"Three Nuts For Orlando"
Part 2
by Beryll & Osiris Brackhaus

 

- David -

What a weird morning this had turned out to be. First I got to watch Dom retching out the most vile blue stuff humanity should never have decided to drink, then I got hit by a snowball square in the face, chased what appeared to be a pizza-boy through the wintry forest and at last came to watch my quarry disappear into a tree.

Maybe if Billy hadn't scared him off, I would have been able to convince the cute little squirrel to come down. I had not been able to make out much of him but it had certainly looked promising.

In our less then sober state it took Billy and me a while and a lot of cursing to find our way back to Dominic, who was sitting on his bike now, looking better than both of us together. Small wonder. He was rid of all the alcohol while ours still coursed through our body, making Billy look decidedly ill and making me feel like a monumental headache was heading my way.

"Where have you been?" Dom asked, when we worked our way out of the underbrush.

Why where all the trees suddenly trying to jump in my way?

"Chasing a pizza-boy." Billy explained and got Dom's trademark 'you are an idiot'-look.

"A pizza-boy. Sure. Should have thought of that myself." He looked to me for help but I just shrugged.

"There really was a pizza-boy throwing snowballs at us." I said and even as I said it I realized how unbelievable it sounded.

Dominic seemed to think so, too. "I'd better get you two home before you start chasing pink elephants." he announced. "You two sure you can still ride your bikes?"

"If I recall correctly it was you who needed to stop." Billy retorted hotly. He always got aggressive when he had had to much beer. Should stick with wine. Made him cheerful and funny.

"Well, at least I don't see pizza-boys." Dom commented sarcastically.

"There really was..."

"Guys, guys, can we just go home?" I interrupted Billy, before they could get into a fight. "I am freezing my butt off. And Dom, can you give me back my jacket?"

On the ride home I found my thought drifting back to the boy in the tree again and again. Why had he thrown that snowball at me? To tease me? To gain my attention? The thought was flattering but sadly rather unlikely. If he had been trying to hit on me he would not have run and refused to come down.

Why was I thinking of him anyway? All I had seen of him was a foot dangling from the high branches - granted, a very cute, delicately small foot - and glimpses of his pizza-boy uniform. Mentally I cursed myself for not paying any closer attention. I should at least have looked a bit closer at that uniform to see where he worked. Then it would have been simple to find him. Maybe he would consider a date...?

My brain definitely swam in way to much alcohol. A date? With a pizza-boy who was throwing snowballs at me? A pizza-boy I had no idea where to find? And even if I had been bright enough to remember the pizza delivery he was working for I had no way of recognizing him. And shouldn't I been thinking about my upcoming marriage?

Maybe that was the reason I was suddenly so desperately looking for a male mate. Maybe that would stop my father. I had been solo now for almost half a year, since I had broken up with my last boyfriend.

A smile crept onto my face. Now those had been good times... Going out with mister football-superhero, quarterback of the school-team. We had both known we were just screwing around so none of us had been to upset when we decided we had had enough.

I was so lost in thought I almost missed the driveway to our family estates. I should really stop driving drunk. In the next couple of years.

My fond memories evaporated the moment we parked our bikes in front of the house. My father was standing on the verandah watching us, his expression stormy. Oh, right. We had been supposed to be home by midnight. And now it was what? About nine in the morning?

"Where have you been?" my father asked, before we even had the chance to come up onto the verandah.

"We got delayed." Billy answered, to fast for my sluggish brain to stop him.

"We were chasing a squirrel." I added, trying for some humor.

My father didn't think it was funny and neither did Billy.

"There was no squirrel!" he insisted again. Dumbass.

Dom looked from me to Billy to my father. "Sorry, sir." he said, definitely the most intelligent of the three of us at the moment. "We lost track of time. We came home as quickly as possible, when we realized how late it was already."

The expression on my fathers face said clearly he didn't believe a word we said. But he at least allowed us to pass into the warm house.

At least he didn't give me that 'we have been worried for you'-crap. He opted for another sermon.

"I thought we had talked about responsibility just recently." he launched into his speech. I endured for almost five minutes. Then my throbbing head got the better of my patience.

"Dad, can we please speak about that later? I really need to sleep now."

He was speechless with exasperation. We used the chance and fled to our respective rooms.

