Lee chapter 33
May. 21st, 2008 12:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maculategiraffeI'm way behind on replying to comments and on reading too. I'll try to catch up tonight. Wanted to go ahead and get this up though, even though it's short.
"Master," Bran whispered, the phone still beeping softly in Holden's lap.
Holden took Bran's hand and raised it to his lips, kissing it gently before he brought it to his own lap and squeezed it. "Yeah, sweetheart."
Bran swallowed. "What do you mean, a new will?"
"The one I've got now tells Yves to take care of Valor if anything happens to me," Holden said. "You know that, you read it. 'Loving and careful provision for my daughter Valor,' isn't it?"
"So why are you changing it?" Bran asked, a little too boldly, but the master didn't look annoyed.
"Because she's not my daughter," he said, "and at this point I don't have any further interest in pretending she is."
"But she is," said Bran, and Lee wanted to crawl into some dark and tiny place where no one would find him, because no matter how indulgent the master was and how much he smiled when Bran teased him and how sweetly he kissed and held and petted his boys, there was no way a flat contradiction didn't mean that Bran was going to get hurt. And not hurt in that strange, sensuous, unfamiliar way in which he'd gotten spanked a couple of hours earlier, the flat of the master's palm smacking Bran's ass again and again, sharply and hard, as Bran's eyes widened and softened and his lips parted and reddened and he moaned and gasped and whimpered, like a boy being fucked with tenderness, like a boy being kissed till he couldn't breathe. Not hurt so it felt good. Really hurt.
"No daughter of mine would act like that," the master said, sounding tired and sad, but not angry, not really. Which didn't mean Bran wasn't going to be punished for his presumption, of course, but it made Lee feel a little safer. "Her behavior just isn't acceptable, Bran."
"Everyone makes mistakes," Bran argued, argued, and Lee could feel more tears spring to his eyes. "You told me from the very beginning that you wouldn't-- as a punishment-- that you wouldn't ever-- give up on me. Even if I made you really angry. Remember?"
"I told you I wouldn't sell you as a punishment," said Holden, regarding Bran attentively, but Lee was back to not being able to read a face, of course, not when it was actually important. "That's a little different from disowning a financially independent adult, don't you think?"
"Is it?" Bran asked. "She screwed up, but that doesn't mean she's not your daughter. It doesn't mean she doesn't need her father."
"She certainly isn't behaving as if she does," said Holden grimly.
"Yes she is," said Bran, and Lee bit down on his lips to keep from whimpering. "She might not know it, but when have you ever let that stop you?"
Holden, examining Bran carefully, almost smiled, then sobered again when Bran plunged on, "And Greta-- what is Greta going to have to say about this? She belongs to you and the mistress. Is she supposed to just never see her daughter again, because Miss Valor crossed the line with you? Master, you can't do this."
Lee closed his eyes and waited for the world to cave in. There was no sound of impact, though, no cry of pain or plea for mercy, just a long quiet and then the master's voice, quiet and gentle, as if part of an entirely different conversation.
"Of course Greta can see her," he said. "All I want to do is protect my own. She attacked Yves, Bran."
"I know, master," said Bran miserably, as if aware he'd come up against some sort of brick wall, "but-- you know how she is. Didn't she apologize?"
"Yves said she did," Holden acknowledged rather reluctantly, "but--"
"Then forgive her," said Bran, and Lee's eyes snapped open, disbelieving. Had Bran gone insane? "Master, if you don't, your family-- our family-- is going to get ripped apart. If you disown Miss Valor it will kill Greta, and the mistress too-- and Yves will feel like it's all his fault, and so will they, even if they know it's not reasonable. And what about Inga? You can't just take her away from her--"
That was as far as he got before Lee, with the courage of desperation, lunged forward from his position of relative obscurity and clapped his hand over Bran's mouth.
"Stop it!" he shouted in Bran's face, wild with terror and frustration. "Stop arguing with the master!"
