he wants us to do and knowing the truth as what he teaches it is to us. My second in command is in the position I will fall in if he dies, which is the Commander…or we call him General…I suppose. It was based off of my communication and planning skills. He knew more than I did…about you that is. I am still his lesser. If you saw how…he came before anyone else.”
I look at him uncertainly. “It was planned?”
“No…it was spoken of. It was one of the many ways we could hold more against the city…but we didn’t know where you were until at most a week ago. We were almost about to let it go, but once we had gone there, there was no going back for Gage, our second in command. He is the one directing in the city; Alba is the one on the out. He took it upon himself to start the revelry. He has been pining for a drunken night and women since I first knew him. It was his favorite pastime in Spain. On duty though, he couldn’t afford to do such things.”
I listen quietly, and the more I think of how Gage touched me, the more I wish he hadn’t.
“I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have burdened you with that,” his voice is once more gentle, and I realize that while speaking of his Commander, his voice had turned otherwise.
I look up and reach to take the spoon from the table, toying with it in my lap. “How do you suppose he will not come here?”
He shook his head. “No,” he directs me through my mistake of interpretation. “He cannot. If it is not implied for him to do so by the King, which I don’t understand why it would be, then he will not. His reputation is far more valuable than his other…engagements in life.”
I set the spoon in my lap and look up. “He saw you take me…if he knows I am staying…”
He shakes his head. “He will not dare to unless ordered.”
I swallow. “Could there be a possibility of him coming…if you are his soldier-man then…”
He shakes his head. “No. I may be that by rank, but not by heart.”
I am interested. “Why not?”
His face darkens. “May I direct this conversation elsewhere?”
I look at him. “Must you?”
He gives me a grave look and I rethink my action.
“Where is your family?” I decide.
He looks away and I realize this was not a good subject either.
“I’m sorry…”
He looks up and that same understanding link crosses between us. For some reason, this hints to me that I should know why he does not want to speak of his Commander or family.
“You ask the questions…”
He shakes his head assuredly. “No, it is alright, just let me think of how to put this…I…” he sighs out with a closed mouth as though frustrated with himself.
I wait and feel resentful towards my patients for him already.
“I lost my way one night on the way to the doctors…my sister had told me she had not felt well earlier…but when we got home from a…trip…she started to vomit.”
I feel my stomach churn and twist out of pain from another’s suffering.
“I did not know what to do…so I asked my neighbors to watch over her while I went to get help…all was going as planned until…” he sighs. “I got lost…it took some time before I actually reached the doctor’s house…he left immediately, but the trip to his home alone had been 14 miles and my horse needed rest…so I had to stay back and wait.”
I feel pity reach its brim as he looks down at the table’s smooth surface.
“I left as soon as I could…but when I arrived home the next morning…the doctor said he’d found the neighbors and…” He takes in a deep breath, and then lets it all out. “He found the neighbors not near Carmela and she was…gone.”
I understand. “Is that why you hate him…he was the neighbor?”
He looks up, his eyes full of loss. “No…it was for walking in on us with his army and not showing any mercy on those who would not join…by that time I had been hard and unsettled…and when they barged in…I had no reason or holdbacks. I could only think of my loss and how much I wanted to do something to…stop it. Carmela not being there to be taken care of…I went.”
I look at him pitifully. “I’m sorry…” I look him deep in the eyes and oddly enough venture further, he watches me somewhat desolat
ely. I look back down at my hands. I begin to feel the spoon again, tracing down the gracefully carved metal work a little more nervously.
“Don’t be. You had nothing to do with the matter until now.”
I look up and find his eyes still on me. I look away as my stomach starts to churn and quench. “He won’t come here?”
His eyes are softened by this question and I cannot help but wonder if I look anything like his sister. “No,” he responds.
I brush the loose and tangled hairs a little away and his lips crack a tiny almost unnoticeable smile. It almost half-secondly disappears.
I ignore it as well as the fluttering in my chest. “Do you happen to have a washbasin?”
He raises his brows in surprise. “Had you?”
I know that most riches here in Leyden are not permitted for the poorer, but vader had been conservatively wealthy, and after yesterday I feel that a bath might help me cleanse my mental health as well as my physical health.
“My vader owned one…” I look down realizing that I was telling some of my history to someone I barely know, but thinking of his telling of his sister, find that it must be not too robust to speak of my life’s few joys.
He leans his head to his hand and runs his fingers through his hair. “Hmm…” He sighs out a response.
I wish to be away from his sorrow and my own, to cleanse it from my skin at least, if not my brain. A bath should be able to do that.
“Have you one?” It is small.
He laughs lightly into his hand and unburies his face to look at me. “For one so used to living in such states, you ask much of one who is unused to such.”
I feel my face heat and wish I was not so soft. “You have not one?”
He sighs. “It’s in my room…it has not been filled today, but it can be.”
I swallow. “I am grateful.”
His face reflects the expression of one not so judgmental, but still curious. “We are in need of better acquaintance…but for now, I would like to let you use some of my utilities.”
He smiles kindly and I force my eyes away, shying and dropping my gaze. It shifts something inside me, his smile, whether for good or bad I don’t know. Thankfully, I don’t have time to spend on it. “Come.”
Tears of Leyden Page 4