For some reason the last thing I thought about before finally dropping into the depth of sleep was that cute little squirrel foot again.

----

- Orlando -

Great.
It was the morning of Christmas eve, and all my misbegotten family could think of were their outfits for the upcoming New Year's Eve Ball at the Senator's place. Wasn't Christmas supposed to be more important, a celebration of family and love?
On a second thought, maybe we truly didn't have THAT much to celebrate, anyway.

Right then, I was busy cleaning the main oven in the kitchen, trying to get it presentable again after too long a time of neglect. Not that it necessary to clean it, especially not today, but Cate had decided that it had to be done now, for she wanted her roast prepared in a clean oven. And that it had to be done by me, for it was a task she though to be too grimy for the kitchen staff. Lovely, as always.

But at least, those chores kept me at least partially distracted from the gnawing anger I felt inside. My stepmother had once again cut down Nicholas' rations. Was she trying to starve him? That would be the most elegant way to get rid of him without outright shooting him. How could she? I had never done anything to her, not even as she took away all that should have been mine.
Why did she hate me so much?

Frustrated, I threw away the rags I was using to scrub the oven, grimly staring at my reflection in one of the doors of the cupboard opposite me. My arms speckled with tiny, grey spots, my face streaked with brown grime I looked more like some homeless trash than the rightful owner of the house, and the deep shadows underneath my eyes didn't help at all.
I could have spat at my image. I was working like a log, and I didn't get anywhere.

Whereas my dear Stepmother and that stupid twit that called herself my sister didn't work at all, yet spent my father's money like there was no tomorrow. My money, actually.

Just this morning, they had sent Viggo out into town to buy just some more stuff they would need for their costumes on New Year's Eve. It was supposed to be a Grand Masque, a magnificent affair, and they went quite a way to ensure that their outfits would outshine anybody at the show. Or at least outprice anybody else's.

Vigorously stuffing my rag back into its bucket of warm water, I cleaned it, then took some more of the abrasive and went back into the oven.

The amounts of fabric they had ordered Viggo to buy still made my head swirl. Fourty feet of silk, twenty-five of silken gauze, almost sixty of silver-threaded velvet. And of course it had to be real silver.

That was frightening. I bet I could have fed Nicholas for at least a month on a mere foot of that velvet. And they were already busy with three seamstresses upstairs since breakfast. At least my anger gave me enough vigor to attack the crusted grime inside the oven with lasting ferocity.
And later, so they had declared to poor Viggo, he would have to drive them back into town to buy some jewelry. Only some necklaces and some few feet of lace. Why the hell did they need SEVERAL necklaces?
That waste made me fume, even if it was technically their money they were spending, and the chance that ever I would be able to regain my rightful possessions was close to nil. I hated waste.
I think all people who do not have a single cent to spare hate wastefulness.

At least Viggo had been kind, once again. After he had stoically noted where he was supposed to buy what and what it should cost at LEAST, he had politely waited until the two of them had gone off to torture their seamstresses, he had turned to me, asking:

"And, Orlando, what about you? Anything I should get you in town?"

"Of course", I had answered snottily. "Just a new Armani suit, some golden cufflinks and a new Ferrari. My old one's still last season, you know?"

But he just smiled at me, sadly, and I had felt bad for barking at him for such a kind gesture.

"You know I do not have any money to spend, Viggo", I added apologetically. "And I know that you haven't got any bucks to spare, either. So what's the point?"

"I just... I don't know." Viggo honestly seemed sorry. "I just wanted to be nice. Isn't there really anything I could buy? It is Christmas, after all... "

I felt tears welling up in my eyes, for this year I hadn't been able to buy even symbolic presents for him and Rose and Sean and all the other's of the staff that were so kind to me. Just a little stone out of the forest for each of them, with a poem written around, wrapped in some second-hand wrappings. Not anything worth of mention, but all I could afford if ever I wanted to get out of here. I had even written the poems myself, for I was loathing to go into the library where Cate would surely find me and accuse me of loitering.

So I had walked over to Viggo with a sigh, saying:

"Bring me whatever first comes across your way, and it'll be perfect for me."

And I hugged him, quickly adding:

"But don't spend any money on it, promise?"

He just nodded, and smiled.
Without them, I realized, I would have given up long ago.

That thought still made me smile when I started to wipe the solved grime out of the oven, and when Viggo finally returned, I was almost finished.

