Chapter Text
"Ridiculous! Father is so utterly stupid!"
Arms crossed firmly, Scott flops down on the log. Little plumes of dust and dried wood flutter through the air, making him wrinkle his nose in distaste. If the patch of forest behind the horse paddocks was not the most isolated part of the manor, then Scott wouldn't dare skulk out here in the mud and filth.
But he cannot stand to be in the house any longer! Not when his father is being such a pompous fool!
"What angry words, little mouse."
"WHA—!"
Scott flinches forwards, falling from the log right onto the ground. But he hardly notices, far too busy looking backwards as quickly as he can. Towards the very sudden voice that had absolutely no warnings, footsteps, or any other graces.
For a moment, Scott cannot make out who said it. It is simply like the shadows about the trees are thicker than they should be. Lined with something sharp and a faint glowing of an almost… red.
But then the man tilts his head and he is simply a man, dressed in a bit too much black for fashionable sense.
"Who are you?" Scott says, trying to be forceful with his words and raise his chin.
"Apologies, Lord Goldsmith. I did not mean to frighten you," The man says.
"And you did not," Scott says.
He pushes himself off the ground with a warm face.
"Then so it is."
The man steps out of the shadows completely, offering him a hand. Tentatively, Scott takes it, allowing himself to be righted. Though he lets his displeasure be known from his expression. Screwed up with none of the grace or removed politeness that he practices in mirrors. But this man surely deserves it, so he cannot be bothered by the lack of decorum.
"Who are you, then?" Scott asks.
"A correspondence of his grace, my lord. Your… 'stupid father,'" The man quotes. A smile flickers on his face.
Scott's own face feels a proper ember on the wind now. The pink must be horridly clashing with his light blue hair, something he has often loathed. But he simply crosses his arms and turns away.
"You should watch your tongue if that is your relation. Who are you exactly?"
"Wise words indeed." The man steps before him, strikingly smooth and quiet. Scott looks up at him, displeased. "Just a baron. That is what you are asking, is it not? You should not offend before you know my worth?"
"Worry of who you offend, mister," Scott scoffs.
The man simply laughs, unoffended completely, it seems. Yes, the baron is the one who has done all the offending here. It reminds Scott terribly of the fury alight in him from his father earlier. With a grumble, he brushes the dirt from his pants, unable to not fume at the hot frustration within him.
"Has his grace offended you as well?" The man asks, smiling.
"What do you know of it?" Scott asks sharply.
"Apparently that I am just as well at offending as a duke, despite my peerage," The man jokes.
"Are you a poet?" Scott asks suddenly.
The baron laughs. "Why do you ask that?"
"The measure in your words, despite the lacking of delicacy."
"My, you have a bit of poetic weaving to your own words."
A brush of surprise goes through Scott. His verbiage nor cadence are often complimented. Tastes too blighted with the harshness of gossip, or so his tutors say.
"To put it simply, the station of you two is well comparable to how much you offend me," Scott says quickly.
"I see," The baron smiles. "I take that more as a compliment than not."
"Why is that?"
"I do not mean to offend you at all."
Scott tilts his head to the side. The baron had not seemed particularly moved to avoiding offense before, in such a way that it seems his nature.
"Is that so?" Scott asks.
"No, my lord. It seems cruelty to befall such things on you," The baron says. He steps closer. "What was it? Such cruelty?"
Annoyance blooms anew in Scott as he groans. Roughly, he drags his fingers through his jaw length hair. A few curls fluff up around his ears, likely destroying any resemblance to the young soldiers' straight cuts that are much in style. His hair us always so apt to disobey him.
"Just that he thinks I am incompetent and still a child. It is ridiculous," Scott says.
"Not a knave, are you?" The baron says, scanning his slight and short frame.
"No! I had my twelfth birthday four months back!" Scott puts his hands on his hips.
The baron laughs.
"You are acting the knave now," Scott says, embarrassment hot in his skin.
"My, what a thing to hear. Do not take my expressions to heart. To an old man like me, everyone seems but a babe," The baron says, smiling.
"Old man? You are younger than my father and butler!"
"A flattering description indeed. Perhaps we both look a sprog young."
"I suppose…"
Scott is still awaiting the growth set to draw him as tall as his father. He still only comes to the breastbone of the duke. But that is just the wills of his legs. It has no reflection on how mature he is! Of which, he is very much so.
"I understand your frustrations, then, my lord. To be discounted for features… out of control," The man drawls.
"You have not told me your name yet," Scott says. Genuinely curious towards the man treating him with neither patronizing or reverence.
