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"Baldrick!"
"You are toasting all lives in this palace on fire, with swords of those lunatic, drunken poets, aren't you!" Blackadder turned back just in time to snatch the pile of paper out of fire by a firm grab on the string tied upon it.
"Look, Baldrick, why don't you go and fetch some breakfast for us." He was sure not to trust the servant's competence on setting up a fire, again, after the experience of struggling to find a definition for the bloody "aardvark".
Blackadder tossed the dictionary back onto the table, strength skipped away from his body with the move and almost collapsed onto the chair. "Oh, I just wish it was my novel that has been saved."
"Having a fit of the blues, are we?" A hand was placed softly on the butler's back. It was not until then did Blackadder go wide awake from his flowing thoughts, and realized there was the Prince still standing in the room. He raised his head, gaze bumped into those pair of blue eyes with emotions quite out of the expectation.
Is that...concern?
It did not take long for Blackadder to clear his throat, as if clearing away his ridiculous conclusion, while standing up in the right speed and slightly arranged the sleeves of his blouse in an exquisite manner.
"I'm sorry, sir," answered the butler, "forgive me for I have forgotten myself. Would you like some tea at the moment?"
"Oh dear," sighed George, apparently not distracted by that reply, "if it's all that bad, I wonder if you'd like to hear my story. You know, over a drink or something." He blinked several times at Blackadder.
"Sir, personally, differ from the common way these days, I don't think the morning is specifically a good opportunity for the consumption of alcohol," rejected the other man as soon as the last word being spoken landed on the ground, changing the topic skillfully, "unless one would expect himself to have the wit and sophistication of a particularly stupid donkey the entire day, man shall never drink at such time."
"Now, if you may excuse me, sir, I shall leave for a while in order to return this marvelous dictionary to Doctor Johnson." Blackadder finished his sentence, faked out a tight-lipped smile at George, and was about to reach for the tied-up, papery thing laid there. For God's sake, of course he did not want to waste time on the gibberish of Prince Mini-Brain, which by all means could be no better to the ramblings of a mad man.
George did not let him succeed, however. When a glass full of fine wine was stuffed into his reached-out hand, and the Prince already began pouring another glass for himself, Blackadder had no choice but to be nudged onto the wing chair in front of George's favored divan.
As you wish, Blackadder rolled his eyes slightly in such a natural way, almost like an innate habit, that it was difficult to detect. Perhaps with a miracle some good wine and mocking a flatulent git can help. Things can't grow any worse, eh?
"Sir," Blackadder sipped some liquid in the glass and began carefully, as he was not used to sit in front of the Prince, "what story is it you would like me to hear about? 'Prince Regent: A Prince's Tale'?"
"Actually, it doesn't quite have a name." George shrugged, "But that's a good one, Blackadder, so the name is set."
"And the hero is you, sir?"
"Well, no. In fact, the hero is a well set-up fellow with charm indeed—that might sound like me, but no." That was when Blackadder filled George's glass again.
"Oh. Then I'm dying to hear all the particulars, sir." Blackadder streched his lips for a little. It's time for the mockery.
"Once upon a time, there lived an incredibly handsome and happy young Prince, whose life was no more than a big palace full of food, drink, and comfy sofas. One day, however, it was miserable to him—"
"And then there was his butler, if not as miserable, sir," added Blackadder, sardonically.
"Yes! How did you know?" George took a gulp at his wine.
"God decided to punish the Prince as he rode out to hunt at his royal estate in the country. Just halfway, it began to shower. Well, unfortunately, his horse was startled when passing by the woods. It was soon calmed down, but when the Prince stumbled down from its back, he got a scrape on his hand, which, left him to be bandaged for quite a while. When he got back soon afterwards, there was his butler waiting outside the door. It seemed the news had arrived home in more of a hurry than the Prince."
The glass was soon emptied by George. Blackadder was about to fill it with wine again, but froze halfway as he heard those words.
"Later that night, the butler entered the bedchamber with a salver in his hands. He kneeled down in front of the Prince to take the bandage away, then cleaned the wound with brandy before placing a thick layer of medicine on it, and..." George stopped. He rested his chin on his hand, before moving back a little to lean on the cushion. In hesitation, he started again.
"It took a while for the butler to stand up again as he checked the bandage for quite a long time. The Prince was in shilly-shally whether to tell him the story how the horse was calmed down, when the butler said, 'sir, may I say how treacherous your impulse for hunting was, and even a servant in charge of indoors like me could not by-stand watching you heading into dangers like this again in any recent future'. That was probably, the first time, ever, that the Prince had a taste on what is called 'concern' and at the same time, discovered how delicately pale his butler is."
"With those shapely legs, well-fitted trousers, slender fingers, right cravat on that beautiful neck, and that charming face." George searched his head for every vocabulary that most apt the description, "and—"
"And that's all for your magnificent story, sir?" Blackadder cut off the sentence, unwilling to listen further, with light fluster coming from no where as he felt he had set foot on some mystery he should never hear. The worst, a mystery regarding him, a mystery with him serving as the very core, along with that git! He lowered the bottle, arm stiffer than ever.
Of course he remembered the time which George described. His Royal Highness the Pinhead of Wales had an accident of hurting his hand out of absolute stupidity, even just minutes after escaping a riding accident. Let along the Prince did not even have the nerve to kill a lowly worm-that was to say, stucking that Pinhead on a saddle and let him "hunt" was of no more benefits than putting Pitt the Younger into Parliament and handing him a script to speak, nor sending a toddler to one of the pompous salons held by some nameless poets.
It was certain he had to stop him in some way at that point, but the only reason for that was he could not risk losing the "bank", and a dead Prince might be even more worthless than a dead dog, wasn't it? It was a miracle that the git had listened to him that very time. But, Blackadder had no expectation that such a blundering, infantile creature like the Prince would remember this tiny incident as well. Let along, in such a...way.