Pile after pile, he unloaded things out of the car; bags, boxes of all shapes and sizes, bolts of cloth and sacks of probably highly expensive knick-knack.
I tried to busy myself with the oven to prevent me from getting all ballistic about these things. And of course, my stepmother showed up only moments later, sifting through the piles, searching for this and that, commenting on the quality of the fabric or the lack thereof. And, like a strangely independent shadow of her Liv turned up, clad in pieces of paper and silk over a unadorned straight black gown, a seamstress rushing after her in a state only very short of panic.

Now both ladies of the house were occupied with commenting on their latest acquisitions, and Viggo used this apparently unobserved moment to come over to me and said in a hushed voice:

"Here, this is for you."

Surprised, I looked up, only to see him handing me a triplet of hazelnuts, grown together on one twig, huge and brown and shiny.

"It literally dropped in my lap", he started to explain, and I carefully took the little twig, staring at it in wonder. "I was stopping in the forest on my way back, to have a smoke. And then, suddenly, a birds' nest dropped out of a tree directly in front of my feet, and all that was inside were these."

"That is - ", I began, still speechless about the first real gift I had received in ages, as suddenly my Stepmother popped up between us, hissing:

"What is that?"

In reflex, I hid the nuts behind my back.

"What's this, what have you given him?"

Apparently, she suspected us stealing from her property. Or even worse, keeping her away from something she would want to have if only she knew what it was.

"Ma'am", Viggo started. "It's really nothing, it's - "

"If it's nothing, then why is he hiding it?"

Finally, that pest of a sister noticed something interesting happening in my corner, and showed up as well.

"What's he hiding, Mom?", she asked innocently.

"Show it!", Cate barked, and I knew that there was no point in disobeying any longer. Maybe she suspected drugs or something like that.

So I slowly took forth the triplet, and surprised myself with how hard it was for me to disclose my new-won treasure. And it was precious to me, for if nothing else, it was a symbol of someone who cared for me.

"Nuts?", my stepmother asked slightly disappointed. "Nothing else?"

"They were a gift for me", I exclaimed, defending the idealistic value of them with more ardor than I would have liked.

But she didn't notice my energetic outburst, instead watching the Hazelnuts intently, as if still searching for a hidden value we had tried to deprive her of. But of course, she didn't find anything.

"What a silly gift", she finally said, showing the nuts to Liv as if presenting evidence of my inferiority. And Liv, of course, nodded consentingly.

"Weird. Like for a squirrel...", Cate added, and I had to fight myself not to burst into a wide smile. Maybe it's a fitting gift for a squirrel, but I was a cute squirrel, and I was happy with it. And, best of all, that was a memory she could not take away from me.

"Ah well," my stepmother went on, throwing me the nuts, already losing interest. "let him keep it. Now where have those silver buttons gone again?"

Taking in a deep breath, I watched her return to the table, searching the piles, and hardly realized that Liv was still standing next to me.

"Merry Christmas, brother dear", she hissed spitefully in my direction before turning her back on me most dramatically and gliding back to her mother.

'Fuck you!', I thought, her contempt unable to diminish the warm glow I held in my heart. 'All the money in the world and all the bile you can come up with will never be able to get you what I already have: friends who care for you and a dream to warm your heart. I have been gifted more than you will ever be; you stupid bitch!'

----

- David -

The silence around the dinner table was deafening while the first course was served. Father was busy glaring at me, Dom and Billy and - strangely also - Mom. At least he didn't glare at the servants who really hadn't done anything in this event, which I had come to call 'Catastrophe Christmas'.

The day had started of bad with Mom and Dad going to Church as every year. For some reason - I am not really sure anymore if it really was their intention - they forgot to tell me and went on their own. Now I am not a pious person but going to Church on Christmas Eve is a family tradition I for once do not loath. It reminds me of happier times when I was still small and I always loved the giant Christmas tree they had in Church and all the hushed calm holiness of the whole thing.

So me and Dom and Billy - not being completely sober yet although it was just 12pm - decided to go to Church on our own. Which meant we arrived late with noisy motorcycles, marched into Church with our biking outfits, sat down where we found some space and frightened half of the parish and angered the other half with our display.

It was horrible. I am sure I had never felt that unwelcome in a church before.

