The Dreams of Angels (Chapter Two)


Title: The Dreams of Angels
Chapter: Two
Author: Warr1or
Pairing: PrincessB/Jab. Sammich forever!
Dedication: For all my fellow sammiches, especially lady_earwig: may the purity of PB/J illuminate your own lives as it has my own.

In the days that followed Jab was pleased to see that Pierce, though possessed of a naturally frivolous nature and ill-accustomed to hard, simple labor, worked determinedly at stocking the castle’s storage areas with supplies. Jab knew that Pierce’s eyes often followed his own efforts, and he read in that gaze a straightforward admiration for the muscled ease with which Jab hoisted even the heaviest kegs and boxes. Jab kindly proffered praise of the prince’s own weaker efforts. He had learned early in his life as a landsman that the recognition and respect of one’s manly peers can ease even the most difficult task. “You’re doing well, my prince,’ he said now, laying one large hand on the prince’s shoulder. Pierce trembled, doubtless with fatigue from the day’s tasks.

Pierce himself, though trained since birth to set his own opinions above those of any mere peasant, felt a renewed rush of heated admiration for this most steadfast of friends. It can’t be wrong to look up to Jab, he consoled himself, although admitting even in his thoughts that he looked up to Jab, both physically and spiritually, made him blush warmly. It’s not as though I make mental obeisance to some unworthy bumpkin. Jab may be of peasant stock, but he is as quick witted as any noble I have ever known, and well learned. He is honest, and loyal, and a skilled and talented man. There is surely no shame in my appreciation. I don’t admire the peasant class in general. I’ve never felt aught but pity or amusement for any provincial lout before now. So it isn’t some unlooked-for change in myself. It’s just that Jab, however rustic his background, exemplifies all that is most excellent in a man.

“Thank you,” Pierce said out loud, his voice hoarse and low. Silently he reprimanded himself. That’s going too far, he told himself. You command armies and servants. You do not need to thank this man. But he knew, at a level much deeper and more instinctive than class prejudice could reach, how very worthy Jab was of his fullest gratitude. Without Jab’s stalwart care and practical suggestions, the de St. Aubyn court would have languished, unprepared for attack. For far too long the royal household had been lulled by contrived treaties, choosing the coward’s path and ignoring the black-veiled threats behind the vampires’ agreements. It had taken Jab’s blunt, honest assessment of the castle to awaken Pierce to the dangers of his family’s situation. The de St. Aubyn wealth and privilege were a false facade of strength. It was shameful to reflect that his family had left themselves so exposed to mortal and moral danger just to secure their life of ease and pleasure seeking. With Jab here to guide him, Pierce intended to relinquish such flimsy, glittering pursuits for the truer, fuller, deeper pleasures of virtuous manly interaction and the most vigorous red-blooded endeavors.

It was a measure of the revolution in Pierce’s attitudes, though a measure unmarked in his own consciousness, that even here at the de St. Aubyn’s ancestral home he continued to resist the pressure to cast aside his workmanlike companion in favor of more elite peers. Pierce’s uncle the king had openly mocked their efforts to assemble supplies of food and weapons. PrincessB had, with her instinctive sweet childlike sympathy, begged her father not to bully her cousin. The king had laughingly protested. He wasn’t singling out her cousin and his oafish friend, he told the princess; he just had a lively sense of humor, and so he mocked everyone without bias. The princess, dear innocent maiden, had allowed herself to be persuaded. Pierce had not, though he did not stoop to argue pointlessly: he had more important calls on his time. But he was fully aware that his uncle’s attacks were no mere mirthful pass-time. The king had a hidden agenda. It was obvious. Why else would he be deliberately heaping scorn on their plans and, even more, on their firm, pure friendship? Pierce could not stand by and let that happen unopposed.

Even now, as he and Jab stood in the cool air of the storage room beneath the castle and admired their growing stockpile, the king approached with a supercilious smile. “Your Highness,” said Pierce through gritted teeth, inclining his head correctly but resentfully.

“Nephew, if you’ve developed a low taste for sweaty, agricultural labor, I have cornfields that need harvesting,” the king said derisively. He opened a cask standing next to him, and dipped the bejeweled gold tankard he was carrying. He sniffed the contents curiously, and then laughed scornfully. “Water?” said the king. “Have you forgotten, my brute-bewitched nephew, that we have ample wells here at the castle?”

“That water is special,” Pierce said firmly, thankful that he had had the foresight to store the bulk of it in his own chambers, and Pierce’s, safe from prying eyes. Only this one cask had been set down here, accessible to the unappreciative king. “We had it brought in specially from the countryside.”

“There is nothing special in the damned countryside!” shouted the king in a fit of pique. He threw his tankard against the far wall, spilling its contents and spattering Jab with the spray. Pierce felt an untamed, stormy anger rising within him.

“Uncle, it is blasphemy that even a drop of that pure water should be wasted,” he said. “I cannot save that which has seeped into the floor; I only pray it can cleanse the taint of bartered privilege from this accursed place. But I can save these few precious, glistening beads.” And so saying he stepped towards Jab, lowered his tongue to Jab’s bare shoulder, and licked the water that lay on his tanned skin. The king shuddered with anger or revulsion and fled. Even the usually dauntless Jab shivered at the unexpected physical contact.

“What strange alchemy is this?” Jab asked huskily. He smiled. “The unworthy recoil from the countryman’s strengths, or falsely equate the rustic with the base. But you, my forthright and courageous friend, embrace the husbandman in perfect resonance. Our attachment does you great credit, my prince.”


The Dreams of Angels
I. Introduction
II. Chapter One
IV Chapter Three