Blackadder had landed on a spot of regretting to have stayed at the far beginnng, for a bag of moonshine of this git. But then, why had he even said those words to him that night after the horse incident? He feared "wealth" could no longer serve as the excuse for everything. He felt that fig leaf was shaking in the wind on a thin branch, about to be dragged off it and dance in the wind before a fall on the ground. There might be a string of tenderness hanging on his heart. It had been plucked now, and a certain odd, indescribable, soft feeling began to flow, irresistably, in him.
How can this possibly be set to rights! You can't let it be, yet you can't manage the matter, can ya! Blackadder knew he might have closed his eyes in instinct, if not accompanied with a sigh. He could only thank God for Baldrick was not here, or there might be those familiar words of "I have a cunning plan" being spoken out when in fact that creature had none.
"No, not really. It's of course only a part of it. There's more than that, like the part which his butler dusted away all the scattered pieces of those fine china the Prince broke once due to his clumsiness, the part when his butler helped him with dressing, especially trousers—yes, it wouldn't work without that loyal butler—and the part which his butler helped him to choose the ring he would wear on a ball." George lifted his chin, his eyebrows furrowed tightly when recollecting. Suddenly there was a rise in his voice, when he pointed his finger excitedly in the air.
"Aargh! And my favorite part—his butler brought him medicine on a rainy night, when he sadly, accidentally, in no warnings caught a cold, and promised to present all sweets in the palace afterwards if he'd finish drinking it."
"Or probably, reading the newspaper in the morning to me several times, when I got up just a little unexpectedly earlier than usual, under that wonderful sunlight showered in without those layers of curtains."
Blackadder did not reply in the very second. His eyes focused on the Prince opposite of him, involuntarily, which somewhat widened due to shock. It almost seemed impossible that Prince Fathead had even—cherished—all those details clearly after these years, some, out of Blackadder's will to admit, he could not even recollect by himself if not mentioned by the Prince!
"You know, Blackadder, you can always rewrite your novel," George continued, "it's only seven years in your life! And I would be very willing to help you with some details in case you forget any, maybe with Baldrick, if necessary. Don't say 'no'! You'll see I won't take that as an answer."
Blackadder sat still on the wing chair. He remained silent. For the very first time in his life, his mouth could not form any words.
"Tell me, Blackadder, don't you think the fire is burning a little too high?" George lowered his head as if suffered a great deal under the silence, and Blackadder noticed his hands were unusally trembling, "wait, Blackadder, don't move yet. I—I haven't seen you sitting in years."
"Sir, you are drunk." Blackadder forced these words out of his mouth, after a long pause, in feeling of an leave. His voice seemingly plain of any emotion.
"No. Not yet!" The Prince seemed almost demanding now.
"I want you to know, Blackadder," he continued, looking directly into the pair of dark-colored eyes in front of him with a hint of roaring ethusiasm, "while you are spending your seven years on your enormous novel, I might have spent them all on watching you all the way, and my! I do think it's all worth it!"
"You mean spending them on banqueting, filling up your royal closet with new pairs of socks, snacking at the Naughty Hellfire Club, and changing your perfume every day or two?" Blackadder lowered his eyes instinctively, and did not-could not-think of another way to reply to the sudden confession instead of of a bitter sarcasm. When he looked up again, he pressed his lips into a narrow and controlled smirk, while gazing at the other man with fixed eyes, their colour darker than usual, perfectly reflected in the Prince's eyes.
Good Lord...They are like aquamarines, or perhaps twin lakes with a thin layer of ice earlier in wintertime. Their light crystaly clear.
If he had not controlled himself tightly, Blackadder would be turning his head away again the moments the two gazes encountered. A light flush creeped onto the tip of his ears, which he chose to give a criticize on the drink, and suddenly felt the impulse of nudging at the bridge of his nose. He had discovered himself not thinking about his burned script anymore, but felt unsure whether he should be happy about this or not. What's bloody wrong with my mind!
"Well, yes, yes!" George admitted, his face blushed, "those too. But you are always with me, aren't you, Blackadder? And I am looking at you whenever I got the chance, which were quite a lot of the times. Mostly likely, we'll probably stay together, until, God knows, forever!"
Upon finishing the sentence, he swallowed a good amount of wine, as if filling himself up with the spirit to continue. Then, George raised up his head a little, and a wide-mouthed grin formed on his face.
"Anyhow, if you are still feeling stuck, what about a kiss? I've heard kisses can solve almost every misery man may possibly bump into in his entire life."
Blackadder thought he should have begun a harsh mockery by "it was competely absurd, sir", but could not resist himself from letting out a quick, slight nod for George, whose grin obviously widened, with that foolish enthusiasm being fully lit up, shining like flames in his blue eyes, which were now two ponds with spring breeze brushed by gently, lines of ripples undulating.
“Mm..." It was a long, deep one, indeed, for Blackadder felt all his senses had rushed off tracks, and he could only pray with all his heart Baldrick had not returned yet with that bloody tray to witness all what was going on.
"Ah...A little wine, of course, of course. Then a kiss, and God knows what we are on next!" mumbled Blackadder, when the two seperated from each other, gasping together. Each saw the other's eyes reflected in their own.
"Sir, was all of that—" Blackadder lowered his head to avoid the Prince's gaze, voice much weaker than usual with light trembles between unsettled gasps. "Was that your avowal?"
It was then George's turn to have his face flushed even redder upon hearing that very word. The color of his fair eartips now looked as if they would drip blood in an instant. He could not help pressing a kiss again on Blackadder's lips, then another one on the pale skin of his neck.
"Indeed it was." That was all what the Prince could answer.