Father didn't say a word when we got home. Just disappeared into the stables, took a horse and then took off. Mother send me one of those heartwrenchingly hurt looks and then disappeared into her study, firmly closing the door behind me letting me know that she did not want to see me.

So we made do with drinking some more and when father finally returned, cooled down a bit, to talk to me, I was all heated up and angry. They probably heard us shouting at each other three estates away...

Still the facts remained in place: I would have to marry or leave my family behind.

And I had even lost the little support I might have hoped for from Mom.

At least tomorrow I would get a chance to get rid of some of my penned up aggressions. Dad had invited some of his old school friends and their respective sons over. The old men were going to drink expensive whiskey and talk about the 'good old times'. We young ones would have a little fencing tournament.
Well, maybe not that great a chance to get rid of aggression. With all the noble rules and gestures fencing was about. Maybe I should instead head for a bar on the rough side of town and have a little brawl.

I stared down at my plate, feeling nausea rise from my stomach. To much wine, to little food. I did not feel like eating at all. Especially not in this company. The food looked nice enough, a beautifully arranged salad with nuts and raspberries. But the smell was making me ill. Still I forced down two forks of it, then gently pushed it away and let the servants take it back.

Father's glare got even more drilling, but he didn't say a word until the next course had arrived.

"I have decided what you are going to wear on New Years Eve." he announced. I could have sworn his voice was gleeful with malice.

My answer came faster than I was thinking. "What do you mean, YOU have decided?" We were definitely heading for another argument.

"Well, as you have proven again and again that you can not be trusted to take care of yourself I will do it for you." This time there definitely was malice. Never thought my father were capable of sounding so... evil.

"Oh, and what have to settled on? Hmm... let me see, how would I dress up my unloved son...? But wait, I forgot, this one is about selling me to a bride, right? So how about chains, a loincloth and whipmarks? Showing off the merchandise?"

I saw mother wince at that comment. Obviously struck a little bit too close to home. But father just looked at me with condescending pity.

"No, as most of the girls will probably come as princesses to impress you - although that seems to be completely wasted on an ungrateful bastard like you are - you will wear a matching costume. That of a prince."

Under any other circumstances I might have even liked that idea. I did usually enjoy costume parties and dancing and all that. But not when I was my hide being carried to the marriage market. A prince. That really was the height of humiliation.

We stared at each other across the table in silent rage on my part and silent disgust on his part. He really hated me, I was sure. How else could he do this to me?

"And you think I will be a good, little prince?"

"You better be. Do not forget," he reminded me icily, "if you don't pick a bride that evening, I will."

I felt a tremble of utter fury run threw my body. I knew I was only inches away from hitting my own father. So I did the only sensible thing, got up, calmly put my napkin down on the table and left.

----

- Orlando -

Oh well, it had not been the worst Christmas I've ever had.

I could remember many happier occasions, but it could easily have been worse.
All the staff who was not with their respective families had dinner in the kitchen of the mansion yesterday, on Christmas Eve, and it had been a rather merry crew, despite all the little troubles my Stepmother had managed to bring up for the whole past week.

I could hardly think Cate and Liv had a better time, up in the dining room together with some peculiar relatives of theirs. Probably they were just boring each other to death with stories told a hundred times or bitching at each other.

But neither the cheerful atmosphere in the kitchen nor the thought of my Stepmother having a miserable time as well could prevent me from remembering what I had lost. Neither Viggo's clumsy jokes nor the lovely, self-knitted scarf Rose gave me as a present could stop me from missing my parents, my real parents.
Once or twice, I had to bite down tears when the images of the three of us, Father, my real mother and me hiding in front of the fireplace, waiting for Santa Claus to appear, grew just too strong to ignore.

It had been a sad Christmas Eve, but my friends among the staff did usher me through the worst moments with deliberate cheerfulness, and I survived without sustaining any major harm.
Well, I survived.

Until this morning, Cate emerged from her bedroom with a mood that was simply indescribable. Nervous like a caged animal she had been pacing through the place, barking at everybody for no reason, threatening staff and furniture alike. I only heard her hiss at Rose, scolding her for being such a useless person, and when she threw something breakable at poor Sean, I just fled.
I couldn't bear her antic's anymore, couldn't stand to be meek and polite and submissive all the time if I wanted to keep Nicholas alive. She would turn completely ballistic when she noticed me missing, probably using this as a reason for not paying me this month, but I just had to leave. She would have found a way not to pay me anyway, and this way I had at least a few hours of rest and a chance to escape her.

