equal_of_any_man | Christmas with Athelstan

Olivier waits in the bar in his finest clothes – cote and gown all warm and well made, his black hair brushed back and shining, his face clean-shaven. His hawk yellow eyes dance as he smiles.

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From:

equal_of_any_man

"Nothing damaged but my pride." Olivier frowns, lifting the garland off Yves. In doing, he's rather tangled himself in mistletoe.

"Here, let me." Ermina laughs, needing Athelstan's help to untangle the greenery from Olivier's hair. "I think it rather suits him, don't you Athelstan?"

From:

athelstanthescribe

"Perhaps we should make him a crown of it", he says lightly, entirely with the teasing - and now aware of what mistletoe means in later times and wondering if it already does in this time.

From:

equal_of_any_man

Ermina smiles with the grin of one who knows she's going to get her way. "Oh yes! A crown would be perfect."

Olivier colours but endures without protest as Ermine weaves mistletoe into his hair.

Sir Lawrence comes in with a beaming laugh. "It would seem my favourite squire has become the queen of May. Your doing, niece?"

"Oh no, dear uncle." She flutters her eyelashes in the universal sign of getting away with trouble. "It was Athelstan's idea."

From:

athelstanthescribe

"I must confess it was", he says, laughing. "Although it was the Lady Ermina who carried the idea to completion."

From:

equal_of_any_man

Sir Lawrence claps Athelstan's back, laughing warmly. "I can see Olivier is going to regret having you and my niece conspiring." He nods to the door and Olivier straightens, his blue black hair festooned with evergreen leaves. "The horses are ready, shall we?"

Olivier offers Athelstan a grateful little smile and offers Ermina his arm. "My lady."

Good looking horses, well saddled and cared for wait in the courtyard and Olivier helps Ermina up before turning to his brother. "Do you ride or would you rather ride with me?"

From:

athelstanthescribe

"I can ride", he says with a smile. "I'm more accustomed to a smaller mount like a mule, but I can manage a horse." Beat. "If it's good-tempered."

From:

equal_of_any_man

Olivier whistles softly and a small spotted Spanish jennet trots over to him, nuzzling his hand. "She is sure footed and a gentle soul. She'll bear you well, brother."

From:

athelstanthescribe

Athelstan greets the horse amiably, stroking her nose, then takes her bridle. "I'm sure she will. You and she are old friends, I see."

From:

equal_of_any_man

"My lord has very good taste is horses, we brought many back from the Holy Lands. My skills as a translated were needed for their purchase so I met many of them very early. She was but a shaky colt when first I met her and fretted at sea. We spent many hours together on the journey." Olivier is not lover of open water and the company helped.

From:

athelstanthescribe

"Ah, the horses of that part of the world are better than any, I've heard. The difficult journey and sharing comfort on it made a bond between you?"

From:

equal_of_any_man

"Indeed they are." He says with some pride. "But this little lady's mother was a Spaniard, of old blood and good breeding. She was meant for the Lady Ermina, before my lord knew what a bold rider she is."

Across the courtyard, Ermina prances her handsome English roan in circles, easily a hand taller than all but Sir Lawrence's horse.

From:

athelstanthescribe

Athelstan looks up as he mounts the jennet, and laughs as he spots Ermina.

"A bold rider indeed, I'm sure she'd quickly tire of an animal less spirited than herself."

From:

equal_of_any_man

Olivier colours deeply as he mounts his own, more modest steed. The same comment has been made about himself by some of Sir Lawrence's men. "Indeed."

The ride to the cathedral is short but pleasant, even in the depths of Winter. The wind drops and the land sparkles with frost and a light dusting of snow. Olivier keeps his cloak tight around him, the hood high. He never was much for the cold.

From:

athelstanthescribe

Athelstan doesn't understand the blush, having meant the comment innocently and not been there to hear the other remarks, so he lets it pass unmentioned.

