The Taste Of A Warrior

Part 22

Posted: October 2003
Author: Dhvana

*****

Walking into the flat, I drift immediately to the window and stare out onto the lights of London. My sharp eyes can detect the people wandering around below, the headlights of cars moving over the bridge, subtle ripples caused by the wind blowing across the Thames, and it tears me apart knowing that of all the movement out there, not a single motion is caused by my warrior.

It's been three days since I last saw him. Three days since he even emerged from his hunter home, at least at night. He may have moved during the day, so that I can't find him, regretting that he ever allowed himself to grow close to me, afraid to be loved by me.

But I don't believe this. I know he loves me. If he is separated from me, it cannot be by his choice.

Pressing my nose against the glass, I lean against the window and sigh.

"Where are you?"

"He's ill," a voice answers, followed by the rustling of a newspaper page being turned.

Whirling around, I am filled with euphoria to find my beloved creator sitting on the sofa, browsing through the London Times as if it has been a single day, instead of an entire month, since we were last together.

Can it really be George, my George? He looks exactly as I remember him--calm, dignified, neatly pressed.

Elated, I am about to throw myself at him when I suffer from an unusual bout of hesitation.

Should I be worried? Should I be afraid? Is he mad at me? Has he forgiven me? Do I require forgiveness? Should I ask?

I don't know what to do, and for once in my life, my instincts fail me.

"Haven't you missed me, Orlando?" he asks without looking at me.

Why is he teasing me like this? Why won't he look at me? Why does he ask questions he already knows the answer to?

"What do you want me to say?"

"The truth, of course."

"Then, yes, I admit, I've been completely adrift without you, but I've missed more than your guidance. I've missed you, George."

"That's always nice to hear," he says, turning the page.

What? Wasn't that enough? Does he want more? Why won't he talk to me?

"I tried calling you, in the beginning, but you didn't answer. I would have called you in the middle, or in the end, but I figured if you weren't going to answer in the beginning, you weren't going to answer any other time, so I shouldn't bother. Why didn't you answer, George?"

"Why did you leave?"

"I would have mentioned it, but I didn't want to disturb you at the opera," I offer with a light voice, hoping he won't want a real response.

"Orlando. . ."

Of course he won't let me get away with that. "I was afraid you wouldn't approve."

"Orlando, when have I ever tried to prevent you from doing something you wanted to do?"

"George, you know I can't answer that."

"Then let me answer for you," he says, carefully folding up the paper and setting it aside before looking me in the eye. "I have never tried to prevent you from doing anything you wanted to do."

I bite my lower lip, feeling embarrassed. I should have just gone to him in the first place instead of not trusting him.

"What about something I wasn't sure I wanted to do?" I say, walking towards the sofa.

"Apparently, you let Angelina make those decisions for you." There's no bitterness in his voice. He sounds completely casual, and this makes me nervous.

"You two had been fighting."

"And you thought it was about the infatuation you didn't even know you had until Angelina showed it to you." I nod my head and he smiles. "Come here, Orlando."

I sit down on the sofa next to him, wrapping my arms around his waist, his arms encompassing me. Chuckling softly, he kisses the top of my head.

"I've missed having you curl up with me."

"I've missed curling up with you," I say, looking up at him with a smile. "So I was wrong about you and Angelina?"

"No," he says, the cold gleam in his eye making me want to shiver, but I try not to. "You weren't wrong."

"Did you not want me to find Colin?"

"You mean, find him again? Orlando, the circumstances surrounding his departure from your life were not exactly positive in nature. I don't want to see you hurt. If you are meant to be together, you would have found each other, eventually."

"George, you have nothing to worry about," I say, giving him a reassuring grin. "Everything he did that might have hurt me in the past, we've worked through in the present. I guess. I can't remember any of what happened before, but I'm pretty sure I don't need to. He loves me, George, and I love him."

"And you know this for certain?"

"Yes."

"Then I am happy for you."

"You are?" I say, feeling a weight lift from my heart that I didn't even know was there.

"I am," he smiles. "See? All that worrying and running and hiding for nothing. Now, when do I get to meet the lucky young man?"

I open my mouth, then close it again, hating to cover this joyous moment with shadow.

"Orlando?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen him in three days."

"I already told you, he's ill."

"You did, didn't you?" I frown. "How do you know?"

"I have my connections," he shrugs, and my eyes narrow.

"George, what are you up to?"

"Let's just say my time here in London hasn't been spent entirely on my own."

"This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with a certain porcelain-skinned goddess, would it?"

"I might have let her catch me a couple of times," he says with an impish smile, and I chuckle, resting my head on his shoulder.

"You're terrible, George, teasing her like this. And just how did you two celebrate her triumphant, yet clearly temporary, capture?"

"In several ways, and several positions. She's really quite inventive, when given the proper encouragement. I honestly feel that being a hunter stifles her true potential."

"Her true potential as what, dare I ask?"

He just smiles, and I roll my eyes.

"I'll settle for ignorance on this one. Now, about my warrior, what's wrong with him?"