So I grabbed something to eat, saddled Nicholas and we were off into the woods before anyone could stop us.

Riding through the chill winter forest helped a lot. The frosty air calmed my racing mind, giving my sore heart the time it needed to heal at least a superficially. And being outdoors with Nicholas around always was a good thing.
Last time it happened, I had met 'David', I remembered with a smile. And this morning was just as cool, as calm as the one he had called me 'a cute squirrel'.
At some places, larger patches of mist still lingered, very slowly defeated by the remote December sun. It was a beautiful morning, calm and serene, the glittering snow and the drifting banks of mist in the early morning light creating an eerie, almost magical scenery.

So when we stopped at my hideout at the lodge again, I felt refreshed; not happy, but well able to face whatever would come my way once I returned home. But not now.

So I climbed up to the attic, surprised to find Rosalie awake and unusually excited.

"Roo-roo!", she greeted me, hopping along one of the larger crates that were stored in the attic.

"Merry Christmas to you as well, Rosalie", I said, unsure of what to make of her uncommon behavior. "What's wrong, dear?"

Instead of an answer, she just stopped hopping and stared at me with her huge, grey eyes.

"Here, I brought you a present", I went on, putting a small piece of cheese next to her, some leftover from Cate's dinner last night. But she ignored it completely, instead flapping over onto the old cupboard where I was hoarding my little treasures.

"Hey, Rosalie, I thought you liked cheese?", I grumbled with disappointment. Usually, she would never have ignored what I had learned to be her favorite treat. Then, with a sight, I added:

"Maybe not today. But here, have a look, this is the scarf Rose made for me!"

"Ack!"

"Alright, don't like that one as well... But what about this?", I asked, fumbling in the depth of my pockets to present her the hazelnuts that Viggo had found, surprised to see them still clinging together in a neat triplet on their twig despite the rough treatment.

"Roooooh..."

"You like them? Me too. It's a fitting gift for a squirrel."

Once more, I couldn't suppress a fond smile at the thought of the young man, blinking up my tree in irritation.

"They remind me of David."

Then, suddenly, without any detectable cause, one of the nuts broke off the twig I held in my hand, falling down to the wooden planks that formed the floor as if in slow motion. A twang of regret shot through me, sadness at the first of my Christmas gifts already breaking apart.
The hazelnut hit the ground with an tock, clearly audible in the silence of the forest, and rolled a bit further before laying still.

"Roo Roo Roo!", Rosalie said, bobbing her round head in something I would have called close to hysteria if I hadn't been talking of an owl.

"Rosalie, what's wrong with you?", I asked, now definitely worried about her. Looking down in search of the nut, I froze and blinked in surprise when I noticed a tiny, white thing sticking out of a crack in the nutshell.

So I carefully stored the remaining nuts in the drawer and picked up the broken one, carefully examining what looked like a piece of gleaming white cloth, sticking out of the deep brown shell.

"Was it that you were so excited about?", I asked my owl, who was now sitting on the cupboard, blinking at me nervously yet otherwise motionless. "What is this? Not one of those funny things glued together with condoms inside, I hope..."

But I somehow knew that this here was not a novelty item.

So I tried to prick the shell open, curious to see what was hidden inside - and jumped back with a yell of panic as the nut broke apart, bursting into what seemed to be a small pile of white clothes.

"Fucking heavens....", I whispered when the first shock calmed down, staring at the small heap on the floor in utter disbelief.

There was no logical explanation all this could have fitted into a single nutshell! Never, ever.
And I was already accepting that it might be possible to stack incredible amounts of fabric into a tiny container, but I was staring at a pile of cloth neatly crowned by a fencing mask and an epée. This was impossible!

"Roo, Roo, Roo!"

Rosalie's delighted comment made me turn around.

"You knew that, did you?"

"Roooo...."

"What the fuck is going on here?"

I slowly moved over and knelt down next to the things on the ground, picking up the mask first, then the epée, examining them. I just didn't believe this! This was first quality stuff, better than anything I had ever seen, and the lack of any names or brands indicated that they were custom made.