"We'll be inside soon, brother", he says lightly instead, "where you can warm yourself."

From:

equal_of_any_man

He shrugs, trying to hide his discomfort. "I am a child of the sand and sun. Snow has never been my friend."

He leaps down at the reach the church, at Ermina's side to help her down. She drops lightly into his arms, smiling. It takes a long moment for them to part.

The cathedral is towering and beautiful, warm with candlelight and the flicker of light reflected off rich vestments and gold. Olivier holds his arm out to Athelstan.

From:

athelstanthescribe

Athelstan watches Olivier and Ermina with a soft smile, glad for the love he can see between them even when they're being proper, then takes Olivier's arm when it's offered.

"I've never seen a building so fine", he says, staring up at it.

From:

equal_of_any_man

"Not even in the northlands of your home?" Olivier ask softly, leading Athelstan to the side where Sir Lawrence's attendants wait.

He takes Athelstan aside before they enter the stalls to hear Mass, into a private corner to speak in soft words. He holds Athelstan's hand and his eye. "Brother, I know in you heart you have taken the gods of the Northman and I will never judge you for that. You know my heart and the words I speak before I sleep each night. For with you, I fear not to speak them aloud. I hope... you will find joy in the Mass, in the music and warmth of it, even if it no longer speaks to your heart as once it might have."

From:

athelstanthescribe

"Not like this. They have great halls, but none I've seen soar so high - perhaps the homes of kings are different." He meets Olivier's eyes at the last part, speaking only for his ears. "I haven't made that choice yet, brother. Not to turn my back on my God, even if the Northern gods begin to speak to me also - just as you can hold both God and Allah in your heart."

From:

equal_of_any_man

Olivier nods and cups his brother's cheek, pressing a very soft kiss to Athelstan's brow. "Then together we will sing the praise of God tonight."

He leads Athelstan to the stalls, taking their place amongst Laurence d’Angers's people. There are muttered sneers of half-breed from some of the younger squires and chuckling from some of the other retainers but Olivier ignores them, his noble head held high.

He listens in wonder to the Mass, feeling his heart soar with the songs of the choir as it fills the great space. It shows in his eyes, in his face, in the lightness of his shoulders. He, like Athelstan are the only of the laymen in the stalls who have the Latin to follow the services but even without knowing the words, the grace of God is there in the meaning.

From:

athelstanthescribe

Each of the mutterers gets a hard look from Athelstan, uncharacteristic from him but he doesn't like people speaking against Olivier. Soon enough, he reminds himself, they won't dare.

His eyes shine as the service goes on.

From:

equal_of_any_man

One or two of the bolder squires, not much more than children glare back, challengingly. But Athelstan is a guest of Laurence d’Angers and most of them are elbowed smartly by their fellows. Olivier ignores them with practised disregard.

As the Mass goes on, Olivier finds himself singing along, raising his less than perfect but passionate voice in song. He turns to Athelstan, warm with joy at sharing this with his brother.

From:

athelstanthescribe

He's grown used to that sort of behaviour from Bjorn. Boys who want to be men, so he won't take it any further than a glare.

His own voice is pure and true as he also joins in the singing.

From:

equal_of_any_man

As the Mass ends, Olivier smiles. His heart lifted and his eyes bright. As he moves to attend his lord and lady, Laurence signals them to join him in the queue for benediction and sacrament.

"Will you come, brother?" Olivier asks softly.

From:

athelstanthescribe

"I will." He doesn't believe he's done anything - at least, nothing outside of Milliways - to offend God, and if he has, the worst that will happen is nothing. "Gladly."

From:

equal_of_any_man

Sir Laurence makes a space for them in the line, glad to have his favourite knight close. Olivier kneels and takes the bread and wine with all the faith and adoration of a child. It's clear it holds great joy for him.

As they step out of the cathedral, Olivier turns his face up to the sky. Not even the dull cold of English snow seems to dull his glow. "Thank you, brother. Thank you for being with me today."