"It seems he's suffered from extreme blood loss, but don't worry, he's on the mend and will be sneaking off to see you in no time."

"Blood loss? From what?"

"Those wounds on his neck."

At his words, a chord of horror thrums through me. "You mean it's my fault he's hurt?"

"No, it's my fault."

"Don't be absurd, George. I'm the one who bit him. It's my fault."

"That's not entirely true. There's something you should know. Once I realized the depth of your feelings for him, once I saw there was a connection between you, I went to see him before we even left Ireland."

"You did what?" I exclaim, sitting up in shock.

"Relax, Orlando. He never even knew I was there." A smirk crosses his face. "None of them knew I was there. For vampire hunters, you'd think they'd have better security."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure if it was any vampire other than you, they wouldn't have to worry."

"True," he shrugs. He knows that, compared to him, the rest of our kind are just hacks. But that's probably a good thing, or humans really wouldn't stand a chance.

"So while you were there with my warrior, what did you do?"

"I just sifted through his mind a bit. He was very angry with you."

"I'd just tried to kill him. Of course he was angry."

"Oh, he wasn't angry about that. He was angry because he'd allowed himself to develop feelings for you. And then you tried to kill him."

George pauses to look at me, making sure I'm not missing anything, and I nod.

"He felt betrayed," I say with quiet understanding.

"Yes. He had grown quite fond of you in just that one night, and you of him, so I helped to encourage a link between you. Since then, every time he feels inclined to do something that will harm you or, on the other hand, bring you closer together, the Orlando he sees in his dreams reflects those feelings, and there's a psychosomatic reaction based on what the dream Orlando does. It seems Colin is fixated on the night you met, and therefore, you bite him in his dreams. The resulting physical reaction is based on how hard that Orlando bites him. For example, if the dream Orlando's bite is particularly vicious, then the wound on his neck in real life will be particularly vicious."

"And if Colin's bite is fading, as it has been over the past few days?"

"Then dream Orlando is extremely pleased about the direction your relationship is heading."

"So what you're telling me is that you turned Colin's bite mark into some sort of vampire mood ring?"

George laughs, squeezing me with gentle affection. "Only you would put it that way, but yes, I suppose so."

"What does it mean, then, that he almost bled to death?"

"It means he was about to do something very foolish, and the Orlando in his dream punished him for it."

Though George's voice remains normal, there is a harsh undertone lurking behind it that frightens me. He is angry with Colin, and I am afraid for my warrior. I don't want this. . . thing. . . between us to kill him. I don't want it there at all. He shouldn't need a physical reinforcement to know what he feels. He should just know, and be allowed to do feel it anyway.

"George, I know you meant well, and I know you only wanted to protect me, but I don't want this, and I know Colin wouldn't. Can't you remove the link you've created?"

"It's all in his mind, Orlando, with a smidgeon help from me. He would have had the dreams on his own. He would have suffered without my interference. I simply encouraged them to rise to the surface more often, and I also encouraged the physical manifestations. However, only Colin can make both go away entirely."

"He doesn't know how."

"He will."

"George, you're scaring me. This isn't like you at all, interfering with human lives. Since when did you care so much about them?"

"Since you did," is his quiet answer. "Orlando, I just want to know that you'll always have someone, that you'll always be safe."

All of a sudden, I don't know what scares me more--the way he's manipulating Colin, or the real reason behind it. "Of course I will, George. I have you, and you'll always look after me."

He just smiles, and tightens his arms around me.

Sweet, but hardly reassuring. He's hiding something from me.

"George, am I a burden to you?"

"What?" He is genuinely startled by my question. "Of course not, Orlando. What a ridiculous thing to say. You are my life, little one," he says, pressing a hand to my cheek.

"Then you're not tired of your life?"

"As in, I am not tired of you, or I'm not tired of life in general?"

"Yes."

"You've been spending too much time talking to Angelina," he chuckles.

"Of the two people I have been spending a lot of time with lately, yes, she is one, but that doesn't matter. Answer the question."

"Orlando, when I am tired, either of you or of my life, I will let you know."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

"Okay," I smile, snuggling against him. I'm still upset that he's been messing with Colin, but he's my George. I can't be angry with him for long. Not that I've ever tried. At least, not that I can remember. "Tell me how you found me."

"How I found you?" he asks, frowning. "Why is it that you can forget everything--and I do mean everything--in the world, but you never forget that I found you?"

"Actually, you didn't find me in a foundling lost in the woods kind of way. It was more like. . . a discovery."

"So I discovered you now," he grins, leaning back against the cushions, resting one elbow on the armrest while keeping his other arm around me.

"Well, I am a work of art, and since artists can be discovered, I assume that art can be discovered as well."

"Oh, you're a piece of work, all right." I stick my tongue out at him and he pretends to try and grab it between his fingers. "Now, what's this about a discovery?"

"A diamond in the rough I was when you found me wandering alone through a field of wildflowers, birds singing above me, butterflies taking turns to land on my pert little nose. You worshipped me instantly," George gives a snort of disbelief, and I ignore him, "a beautiful, angelic child, with big brown eyes and dark, silky ringlets, gazing up at you with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. My charmingly open expression bewitched you from the very beginning, and you couldn't resist me. You lifted me up into your strong embrace and I wrapped my pudgy little arms around your neck, kissing your cheek."