"Is this for me?", I asked Rosalie, so fuddled in my head by what I had just witnessed that I wouldn't have been surprised if she had answered.

"Rooh."

"But what am I supposed to do with this? I'll never go fencing in my life again!"

"Roo!"

"I will? Rosalie, you're nuts."

Oh, and what about me, then? After all, I saw things popping out of nutshells, and was talking to animals. And they even seemed to answer. Apparently my sanity was going to hell in a handcart.

Carefully, I unfolded the clothes in front of me, unsurprised at the fact that I was looking at a brand-new, perfectly tailored fencing suit. And I was eerily convinced that it would fit me like a second skin.

This was madness.

With irritation, I noticed the colors of some club or school that had been embroidered onto the softly gleaming material of the suit. No printed logo or a badge, real embroidery.
It sure looked as if it could be the colors of one of the weird schools my father had wanted me to go to, once I was old enough.

"I have never been at one of these schools, Rosalie", I explained almost apologetically, as if trying not to accept the unbelievable, still holding the soft suit clenched in my hands. "I'm the pizza-boy, remember?"

"Roohoo!", she exclaimed pointedly. "Roo-roo-roo!"

"I'm not?"

"Roo."

I was going mad, la-la-la, I was going mad....

"So you think I should wear this?"

"Roo."

"But what for? And when?"

"Roo-hoo."

"Now?"

"Roo."

Whatever it might have indicated about my mental sanity - the suit did fit like a glove, and it was the smoothest and most beautiful thing I had ever seen. And I think it is pointless to mention that both the mask and the epée seemed to have been made just for me.
Anyway, minutes later, I was out on Nicholas again, equipped to go fencing in finest array, feeling mad like a gutter-rat but strangely happy.

----

- David -

"You're disqualified! How can you possibly do that to an honorable opponent?!" The referee was glaring at me in righteous fury. Seemed a lot of people did that lately.

Exasperated I pulled of my fencing mask. "I just shoved him a bit!" he grumbled. Of course there was no use arguing. Disqualified is disqualified. And I shouldn't have shoved him. No touching in the honorable art of fencing. Just standing stiff like a stick, moving to rules equally stiff.

Fencing should be like a dance, flowing back and forth, constant movement with a healthy dose of physical contact. But the times when it had been like that were past. It had turned from a dance into an artform and therefore really was not my type of sports anymore. How much I would have loved to fight an opponent like the teacher I had had when I had been a teenager. He had been from France. He had taught me how it REALLY was to be done. And in the eyes of my father had forever spoiled me for the fine art of 'American Fencing'. What a farce.

My opponent picked himself off the ground, pulled off his own mask and glared at me as well. Not that I had expected anything less.

I just shrugged, didn't apologize - bringing shocked gasp to the lips of the onlookers - and turned away. Still grumbling to myself I went over to a tree stump, brushed some snow off and sat down to watch the rest of the tournament. Maybe it was good that I was not in it anymore. With my current mood I might have hurt somebody seriously.

They continued their ridiculous poking and I watched in subdued agony.

At first I didn't even notice him. But suddenly there was a white-clad figure among them that I was reasonably sure had not been there a moment ago. His first words confirmed that.

"Sorry, I'm late." he announced in a voice so cheerful and warm it lit up the whole clearing where the tournament was held. And boy did he look great in his outfit. There wasn't one ounce of fat on his body, all lean and trim and perfectly showed off by the tight fencing clothes. He was already wearing his mask, so I was not sure whose son he was but the embroidery on his outfit clearly showed that he was 'one of us'.

He moved with the grace of a dancer, even now that he was just taking his stance opposite of his first opponent, but in contrast to myself he managed to incorporate his fluid movement into the rigid style of fencing that was required. It was a marvel to watch. The poor boy he was fighting didn't stand a chance. And when the referee called out his victory I found myself actually cheering him.

----

- Orlando -

I didn't know what I was doing there, and even less why I did it, but it sure was fun as hell.

Well, actually, I knew quite well what I was doing. Standing at the border of a lake somewhere a few miles off our grounds, probably on private property, taking part in a private epée tournament.
All the boys here wore the same badges as on my suit, but I was somewhat sure no-one of them was wearing an outfit remotely as fitting and comfortable as mine. Or as expensive, for that matter.

