Transylvania
Part 1.
The velvet night had settled over the old mansion like a thick blanket, preventing any sound from entering the boundaries of the grounds. The rich lawn was bare and stretched into the cloak of darkness, tempting the October dew to cling to the well-kept blades of short grass, the only imperfection being the occasional dint of a footprint made by one of the inhabitants of the grand house. The sky was clear, dark and forgiving, and not a cloud could be seen for miles from the town upon which the mansion gazed. The breeze was chilled and danced with the oak trees bordering the gates of the garden, the soft rustling being the only thing audible from the highest window of the centre of the country house.
That same window was flung wide open, and leaning half-way out of it was a young man of seventeen, welcoming the bitter air on his face. He narrowed his blue eyes as the wind whipped through his sandy-blonde hair and ruffled the collar of his white shirt, which was half-open at the top. His hands ran along the limestone windowsill, stopping every so often to mindlessly pick at a crack in the rock. The boy’s eyes frantically trailed over the lawn that he walked over so many times each day, sighing as he longed for the feeling of rare bliss he’d felt five minutes previously to linger.
Suddenly, his pulse jolted and sped up as a light shone out over the grass from below. He craned right out of the window to see his father down below on the front steps, and another figure that was holding a large lantern in one hand and striding down the gravel path that led from the door to the gates of the grounds. His heart immediately leapt to his mouth as he tried to decipher who the holder of the lamp was and think what they were doing outside with his father, at this time of night and just after –
The young man’s frantic train of thoughts ceased. He recognised the untidy, light hair of the lantern possessor as that of his best friend, and thanked his lucky stars that the servant out there was someone who could cover for him. The figure down below stopped and cast his light higher, covering as much ground as he could with his lantern and knowing that there were no bushes nearby to look behind – for that was what it looked like he was doing, looking for something. The blonde turned on his heel and walked back along the stony path, and the son of his employer gave a small smile. Tom could be counted on to lie that night.
The boy turned away from his window and closed it, drawing the pale curtains and yawning. He dropped wearily to his four-poster, reaching down to take off his socks as he heard the faint sound of the front doors closing. He sighed, grateful that nothing was made of the commotion outside but still rather willing to strike whoever had aroused it round the face. He knew it wasn’t the youngest family servant that had raised the alarm - his best friend would never dare. Tom had been working for the Earl’s family from a young age, his mother serving for them before she died when he was five. Rather than send Tom to the orphanage or the workhouse, a few of the maids took him under their wing and brought him up as their own in the servant quarters, and he had been the youngest Poynter’s dearest companion ever since. Tom was a true friend and could be relied on to tell white lies to his senior master about minor matters, which came in handy increasingly often these days. However, the boy pondered his friend doubtfully as he ran his fingers over the patterned quilt; Tom valued his home and his job a great deal – which anyone should in his position – and the younger of the two wondered how far Tom was prepared to go for him in times of need.
The bronzed, slender figure lay down on his warm bed, head resting on the slight imprint made as if someone had been lying there. He fidgeted with growing anxiety - there was something in the air that bugged him. His father sending Tom out into the grounds was worrying – but he was seemingly safe for another night, so what was there to fret about? He tried to console himself, letting the warmth of his quilt sedate him, when urgent footsteps sounded on the stairs. Over the course of thirty seconds they grew louder, and then there was a smart rapping on the door of the large bedroom.
“Come in, Tom. I’ve been telling you for years that you don’t need to knock.”
The door creaked open, and in stepped the taller, slightly older boy - a little flushed, smiling graciously and still holding the lantern. He shut the door silently and extinguished the flame of the lamp, before setting it down on the table. The boy on the bed did not rise, but just glanced curiously at his friend.
“You’re going to have to be more careful, Dougie,” Tom warned in a low voice, walking a little closer. “His Lordship was sure he saw something,”
“But you’ve covered it, haven’t you?” Dougie asked to try and settle the issue, sitting up quickly and running a hand through his hair. “My father trusts you more than he does me…”
This last statement was true. Dougie’s father always seemed to either handle him with caution lest he rebel, or lay down the rules strictly – more often the latter. As the Earl’s son, he was expected to uphold grace and the family honour, something which Dougie found increasingly tiring. It was the reason he was often found strolling the gardens, or else climbing the back of the house while Tom tried and failed to talk him down. He didn’t like to go outside the gates often, for out there he was royalty; the townsfolk were always bowing or tipping their hats to him and he couldn’t go five minutes without somebody wishing him good-day. This was the reason he loved his friends so much – his real friends, anyway. Tom nearly always treated him as an equal out of the company of his parents and he greatly appreciated him for that.
“Yes, he seemed satisfied by my persistence, but that doesn’t mean to say he’s going to let it go,” The young servant continued, sighing. “He is fully aware of the fact that we are best friends,”
Dougie sighed. “I know, Tom. Thank you for covering for me,”
“Any time,” Tom replied with an uncertain smile. Dougie almost frowned at his expression, but then decided to let it go and changed the mood of conversation.