Bran blinked at Lee, utterly taken aback, and Lee's tears spilled. He couldn't believe what was happening. He wasn't even sure what was happening, except that Bran for some reason felt like he got to tell the master what he should and shouldn't do about Miss Valor, who might or might not actually be the master's daughter, but who was definitely one of the many, many things about the master's life that were none of a slave's business. And Bran, sweet Bran, good Bran, the master's darling, was sitting here telling the master he was wrong about thing after thing, being bad, unimaginably bad, worse than Lee himself had ever been even at his most disobedient. Lee didn't know what a serious punishment from this master, this gentle and tolerant master, would be like, and he knew Bran had probably endured worse from Lord Dunaev, but all the same Lee couldn't bear the thought of how angry Holden was about to be at Bran.
After a moment, the master reached out and put a hand on Lee's shaking shoulder, and Lee looked up with his hand still on Bran's mouth, too scared to see. The hand was a gentle hand, but all that meant was that Lee wasn't in trouble, and it was Bran he was worried about.
"Lee," said the master softly, "do you remember what Lord Dunaev told you about Bran, back when you belonged to him?"
More tears spilled down Lee's cheeks. Was he being asked to cooperate in Bran's condemnation? All Lord Dunaev had ever said about Bran was that he had talked back, run away, scratched and kicked and fought. Lord Dunaev had thought Bran was bad, incorrigible, rebellious-- all the things he was being right now.
The master's hand left Lee's shoulder and stroked his cheek, wiping away his tears. "About how brave he was?"
Bran made an abrupt movement, the muscles of his mouth moving against Lee's palm, and Lee pushed back so hard that he bumped the back of Bran's head against the wall.
"Lord Dunaev wasn't right about much," the master continued, still stroking Lee's face gently, "but he was right about that. You know, Bran ran away from me once, just like he did from Lord Dunaev. It wasn't very smart, but it was very brave of him."
Lee stared at his master, bewildered.
"He ran away because he couldn't think of any other way to stay true to himself and to me," Holden continued. "He was willing to risk death for that. And when I found him, he sat there in chains while I yelled at him, and he talked back to me, he argued, he fought me for all he was worth, until--"
The master cleared his throat. Something wet and warm hit Lee's hand, and he looked up to see that Bran was crying, too, his tears trickling onto Lee's hand where it was still clamped over his mouth.
"See, Lee, I'm not a very brave person," the master resumed after a moment. "I don't take many risks. Bran does-- for things that matter. It's one of the things I've always loved about him. Take your hand off his mouth."
Lee obeyed, slowly and reluctantly. Bran licked his lips, started to speak, and then fell forward against his master's chest. The master reached up and stroked his hair lovingly.
"Please," Bran whispered, and nothing else.
"I know," said the master quietly. "It's okay. I won't do anything stupid. We're going home now, and we'll talk to Yves and Alix and Greta-- and I'll listen. I'll think carefully. I promise. Don't cry, love. Our family will be fine."
He reached past Bran to Lee and took Lee's hand in his; the master's own hand was warm and reassuring.
"Your hand's like a block of ice," he said. "You okay? I didn't even know your voice went that loud."
"I'm s-s-sorry, m-master," Lee stuttered; now that everything seemed to be okay, he was suddenly, perversely, shaking like a leaf.
"Nothing to be sorry for, kiddo," said Holden, squeezing Lee's hand. "You were just trying to protect Bran. I can understand the urge. Still with me, love?"
"Yes, master," Bran said unsteadily against Holden's shoulder. "I'm sorry I mouthed off."
"And that's okay, too," said Holden. "You've got a standing order to be honest with me about what you need, and you don't need me kicking the family to pieces because Valor decided to find out whether her old dad really meant all that stuff about not being allowed to beat up the love of his life."
"See, you said 'her dad,'" said Bran hopefully, and Holden smiled as Bran lifted his head and looked at Lee.
"Thank you for trying to save me," he said, smiling faintly. Lee suspected Bran might be making fun of him, a little, but he didn't mind; he was too relieved. "I'm sorry I scared you."
"It's o-ok-k-kay," said Lee, his voice managing to quaver out the word to about five syllables.
"Sir?"
Inga had come into the hall without anyone's noticing; she stood nervously toeing the carpet and eyeing the three of them, and Holden nudged Bran, who pulled back so his master could get to his feet and go to Inga. He took the tall girl's hand with one of his and reached out with the other to stroke her burnished-gold hair back from her lovely, worried face.
"Sweetheart," he said, "we need to talk."