For some reason, it seems to please him so.
"You can just call me Sire."
Scott blinks, before breaking into laughter. As though he is the kind of duke peerage to refer to a mere baron as such. Now that would make his father glance at him!
"I do not think so, mister!"
"We shall see."
This time when the man smiles, he shows his teeth. Pretty, white, and awfully sharp.
—
The baron turns out to be a long stay at the manor, and a frequent visitor. Corresponding with his father about the comings and goings of the war in his section of their holdings. Or Scott thinks so. His father has still not allowed him to join in with such conversations.
Though, the baron has been visiting with Scott specifically too, during his stays. He talks a bit about the war. But mostly, he lets Scott talk.
"—with frank honesty, the girl can hold neither time nor a feather with any great talent. Yet when I told her as much with quite the air of kindness, she had the gall to close her fan on me!"
"Is this one of your friends or enemies again, my lord?" The baron asks, watching him from the chair pushed away from the desk.
Scott himself is sitting atop it. Not exactly respectable expression, but the baron hardly seems to care for such things.
It is a little freeing.
"Both, of course," Scott says.
"My, of course." The baron smiles. Amused, but only a tad condescending.
"A good enemy cannot be discounted. In some ways, they are better than friends. At the very least, there is a little wit to be had among the drivel," Scott says.
"They bore you then? Humans?"
"If by humans you mean the fellow men forced within my rotation, by the Gods, terribly."
His ears nearly burn at the terrible swear, though he still rolls his eyes skywards. But the baron seems unaffected by it. He must swear often.
The thought feels almost as exciting as the rest of him.
"I can relate to that keenly," The baron says.
"That does not surprise me, mister."
"Oh? Why is that?"
"Because you have been blessed by my presence enough to know that others fall so short," Scott says, smirking.
The baron laughs. It makes Scott feel clever.
"You may be right, my lord. You may be right…"
"Of course I am. I am right about everything. One would think my opinion would be lauded wide and far, but my own father cannot even bother for it."
"Still ignoring you?"
"Of course he is. He must be the only duke in all the land that does not bother to even half attempt apprenticing the next in line at this age. Foolish, really!"
This, too, almost feels like swearing. It is really just as good as that upon the Gods, and possibly even worse should anyone hear him. Father or not, his grace is untouchable.
But the baron only half smiles, before tapping his own earring. Surprisingly golden.
"What reason does he give you?"
"Oh, the worst ones! That I am too immature, mostly. Me! Can you believe that?" Scott says, jumping off of the desk's top in exclamation.
"I do not find your maturity much different from any other man, no," The baron says.
"Thank you," Scott says. Then he crosses his arms. "I mean, of course. If only he saw it that way…"
"Well, he will likely have to one day."
Scott harrumphs.
But then, his head clears and he perks up.
"Wait. Do you think you could speak with him in such a way to lift the forlay? You have his ear!"
"Hm, I am not so sure about that."
"Oh, please? It is really for your benefit as well, considering I shall be ruling the land sooner than not, and that includes you," Scott pleads, clasping his hand together.
The rousing argument, it must be, makes the baron smile. A more proper one. And that too makes Scott feel accomplished and clever.
"I suppose that I can see what I can do, my lord."
Squealing a little in celebration, Scott jumps up and down a bit. That makes the baron properly laugh at him, which is quite disgraceful actually. But Scott is too excited to be offended this time. Which is a testament to his excitement, as he has an inclination towards anything that gives him an excuse to be scalding.
"You are the best! I do not understand why most old people cannot be like you," Scott says.
The baron scoffs. "You insult me after I say that I will you a favor?"
"Oops," Scott says. Then he mimes buttoning his lips. "I will say nothing further."
"As soon as hell freezes over."
"Hey!"
While Scott stomps his foot, the baron leans over and pinches him on the ear. Violently, Scott swings his head back and forth until the brute lets go. The nerve of him…
Flicking his blue hair as he withdrawals, the baron smiles his wide, sharpened smile. Like a fox with a chicken jammed in his throat. Scott gives his haughtiest scoff and turns his nose up.
But that only fuels the man's amusement.
"You know, Truly you should be doing this for me, to make up for all of your disrespect. Instead of being some sort of favor for me," Scott says.
"I do not think it would be fortuitous to you to begin counting disrespect," The baron says.
"You are the worst."
And he is that too. Scott supposes that what he can say about his peers being friends and enemies all in one, the baron feels even more than that. The softest leather and the sharpest blade. The way that he can twist about Scott so easily leaves him dizzy and reeling. Grasping desperately for his hold on the weapon. Something clever enough to jab through the nonsensical babble of the crowd. Anything that makes his tongue and brain special.
