Title: Things Unspoken, and Unseen
Fandom: Tales of the Abyss, elements of His Dark Materials
Pairing: none
Rating: G.
Length: 847 words
Summary: A prologue to a sort of retelling of
Tales of the Abyss, only with
daemons.
All Guy had to do was set one finger against Luke's knee and the swinging legs settled. Tucking his ankles beneath the settee, Luke instead strained to touch the tips of his shoes against the polished floor. Eventually, Guy stopped that, as well. It was so rare to have a guest: all of Luke's senses were in sharp focus, trying to discern every word, every movement out of the corner of his eye, but he wasn't allowed to show it. So he twitched with barely-contained curiosity, and it was only the firm, reassuring strength of Guy's presence that soothed the burn.
He leaned back against the bench, slowly, in a calculated way that afforded him a better view. He could see the bottom edges of his father's red sweep of hair and the guest's short beard as they discussed. Discussed him. He tilted his head a bit until he could see short gold bristles and the shell of Guy's ear.
"When are they going to finish?" he murmured, drawing an amused hum.
"When they finish, I guess," Guy whispered back. "Kind of boring, huh?"
"Yeah," Luke's eyes wandered back to the strange man and his beard. He noticed the way Guy kept looking at him, especially when he thought Luke's attention was elsewhere. He was certainly an imposing presence. His daemon, a forbidding porcupine, sat quietly in his lap, in contrast with his father's austere heron, perched on the back of his chair so as to better loom over the visitors.
The porcupine glanced at him, and Luke saw such intensity in her eyes that he felt as if his face were being pushed down. He busied himself inspecting his sleeve, then his collar, as if seeking a tiny creature hidden in the folds.
Suddenly both men rose in a flurry of scraping chair legs, and Luke didn't have to pretend to be shocked at the noise. His head jerked up at the visitor sweeping towards him, then immediately down again under the scrutiny of the porcupine.
"Luke fon Fabre," the man greeted, his tone a shade warmer than arid. "Do you know my name?"
Luke debated. Say it or not? Of course he knew, but was he supposed to know? Was he supposed to care? Probably.
"Van Grants," he answered, expression still downcast.
"Very good, and Messoria. We will be your new sword instructor." Now his voice was gentle and familiar, the tone than people took when they took stock of him, as if lulling a skittish fawn. Luke used to hate it until Guy explained that it was a compliment to his acting skills. He felt rather than saw the general's attention shift to his father, in slight puzzlement. Luke felt suddenly nervous, and he could see Penny, at Guy's feet, pull her ears back.
His father nodded to Ramdas, who left with a bow, locking the four of them alone in the sitting room.
"You may stand, Luke."
That was his cue. He surged out of his seat, eager to stretch and speak, mollified only when he saw Van Grants lean back slightly, Messoria's quills pricked, not dangerous but alert.
"Ah," said Van Grants, as he understood. "I see why you requested me. I thank you for your trust, Your Grace." Later, much later, after it was too late, Luke would remember that first inspection the way he remembered nothing else about that first meeting, only the familiar way the muscles in Van Grant's face moved, sweeping over him. Luke was a good actor, and he recognized it in others. In his little-boy mind, he only took it to mean that Van Grants wasn't bothered by his problem, which in turn was deeply encouraging. He offered his new tutor a smile, and saw it soon reciprocated.
Pleased, his father motioned for the door.
"When would you like to begin, Dorian General?"
Van Grants' eyes met Luke's, still not earnest, but that smile making him inclined to overlook it.
"How about now, Luke?"
Luke felt heartened by the prospect. He seemed kind. Seeking reassurance, he took Guy's hand in his, tugging with all the petulant insistence of fourteen.
"You'll watch, right Guy?"
Guy looked at Van then, and there was something strange in the air that Luke felt discomfited by. Guy's easy smile dispelled it.
"Sure, Master Luke," he answered, both of them sharply aware of Duke Fabre's heron watching. Penny wagged the stub of her tail, ears relaxed now but half an eye on Messoria. Luke turned back and addressed his father.
"Are there any more guests? Can I show him the yard?"
Virinya dipped her beak to reprimand him, but Crimson's eyes slid by her and she relented. In a rare display of gentleness, he allowed two fingers to rest on the ridge of Luke's shoulder.
"You may, so long as you
walk," he permitted, opening the door. "And there are no more visitors today."
Which meant that Luke was free again, and so he left the sitting room with considerably more cheer than he'd entered it, Guy and Master Van trailing behind.