Inga, dressed in a pair of slacks and a black sweater from Valor's closet, was still crying silently as they took their seats on the train back to Tenarus. She sat down next to Bran, who reached up and touched her hair as Holden took his seat next to Lee; Inga closed her red, puffy eyes, tears still spilling down her impassive cheeks, and Bran threaded his fingers through her hair, combing and carding it carefully.
Inga turned her head to give him easier access, then slowly, without opening her eyes, slid from the seat of the train to the floor between Bran's feet and leaned her head back. Bran looked up at Holden, who nodded briefly, and Bran kept playing with Inga's hair.
Two girls-- a different two girls from the ones on the train ride over; maybe young free women tended to ride trains in pairs-- watched from across the aisle as Inga's face relaxed slowly, tears still glistening on her cheeks. Bran didn't seem to notice his audience, intent as he was on the golden mane where his fingers twined; he combed out long sections with his fingers, gently scratching her scalp with his nails, undoing tangles, not neglecting her temples and the nape of her neck. After a while he began rubbing her neck softly, then her shoulders; Inga murmured with pleasure and put her head down on Bran's knee with a small sigh, and Bran smiled, touching her cheek, smoothing away her drying tears before he returned to her hair.
The two girls were whispering and grinning; it made Lee nervous, and when one of them leaned forward into the aisle, her eyes bright with mischief, her friend blushing madly and pressing her hands to her mouth to stifle her giggles, Lee stiffened and pressed closer against Holden before the girl even spoke.
"Will you do mine next?" she asked Bran, who looked up, startled, and stared at her for a long moment, then at her friend, before he suddenly, beautifully, smiled at them. Lee thought for a moment that he was going to say yes.
"Sorry," he said instead, firmly as a free citizen with every right to refuse, but also as if he really were sorry, as if he would have loved to put his hands in the girl's thick, ringletted hair if only he hadn't had a previous engagement. "Not today."
"Ride this train often?" the girl rejoined, and her friend punched her in the arm.
"Stop it!" she said, breathless with laughter and embarrassment, and to Bran, "Your girlfriend's lucky, that's all."
Bran looked back down at Inga, who had opened her eyes and was blinking in puzzlement at the two girls.
"She's not my girlfriend," he said finally, laying his head lightly on Inga's head, and glancing at Holden again before he continued, "She's my-- sister-in-law."
Monkey Swallows the Universe – Sheffield Shanty
"Master," Bran whispered, the phone still beeping softly in Holden's lap.
Holden took Bran's hand and raised it to his lips, kissing it gently before he brought it to his own lap and squeezed it. "Yeah, sweetheart."
Bran swallowed. "What do you mean, a new will?"
"The one I've got now tells Yves to take care of Valor if anything happens to me," Holden said. "You know that, you read it. 'Loving and careful provision for my daughter Valor,' isn't it?"
"So why are you changing it?" Bran asked, a little too boldly, but the master didn't look annoyed.
"Because she's not my daughter," he said, "and at this point I don't have any further interest in pretending she is."
"But she is," said Bran, and Lee wanted to crawl into some dark and tiny place where no one would find him, because no matter how indulgent the master was and how much he smiled when Bran teased him and how sweetly he kissed and held and petted his boys, there was no way a flat contradiction didn't mean that Bran was going to get hurt. And not hurt in that strange, sensuous, unfamiliar way in which he'd gotten spanked a couple of hours earlier, the flat of the master's palm smacking Bran's ass again and again, sharply and hard, as Bran's eyes widened and softened and his lips parted and reddened and he moaned and gasped and whimpered, like a boy being fucked with tenderness, like a boy being kissed till he couldn't breathe. Not hurt so it felt good. Really hurt.
"No daughter of mine would act like that," the master said, sounding tired and sad, but not angry, not really. Which didn't mean Bran wasn't going to be punished for his presumption, of course, but it made Lee feel a little safer. "Her behavior just isn't acceptable, Bran."
"Everyone makes mistakes," Bran argued, argued, and Lee could feel more tears spring to his eyes. "You told me from the very beginning that you wouldn't-- as a punishment-- that you wouldn't ever-- give up on me. Even if I made you really angry. Remember?"
"I told you I wouldn't sell you as a punishment," said Holden, regarding Bran attentively, but Lee was back to not being able to read a face, of course, not when it was actually important. "That's a little different from disowning a financially independent adult, don't you think?"