“Aren’t you going to ask me?” he sighed, a grin creeping over his face.
“Ask you what?”
“I don’t know… how it went? How I am? Anything!” the blonde laughed, suddenly ecstatic at the image of his own memories. He swiftly took himself away from the dark bedroom, flashbacks of snapshots in time bursting behind his eyes, things he wished to share not even with Tom...
Chocolate curls caressing caramel waves on a backdrop of straw.
The soft shivers triggered by fingertips, dirty and fresh and raw and different.
The first eye contact, innocent and sweet - the participants not knowing what was to blossom from that first look…
"Dougie."
Tom shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably as he watched his friend daydream, before walking over to the open window and closing it with a loud bang. “You’ll catch your death,”
The younger blonde looked dreamily up at him, seemingly floating back down to reality as the smile faded a little and he gazed at his companion’s tired eyes. “Don’t you want to sleep? You look dead on your feet.”
The brown eyed boy smiled tiredly in response. “I could do with a few hours, after your father dragged me out of bed to search for thieves. I suppose I should turn in,”
“I’ll talk to you in the morning, then. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight. And Dougie – do try to keep your wits about you…”
“How many times, Tom?” Dougie smirked, cocking an eyebrow.
“Just don’t go running to me when it all goes wrong, that’s all.”
As the servant left for his quarters, Dougie slumped down on his bed and listened this time to the sound of footsteps leading away from his bedroom. He watched the shadows flicker on the walls as he softly tormented the candle with his breath, beautifully distorting the shape of his bed and his chair as their shadows were cast violently on the walls. After a minute he extinguished the flame and yawned, suddenly too tired to remove his clothes. In the commotion, he’d forgotten to ask Tom if he’d destroyed the first letter he’d given him to deliver - before there was no need to send it any more and he’d written a fresh one… but then decided it wasn’t too important and he was sure that he would see to it. After all, it was in Tom’s nature to be obedient and not forgetful, even if his approval of Dougie’s actions did waver a little sometimes.
The sound of silence was soon tempting Dougie into sleep. He rolled over and inhaled deeply, a slight trace of a scent that was once foreign to the whole estate remaining rebelliously on his pillow. Not once had anything as poor and dishevelled as that been inside the mansion walls, and Dougie revelled in the fact. He grinned broadly as he stroked the downy cushions and closed his eyes, wishing the soft curls that were there not half an hour ago could remain hidden in his room forever…
The door burst open with a loud crash. Dougie sat up and squinted as a silhouette threw light into the room again, becoming distinguishable only when the dark shape reached his bedside.
“Dougie…” Tom was back, the candle in his hand shaking as his pale, shadowy face stared down at his companion’s, their noses not three inches apart. “Dougie… they know.”
That same window was flung wide open, and leaning half-way out of it was a young man of seventeen, welcoming the bitter air on his face. He narrowed his blue eyes as the wind whipped through his sandy-blonde hair and ruffled the collar of his white shirt, which was half-open at the top. His hands ran along the limestone windowsill, stopping every so often to mindlessly pick at a crack in the rock. The boy’s eyes frantically trailed over the lawn that he walked over so many times each day, sighing as he longed for the feeling of rare bliss he’d felt five minutes previously to linger.
Suddenly, his pulse jolted and sped up as a light shone out over the grass from below. He craned right out of the window to see his father down below on the front steps, and another figure that was holding a large lantern in one hand and striding down the gravel path that led from the door to the gates of the grounds. His heart immediately leapt to his mouth as he tried to decipher who the holder of the lamp was and think what they were doing outside with his father, at this time of night and just after –
The young man’s frantic train of thoughts ceased. He recognised the untidy, light hair of the lantern possessor as that of his best friend, and thanked his lucky stars that the servant out there was someone who could cover for him. The figure down below stopped and cast his light higher, covering as much ground as he could with his lantern and knowing that there were no bushes nearby to look behind – for that was what it looked like he was doing, looking for something. The blonde turned on his heel and walked back along the stony path, and the son of his employer gave a small smile. Tom could be counted on to lie that night.
The boy turned away from his window and closed it, drawing the pale curtains and yawning. He dropped wearily to his four-poster, reaching down to take off his socks as he heard the faint sound of the front doors closing. He sighed, grateful that nothing was made of the commotion outside but still rather willing to strike whoever had aroused it round the face. He knew it wasn’t the youngest family servant that had raised the alarm - his best friend would never dare. Tom had been working for the Earl’s family from a young age, his mother serving for them before she died when he was five. Rather than send Tom to the orphanage or the workhouse, a few of the maids took him under their wing and brought him up as their own in the servant quarters, and he had been the youngest Poynter’s dearest companion ever since. Tom was a true friend and could be relied on to tell white lies to his senior master about minor matters, which came in handy increasingly often these days. However, the boy pondered his friend doubtfully as he ran his fingers over the patterned quilt; Tom valued his home and his job a great deal – which anyone should in his position – and the younger of the two wondered how far Tom was prepared to go for him in times of need.