It was a magic scenery.
Close to twenty young men standing around a cleared space near the shoreline, all clad in white, the fine mist of their breath rising in the almost crystalline air. The crunching sounds of their feet on the little snow here were the only sounds, the silence only interrupted by the swishing sounds of weapons and the occasional, yelled commands of whoever was doing the referee for the running match.

It had been those commands that had told me where to head for after I had been simply riding straight on for a while. I had 'parked' Nicholas somewhere a bit off in the forest, for whoever was having fun here surely did not expect one of his guests to arrive on a horse.

Sneaking up to the clamor of the tournament, I had noticed that several of the young men were wearing their masks down even when not engaged, and in the completely gaga mood I was in, I just lowered my mask, walked over to the group as if it were the most natural thing in the world, saying simply:

"Sorry, I'm late."

And suddenly, I was part of the show.
For the first time since my Stepmother had practically disowned me I was accepted in a group without sneers or stupid questions, and it was fun. OK, the spell would only last as long as I was not forced to lift my mask, but what the fuck.

And then, I saw him.
David.
Sitting on a nearby tree-stump, his mask in his lap, looking bored as hell. I liked the way his wide shoulders showed in the figure-hugging suit he wore, the way his features were masculine and friendly at the same time.

But I couldn't continue my droolings, for I was called for my first match.

Suddenly, I found myself back in a situation I hadn't been in for years: facing an opponent in white, his epée raised in front of his face, his feet in first position.

"Ready?", I heard the referee ask, and as in reflex, my own epée went up before my face, my feet rearranged themselves to 'première', and I nodded briefly.

"En garde!", the referee yelled, and I had to blink in bewilderment at how naturally all movements returned to my body. Before I could really think about what I did, I was moving; back, parry, forth, 'seconde', parry 'troisième', riposte, parry, thrust -
And suddenly, it was over, my opponent bowing rigidly, again his epée raised before him, and I returned his greeting in kind.
I had won. Hardly understanding what I had just done, I went back among the others, noticing vaguely that they were staring at me. But my attention was fixed on the next duel, and I soon realized why I could stand a chance even though I had not been training for years, since the day I had to sell my equipment.

'To learn something is not necessarily to understand something, Orlando", my father had once said after I had thrown a frustrated tantrum at his strange expectations to my fencing. "To achieve any level of quality in any craft, you'll have to know without thinking, to decide without planning. And this, my son, you can only do once your heart has learned the lesson, not only your brain."

I had hated him for his cryptic answer then, but here on the frozen shore of this lake on Christmas Morning, it made sense. They were all moving so stiffly, not untrained, but abruptly, as if they were, well, counting the steps in their heads, running calculations on strategy at the same time.
They probably knew more maneuvers than I did, but they had only learned them by heart, not getting the focal point that it was not about maneuvers, but about fighting. Surely they were all able to recite long lists of advantages and disadvantages of any move they knew, in my eyes, this was beside the point: Once a duel had started, each movement unavoidably named the next one, and as there was no choice after all, the only thing one could do right was to stay in the flow, to drop out of it was to lose.

It was like... dancing.

Your movements themselves were unimportant, they had to fit the music, your partner, your mood. All else came naturally.

And I soon got enough opportunity to test my theory, for I was called for a match again, and this time, I could observe myself. Yes, they definitely were counting. Not naming the steps, but running a mental checklist.
What an effort for such a poor result.

I enjoyed myself tremendously.

Especially as I noticed that David was cheering each of my victories, booing loudly whenever anyone dared to make an attempt at scoring against me. His support pushed me up even more, and soon I had to concentrate more on keeping the rules in mind than on fighting my opponent. My heart was pounding in my chest, my body so pushed I could hardly go on fencing within the rigid rules, wanted to go freestyle, running, jumping, improvising.

Swashbuckling, as my mother had called it with glee on the rare occasions she watched us.

But far too soon, it was over.
I had won. Not a single match, but the tournament.
A bit gaga, but way cool.

Politely, my last victory was applauded, and apparently, I was expected to take off my mask. I kept it on, in blatant disregard of etiquette.
Slightly sad, I noted that I had not been fighting against David, who was now standing besides his stump, cheering me wildly.

Not that I wasn't flattered beyond words about his enthusiasm, but what did he see in me? To him, I must be looking just like any of his companions, a bit thin, maybe.