"Is it?" Bran asked. "She screwed up, but that doesn't mean she's not your daughter. It doesn't mean she doesn't need her father."
"She certainly isn't behaving as if she does," said Holden grimly.
"Yes she is," said Bran, and Lee bit down on his lips to keep from whimpering. "She might not know it, but when have you ever let that stop you?"
Holden, examining Bran carefully, almost smiled, then sobered again when Bran plunged on, "And Greta-- what is Greta going to have to say about this? She belongs to you and the mistress. Is she supposed to just never see her daughter again, because Miss Valor crossed the line with you? Master, you can't do this."
Lee closed his eyes and waited for the world to cave in. There was no sound of impact, though, no cry of pain or plea for mercy, just a long quiet and then the master's voice, quiet and gentle, as if part of an entirely different conversation.
"Of course Greta can see her," he said. "All I want to do is protect my own. She attacked Yves, Bran."
"I know, master," said Bran miserably, as if aware he'd come up against some sort of brick wall, "but-- you know how she is. Didn't she apologize?"
"Yves said she did," Holden acknowledged rather reluctantly, "but--"
"Then forgive her," said Bran, and Lee's eyes snapped open, disbelieving. Had Bran gone insane? "Master, if you don't, your family-- our family-- is going to get ripped apart. If you disown Miss Valor it will kill Greta, and the mistress too-- and Yves will feel like it's all his fault, and so will they, even if they know it's not reasonable. And what about Inga? You can't just take her away from her--"
That was as far as he got before Lee, with the courage of desperation, lunged forward from his position of relative obscurity and clapped his hand over Bran's mouth.
"Stop it!" he shouted in Bran's face, wild with terror and frustration. "Stop arguing with the master!"
Bran blinked at Lee, utterly taken aback, and Lee's tears spilled. He couldn't believe what was happening. He wasn't even sure what was happening, except that Bran for some reason felt like he got to tell the master what he should and shouldn't do about Miss Valor, who might or might not actually be the master's daughter, but who was definitely one of the many, many things about the master's life that were none of a slave's business. And Bran, sweet Bran, good Bran, the master's darling, was sitting here telling the master he was wrong about thing after thing, being bad, unimaginably bad, worse than Lee himself had ever been even at his most disobedient. Lee didn't know what a serious punishment from this master, this gentle and tolerant master, would be like, and he knew Bran had probably endured worse from Lord Dunaev, but all the same Lee couldn't bear the thought of how angry Holden was about to be at Bran.
After a moment, the master reached out and put a hand on Lee's shaking shoulder, and Lee looked up with his hand still on Bran's mouth, too scared to see. The hand was a gentle hand, but all that meant was that Lee wasn't in trouble, and it was Bran he was worried about.
"Lee," said the master softly, "do you remember what Lord Dunaev told you about Bran, back when you belonged to him?"
More tears spilled down Lee's cheeks. Was he being asked to cooperate in Bran's condemnation? All Lord Dunaev had ever said about Bran was that he had talked back, run away, scratched and kicked and fought. Lord Dunaev had thought Bran was bad, incorrigible, rebellious-- all the things he was being right now.
The master's hand left Lee's shoulder and stroked his cheek, wiping away his tears. "About how brave he was?"
Bran made an abrupt movement, the muscles of his mouth moving against Lee's palm, and Lee pushed back so hard that he bumped the back of Bran's head against the wall.
"Lord Dunaev wasn't right about much," the master continued, still stroking Lee's face gently, "but he was right about that. You know, Bran ran away from me once, just like he did from Lord Dunaev. It wasn't very smart, but it was very brave of him."
Lee stared at his master, bewildered.
"He ran away because he couldn't think of any other way to stay true to himself and to me," Holden continued. "He was willing to risk death for that. And when I found him, he sat there in chains while I yelled at him, and he talked back to me, he argued, he fought me for all he was worth, until--"
The master cleared his throat. Something wet and warm hit Lee's hand, and he looked up to see that Bran was crying, too, his tears trickling onto Lee's hand where it was still clamped over his mouth.
"See, Lee, I'm not a very brave person," the master resumed after a moment. "I don't take many risks. Bran does-- for things that matter. It's one of the things I've always loved about him. Take your hand off his mouth."
Lee obeyed, slowly and reluctantly. Bran licked his lips, started to speak, and then fell forward against his master's chest. The master reached up and stroked his hair lovingly.