The bronzed, slender figure lay down on his warm bed, head resting on the slight imprint made as if someone had been lying there. He fidgeted with growing anxiety - there was something in the air that bugged him. His father sending Tom out into the grounds was worrying – but he was seemingly safe for another night, so what was there to fret about? He tried to console himself, letting the warmth of his quilt sedate him, when urgent footsteps sounded on the stairs. Over the course of thirty seconds they grew louder, and then there was a smart rapping on the door of the large bedroom.
“Come in, Tom. I’ve been telling you for years that you don’t need to knock.”
The door creaked open, and in stepped the taller, slightly older boy - a little flushed, smiling graciously and still holding the lantern. He shut the door silently and extinguished the flame of the lamp, before setting it down on the table. The boy on the bed did not rise, but just glanced curiously at his friend.
“You’re going to have to be more careful, Dougie,” Tom warned in a low voice, walking a little closer. “His Lordship was sure he saw something,”
“But you’ve covered it, haven’t you?” Dougie asked to try and settle the issue, sitting up quickly and running a hand through his hair. “My father trusts you more than he does me…”
This last statement was true. Dougie’s father always seemed to either handle him with caution lest he rebel, or lay down the rules strictly – more often the latter. As the Earl’s son, he was expected to uphold grace and the family honour, something which Dougie found increasingly tiring. It was the reason he was often found strolling the gardens, or else climbing the back of the house while Tom tried and failed to talk him down. He didn’t like to go outside the gates often, for out there he was royalty; the townsfolk were always bowing or tipping their hats to him and he couldn’t go five minutes without somebody wishing him good-day. This was the reason he loved his friends so much – his real friends, anyway. Tom nearly always treated him as an equal out of the company of his parents and he greatly appreciated him for that.
“Yes, he seemed satisfied by my persistence, but that doesn’t mean to say he’s going to let it go,” The young servant continued, sighing. “He is fully aware of the fact that we are best friends,”
Dougie sighed. “I know, Tom. Thank you for covering for me,”
“Any time,” Tom replied with an uncertain smile. Dougie almost frowned at his expression, but then decided to let it go and changed the mood of conversation.
“Aren’t you going to ask me?” he sighed, a grin creeping over his face.
“Ask you what?”
“I don’t know… how it went? How I am? Anything!” the blonde laughed, suddenly ecstatic at the image of his own memories. He swiftly took himself away from the dark bedroom, flashbacks of snapshots in time bursting behind his eyes, things he wished to share not even with Tom...
Chocolate curls caressing caramel waves on a backdrop of straw.
The soft shivers triggered by fingertips, dirty and fresh and raw and different.
The first eye contact, innocent and sweet - the participants not knowing what was to blossom from that first look…
"Dougie."
Tom shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably as he watched his friend daydream, before walking over to the open window and closing it with a loud bang. “You’ll catch your death,”
The younger blonde looked dreamily up at him, seemingly floating back down to reality as the smile faded a little and he gazed at his companion’s tired eyes. “Don’t you want to sleep? You look dead on your feet.”
The brown eyed boy smiled tiredly in response. “I could do with a few hours, after your father dragged me out of bed to search for thieves. I suppose I should turn in,”
“I’ll talk to you in the morning, then. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight. And Dougie – do try to keep your wits about you…”
“How many times, Tom?” Dougie smirked, cocking an eyebrow.
“Just don’t go running to me when it all goes wrong, that’s all.”
As the servant left for his quarters, Dougie slumped down on his bed and listened this time to the sound of footsteps leading away from his bedroom. He watched the shadows flicker on the walls as he softly tormented the candle with his breath, beautifully distorting the shape of his bed and his chair as their shadows were cast violently on the walls. After a minute he extinguished the flame and yawned, suddenly too tired to remove his clothes. In the commotion, he’d forgotten to ask Tom if he’d destroyed the first letter he’d given him to deliver - before there was no need to send it any more and he’d written a fresh one… but then decided it wasn’t too important and he was sure that he would see to it. After all, it was in Tom’s nature to be obedient and not forgetful, even if his approval of Dougie’s actions did waver a little sometimes.
The sound of silence was soon tempting Dougie into sleep. He rolled over and inhaled deeply, a slight trace of a scent that was once foreign to the whole estate remaining rebelliously on his pillow. Not once had anything as poor and dishevelled as that been inside the mansion walls, and Dougie revelled in the fact. He grinned broadly as he stroked the downy cushions and closed his eyes, wishing the soft curls that were there not half an hour ago could remain hidden in his room forever…
The door burst open with a loud crash. Dougie sat up and squinted as a silhouette threw light into the room again, becoming distinguishable only when the dark shape reached his bedside.
“Dougie…” Tom was back, the candle in his hand shaking as his pale, shadowy face stared down at his companion’s, their noses not three inches apart. “Dougie… they know.”