When I noticed him walking over to me, I had to suppress a sudden wish to run away. Wasn't it him that very strange coincidences had conspired me to meet here? Then why was I afraid, all of a sudden?
David walked up to me, smiling brightly, and I was suddenly very happy of wearing that mask, for confronted so directly with his dazzling charm, I was unable to suppress a massive blush that surely would have been more than inappropriate in my situation.

So the blond man bowed politely in acknowledgment of my victory, taking my hand and raising it for all to see.

"Is there anybody who does not agree with declaring this man champion of this year's tournament?", he asked loudly, his voice beautiful, resonant.

Consensual silence answered him, and he turned around to me again, holding up a gleaming golden ring in his other hand.

"This signet ring has been donated by my father to the Winner of today's tournament, and it is my joy to give it to you.", he declared, adding in a lower voice: "And you have bloody deserved it."

"Well", I heard myself say just as softly, still hidden behind my mask. "There are other things I might wish of you instead of a ring, but not today."

What had I said? Was I completely mad? Was I completely, fucking insane?
Oh yes, I forgot.
I was.

David blinked at me with an unreadable expression, and before he could make up his mind if he was to beat the crap out of me on spot or ignore what I had just said, I chose to act first. Pulling my hand out of his, strangely sad at parting contact, I declared just as loudly as David had before:

"Unfortunately, I have to refuse, Sir."

Loud murmur arose among the others, and David looked at me in cutest irritation.

"Sir, I am not winner of this tournament, for I have not been fighting each of you."

Slowly, they must notice that I'm kind of weird, but that's just the beginning.

"I have not yet had the opportunity to challenge our host", I said, questioningly turning around to David.

"He's been disqualified!", someone else yelled, and David added causticly:

"Yeah. They were afraid I might hurt somebody."

But his eyes were smiling.
At me.

"I challenge you, Sir!", I announced, stepping back from him, my heart jumping with joy as I saw his grin widen to reveal his brilliantly white teeth.

"You cannot challenge him!", that someone exclaimed in irritation, but all were beginning to step back as David readied his mask.

"I accept your challenge, Sir!", David replied, the formal answer brimming with joy.

"You cannot accept his challenge, you've been - "

"Fuck you!", my beautiful opponent cut off that most annoying person, lowering his mask, signalizing ready to fight.

And before anybody could comment any further on the proper or improper form of our duel, I yelled:

"En Garde!"

----

- David -

He was fast. Incredibly fast and nimble. But I had known that even before our match had started as I had watched him beat all the others. I had known I could not match his speed so I would have to make up that lack with more strength. And I was also fairly certain my knowledge of fencing moves was more extensive. Although that was well countered by his abundance of talent. It would have been an even match.

But I had forgotten to take into account how the proximity of a male body - so extremely well proportioned and moving with a fluid grace that mesmerized - would effect me.

It was fun to fight him, fun to jump and run and shove and use all the surrounding landscape as a means to win. I even tried to lure him onto the ice of the lake, but he nimbly avoided that move, as so many others.

But the longer the fight wore on the more I found myself not looking for an opening in his defense but adoring his skill, his movement - quite frankly drooling over his perfect body. What would I have given to see his face. He must be flushed with exertion. As it was I had to content myself with imagining it, distracting me further from the match. To watch his chest heaving was bringing pictures of him panting in an entirely different sort of fight to my mind.

So I was not really all that surprised when I suddenly found my epée flying from my hand and the point of his at my throat. That was of course not the way to end an 'American Fencing'-Match. But it was the perfect way to end what we had been doing.

I spread my arms wide, backing away slowly. "I yield, sir." I announced, grinning widely under my mask.

He brought his epée up to his face once more and then bowed slightly. "I accept your surrender, sir." he answered.

Suddenly all the others were crowding close to congratulate him, the referee offering the ring again. This time he accepted graciously.

I myself was busy fighting of the companionable mocking of the others. I tried to get rid of them as politely as possible. All I really wanted, was to see this fighter without his mask. But when I finally had pushed my way out of their circle, I didn't see my mysterious opponent anywhere.

"Oh, he was here just a moment ago." was the answer from everyone I asked. He had disappeared as strangely as he had come. Disappeared without a trace and I didn't even know his name.

 

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Osiris Brackhaus & Beryll

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