"Please," Bran whispered, and nothing else.
"I know," said the master quietly. "It's okay. I won't do anything stupid. We're going home now, and we'll talk to Yves and Alix and Greta-- and I'll listen. I'll think carefully. I promise. Don't cry, love. Our family will be fine."
He reached past Bran to Lee and took Lee's hand in his; the master's own hand was warm and reassuring.
"Your hand's like a block of ice," he said. "You okay? I didn't even know your voice went that loud."
"I'm s-s-sorry, m-master," Lee stuttered; now that everything seemed to be okay, he was suddenly, perversely, shaking like a leaf.
"Nothing to be sorry for, kiddo," said Holden, squeezing Lee's hand. "You were just trying to protect Bran. I can understand the urge. Still with me, love?"
"Yes, master," Bran said unsteadily against Holden's shoulder. "I'm sorry I mouthed off."
"And that's okay, too," said Holden. "You've got a standing order to be honest with me about what you need, and you don't need me kicking the family to pieces because Valor decided to find out whether her old dad really meant all that stuff about not being allowed to beat up the love of his life."
"See, you said 'her dad,'" said Bran hopefully, and Holden smiled as Bran lifted his head and looked at Lee.
"Thank you for trying to save me," he said, smiling faintly. Lee suspected Bran might be making fun of him, a little, but he didn't mind; he was too relieved. "I'm sorry I scared you."
"It's o-ok-k-kay," said Lee, his voice managing to quaver out the word to about five syllables.
"Sir?"
Inga had come into the hall without anyone's noticing; she stood nervously toeing the carpet and eyeing the three of them, and Holden nudged Bran, who pulled back so his master could get to his feet and go to Inga. He took the tall girl's hand with one of his and reached out with the other to stroke her burnished-gold hair back from her lovely, worried face.
"Sweetheart," he said, "we need to talk."
Inga, dressed in a pair of slacks and a black sweater from Valor's closet, was still crying silently as they took their seats on the train back to Tenarus. She sat down next to Bran, who reached up and touched her hair as Holden took his seat next to Lee; Inga closed her red, puffy eyes, tears still spilling down her impassive cheeks, and Bran threaded his fingers through her hair, combing and carding it carefully.
Inga turned her head to give him easier access, then slowly, without opening her eyes, slid from the seat of the train to the floor between Bran's feet and leaned her head back. Bran looked up at Holden, who nodded briefly, and Bran kept playing with Inga's hair.
Two girls-- a different two girls from the ones on the train ride over; maybe young free women tended to ride trains in pairs-- watched from across the aisle as Inga's face relaxed slowly, tears still glistening on her cheeks. Bran didn't seem to notice his audience, intent as he was on the golden mane where his fingers twined; he combed out long sections with his fingers, gently scratching her scalp with his nails, undoing tangles, not neglecting her temples and the nape of her neck. After a while he began rubbing her neck softly, then her shoulders; Inga murmured with pleasure and put her head down on Bran's knee with a small sigh, and Bran smiled, touching her cheek, smoothing away her drying tears before he returned to her hair.
The two girls were whispering and grinning; it made Lee nervous, and when one of them leaned forward into the aisle, her eyes bright with mischief, her friend blushing madly and pressing her hands to her mouth to stifle her giggles, Lee stiffened and pressed closer against Holden before the girl even spoke.
"Will you do mine next?" she asked Bran, who looked up, startled, and stared at her for a long moment, then at her friend, before he suddenly, beautifully, smiled at them. Lee thought for a moment that he was going to say yes.
"Sorry," he said instead, firmly as a free citizen with every right to refuse, but also as if he really were sorry, as if he would have loved to put his hands in the girl's thick, ringletted hair if only he hadn't had a previous engagement. "Not today."
"Ride this train often?" the girl rejoined, and her friend punched her in the arm.
"Stop it!" she said, breathless with laughter and embarrassment, and to Bran, "Your girlfriend's lucky, that's all."
Bran looked back down at Inga, who had opened her eyes and was blinking in puzzlement at the two girls.
"She's not my girlfriend," he said finally, laying his head lightly on Inga's head, and glancing at Holden again before he continued, "She's my-- sister-in-law."
Monkey Swallows the Universe – Sheffield Shanty