"Mm, well then you should not be too displeased to learn that I will be leaving shortly. To the front," The baron says, flipping absently through the papers on Scott's desk.
"The front?" Scott blinks. "...For how long?"
"I am unsure, as of yet. Until it is well sorted to some extent."
"For months then?"
"Years, maybe."
"What?!" Scott shouts, jumping up for a totally different reason now.
The baron turns to him, tilting his head. "Perhaps shorter, but I do not know. I thought you would be pleased."
"Oh, do not play with me any longer. What does the front even need with you?" Scott asks, lips pursed.
"I am the general for my portion of the lands. Babysitting you cannot be my whole day," The baron says, still flippant despite his hands being still now.
"As though that is true! I am practically babysitting you. Skulking around my manor with your creepy aura and poor fashion! Like you think if you stick around long enough, someone will offer you a marquis-ship!" Scott shoots back, as cruelly as he can manage.
"I would think I deserve far more for dealing with you, considering even a duke himself cannot put up with you."
The baron narrows his eyes, though his smile does not flag.
Scott's own lips downturn on their own. A burst of pain flares behind his ribs, genuine hurt.
He smothers it before it can begin.
"It is hardly the compliment upon you that you think to compare yourself to that man," Scott says.
"You are right about that, perhaps," The baron says breezily, like treason does not bother him in the slightest. Stomping on Scott's quite fashionable and rebellious words. "What of it, little duke?"
"Nothing. You speak twaddle, and, and stupidity!" Scott says, crossing his arms tightly.
He does not know why the baron does this. Sometimes, he is like the only other sane person in the entire manor. The only person that Scott can stand being around—and who can stand being around him. Meeting his wit and sharp words without tears or distaste.
Then, other times, the man seems to make it his mission to see Scott down to nothing. Slashed up by his own hand.
It is infuriating! If it was anyone else, Scott would have seen him in ages ago. Would not allow him to dare show his face around here ever again. Maybe even have him stripped of his lands.
"Then I suppose you will be happy to see me from your hair," The baron says.
"Quite," Scott squeaks.
"Very well. I will be seeing you, my lord," The baron says.
As he passes Scott by, he brushes his fingers against his cheek. Tucking a few strands of his ever useless locks behind his ear. There is barely a moment of lingering, right upon his chin. The tips of fingers, right there.
Scott blinks, silent for a moment. Then he gulps in a mouthful of air, trying to wrest control back to himself.
But he can still feel the tingling and faintest of warmth clinging to his face from the touch. With his own smaller fingers, he presses them to his own cheek. But it feels nothing the same.
Nothing like another person's touch.
"…W-wait," Scott forces out, clenching his fists.
Just barely, the baron pauses in the doorway. As though he will only wait a moment between footsteps, before continuing on forever. Slipping away like the hundreds of other nobodies that haunt the place. Who never look at Scott as an insular being. Regardless of whether it is disrespectful or not, well—
"Just see to it that you do not die, will you not?" Scott asks.
Another breath passes like that. The baron's back and his own warm, pitiful face. He wishes to tear himself down, but cannot bare to raise from the bowing weakness.
Then the baron turns to him. Smiling, like always.
The one reserved just for Scott.
"You think too little of me," The baron says.
"Many men can speak well, yet they do not follow through in their actions quite so clever," Scott says, eyes falling to his feet unwitting.
The baron chuckles.
"You will find that is not I."
"Well, I will not find it. Considering you will be going."
"That is true… I can send you letters, if you really wish."
"Oh, just torturing me with all your thrilling war stories?" Scott says, sighing dramatically. Though his chest thrills slightly at the offer. "You will make me wish for the front to come here."
"Just to visit with me?" The baron asks.
"Just to escape the boredom and insipid people," Scott says, dusting off the bottom of his shirt. Though it is clean, and his face simply wishes for a reason to be down turned.
"I see. I will do what I can to bring the war to an end then, if only to entertain you."
"See to it, mister!"
The baron laughs. Scott smiles, a tad too real and revealing of his partially grown in molars. But he feels as though he has won.
And the feeling is grander than any other victory that he holds.
It does not even require besting someone, so strange. A testament to the oddity of a man, neither high ranked, renowned, nor peered. Yet within Scott's mind...
"Then I suppose I shall have to," The baron says, taking Scott's hand and shaking it once.
Scott squeezes his fingers back. It earns him an even wider smile.
"It would be such a pity if the little mouse withered away without me."