"I may be wrong, but I don't think your arms were pudgy. You weren't that young."

"Shut up. Who's telling this story?"

"You asked me to tell it."

"Exactly. So. . . ?"

"You're right, I apologize. I will continue immediately."

"Thank you. Now where did you leave off?"

"I believe you were wrapping your pudgy little arms around my neck and kissing my cheek, while making me sound like a complete pedophile."

"Don't be ridiculous. If anything, I seduced you with the innocence of my childlike laughter and you immediately returned me to my parents only to purchase the right to raise me for the generous sum of five hundred gold pieces." I pause, glancing up at him. "You know something, you're right. You do sound like a pedophile, dabbling in the slave trade of children. How dare you!"

"Yes, that's me," he says, rolling his eyes. "I go around buying sweet little children with the horrible intent of educating them and offering them the kind of life they otherwise never would have known. It's a shameful business indeed. I don't know how I live with myself. And I believe it only cost me ten gold pieces for your scrawny hide."

"One thousand gold pieces purchased my liberation from my loving family, who wept piteously to see me go."

"Ten gold pieces and your parents couldn't get rid of you fast enough. They were poor to begin with, and they had five other children to feed. They only asked for ten, but if it reassures you at all, I did give them a hundred. I pitied them, and the hundred brought a great deal of relief to their life."

"What little relief that they could feel after their one true joy was taken from them by the fanged parasite--that's one of Colin's favorite pet names for me, ‘fanged parasite'."

"Charming," he says dryly.

"I think so. Now that you had stolen me from my family, you were at a complete loss as to what to do with me. You'd never had any children of your own, being impotent in life—"

"HEY!"

"—that being a father was a completely new experience for you. However, you were blessed to find the one child in the world who had the sweetest of dispositions and who was no trouble at all."

"At first, I foisted you off on the tutors. I didn't have a clue as to what kind of child you were because you were always asleep when I was around."

"As soon as you crawled out of your filthy cave at night, you made sure you were the one to tuck me in. While you had to hide from everyone in the most desolate of places, you set me up in a palace and spread the world out at my feet."

"I slept in the basement."

"Those nighttime visits, however, became the highlights of my existence. I lived only to see you, and you found my company so comforting that soon you were allowing me to stay with you at night and to sleep during the day."

"You threw a tantrum every time I tried to put you to bed, so I finally just gave up."

"Being the bright and imaginative child that I was, I kept myself entertained while you conducted your business at night."

"Your constant interruptions and demands meant I rarely got anything done. You always needed to be the center of attention."

"And soon you started spending less and less time with your earthy affairs, preferring to spend that time with me."

"Which is the first thing you've gotten right. Well, the ‘bright and imaginative' part wasn't too far off. I loved playing games with you when you were young. It was always a delight to see what you would come up with next."

"We traveled a lot because you wanted me to see as much of the daylight world as I could knowing that, one day, it would be denied to me."

He remains silent at this, but his silence lends a heaviness to the air that tells me this part of the story is also true.

"And when the night finally came that you asked me to share your existence--for by that time, I knew what you were--I didn't hesitate to say yes. You tried to talk me out of it, for you knew I was speaking out of my love for you, and you feared I couldn't say no because I felt indebted to you. You didn't want me to spend my eternity filled with regret, but afraid to say anything out of gratitude for the life you had given me. Even now, you wonder whether or not my refusal to remember is a sign that I am unhappy with you and with my life. Stop wondering, George," I say, looking up at him, brushing the quiet tears from his face. "I am happy. Never once have I regretted becoming what I am. Never once have I regretted spending my eternity with you."

"Damn you, Orlando," he whispers, wrapping his arms around me and resting his cheek on my curls. "I hate it when you do this to me. Just as I'm about to convince myself that you'd be better off without me, you go and do something like this."

"I will never be better off without you," I say, my voice harsh with the threat of my own tears. "I need you, just as much as I need Colin."

"But what if you had to choose? What if you could only have one of us?"

"That is a choice I refuse to make. Both of you, George. Not one or the other. Both."

A hush falls over the room as he holds me. We both need a moment to confront these emotions we usually keep carefully hidden away. It isn't seemly for the undead to get emotional. Eternity is something best spent with a proper barrier of detachment, even for those who choose to remember their lives. After a few minutes, George clears his throat.

"If you truly do choose to have us both, then what do you say we go fetch your Colin and start showing him the world?"

"Do you mean it?" I ask, trying not to sound too eager, and he smiles at me.

"I mean it."

"Thank you," I say, wrapping my arms around him in a giant bear hug. "I do love you, George."

"Just because I'm offering to support you and your boyfriend?" he teases, and I grin at him.

"It's the least you can do after stealing me away from my family all those years ago. It's about time you gave me a new one."

"You're so full of shit," he chuckles, hugging me back. "And I love you, too."

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