#loredan

@silver-and-midnight For Loredan mention and as a response of sorts to this: http://silver-and-midnight.tumblr.com/post/155013147026/falling-snow

           He supposed one might have called them work, but Ranethir loved parties. He had since the very first time he'd stepped into a ballroom in Calpheon and seen all the glittering lights and lively people within. There was a sort of thrill to it that hadn't died inside him even now that parties were a familiar thing and he sometimes received more invitations than he could possibly manage to accept.

           He took a careful sip of the champagne in his glass, enjoying the way it tickled and sparked on his tongue and mindful of the way it dizzied his head. One sip was all, even if the dancing had left him thirsty and a little breathless. His head was already light with several such sips over the course of the night and he did not want to be drunk, not yet.

           His eyes drifted over the room again as he turned the glass in his fingers and once again he found his attention caught by sway and drift of soft red curls over a black coat, as their owner finished a turn and made for the wall. He didn't know the man, but he had found himself looking at him all evening. He was an attractive man. Long hair in loose curls that made him wonder what it would be like to trail his fingers through them and skin like warm copper in the light of the glittering chandeliers.

           He hadn't missed other details, the way the man's coat was tailored well enough to fit him like a glove, the fine cane he collected back into his hand as he relaxed away from the dancing. He fit in the room the way the coat fit across his shoulders and Ranethir wondered for the third time that night how he could manage an introduction. He took another sip of the champagne.

           "Ranet!"

           He managed not to startle at the exclamation, setting the champagne flute away on the nearest tray and turning to face the man who'd spoke. He liked Lord Tirillon, and not only because he always extended him an invitation for his parties and paid him handsomely for attending them. "Ferris." He smiled. "You really have outdone yourself this time. I want to ask how you got the chocolate to make fountains, but I'm afraid that would spoil the magic."

           Ferris chuckled. "I've no idea really. I just tell them what I want and someone comes up with a way to make it happen. I keep trying to stump them so I can have a really spectacular tantrum over it, but I haven't managed it yet."

           Ranethir couldn't help laughing as he set both of his hands into the offered pair. "I'm not sure I can imagine you managing a spectacular tantrum either. You're one of the most pleasant people I've ever met."

           "I suppose that's almost as good as being notorious for my temper, even if it's not as interesting. Take a turn with me before someone else snatches you up? I'll set them to something fast, we've been dying of waltzes all evening."

           "I'd be delighted."

           Lord Ferris Tirillon danced as he lived, the music picked up its tempo at his signal and Ranethir found himself actually needing to concentrate on keeping his feet where they should be. Part of it was the champagne. His head felt light and pleasantly dizzy, and the glittering light on jewelry and lace and the dance floor was dazzling. He was laughing a little breathlessly when the music came to a stop and he and Ferris bowed to each other over still joined hands.

           "Thank you for the dance, Ranet."

           "Thank -you-." he said and meant it, even if he felt just flushed enough to wonder if perhaps he'd already had a bit too much champagne. He made for the wall, offering several smiles on his way there, though he was a little too dizzy to be certain just who received them.

           He was too thirsty to resist another glass when a tray passed by him, but rather than sipping it immediately he took it with him to the small window at the corner that had been left open a little. It was nearly winter outside, and the air that drifted in from the streets and canals below was cool and pleasantly bracing in comparison with the heady warmth of the ballroom. He took a few shallow gulps of the air before allowing himself another small sip of the champagne.

           It helped, and Ranethir's breath left him in a pleased little exhalation as he started to turn from the pleasant view of light on the flower boxes toward the ballroom once more. There was someone standing there, just at his back and so close he'd come near to stepping right into the man. His glass nearly slipped from his fingers and it was only years of training that helped him bite back a startled yelp. He swallowed, lifted his eyes to smile and realized it was the man he'd been trying all evening to figure out how to introduce himself to.

           This near Ranethir was all the more conscious of how attractive the man was, of the drape of deep red curls and the fine fabric of the dark coat that offered them such a pleasant backdrop. "I didn't hear you." He murmured, then quickly caught himself and smiled. It was not hard to smile looking at him. Lifting the glass by way of explanation he offered a small chuckle. "Perhaps I should not have too many more of these. It's a lovely evening isn't it?"

           "It is." The man agreed.

           His voice was as pleasant as his face, and as cultured as his clothing suggested and Ranethir felt an odd flutter in his stomach. He loved parties, they were full of possibilities, and he suddenly rather wanted to think that the man standing before him was one. "Lord Tirillon throws lovely parties, but I don't think I every recall seeing you at one before. I'm sure I would have remembered if I had." He said, swallowing and suddenly aware that the man was still standing just a little too close. Not quite intrusive but just enough to set him off balance and to make his own words seem more intimate than he had meant.

           The man's lips curved up with a slow smile. "We haven't met." He agreed.            "Until now." This time when he lifted his silver eyes to meet the man's he fully meant the glance to be as intimate as their closeness suggested. It still startled him to feel the faint tightening of his own stomach in response, the odd flutter of unfamiliar nerves. He took another sip of the champagne, partly to calm that odd sensation and partially to cover the subtle movement of his other hand in palming one of his cards.

           "Until now." the man agreed.

           Ranethir extended his own hand, and when the man took it he squeezed and shook, careful that his grip held just the right amount of firmness. He left the card when he released the hold, still warmed from his own skin and wondered if it tingled in the man's palm the way his fingertips still did from the touch. He almost lifted the glass again. "I'm Ranet."

           If the man had meant to make a response it was cut short by another familiar voice. "Ranet!" He turned and offered a hand and found himself with barely the time to abandon his glass on a flat surface before another friend swept him back onto the dance floor.

A bust of Leonardo Loredan mentioned in Swann’s Way, volume one of Towards the Remembrance of Things Past by Marcel Proust, translated by C. K. Scott Moncreiff.

He [Swann] had always found a peculiar fascination in tracing in the paintings of the old masters not merely the general characteristics of the people whom he encountered in his daily life, but rather what seems least susceptible of generalization, the individual features of men and women when he knew, as, for instance, in a bust of the Doge Loredan by Antonio Rizzo, the prominent cheekbones, the slanting eyebrows, in short, a speaking likeness to his own coachman Rémi . . .

[Proust appears to be either mistaken, or misleading; Antonio Rizzo died in 1500, before Leonardo Loredan became Doge in 1501, Rizzo was the architect of the Stairway of Giants, which features later in the book, so it could well be deliberate. There is a celebrated painting of Loredan by Giovanni Bellini (after 1501), it is the middle picture above, there is a relief by Alessandro Leopardi (1505), who, like Rizzo, was also an architect and, finally, there is a bust by an unknown sculpture made sometime in the middle of the sixteenth century and now in the Birmingham Museum of Art.

All pictures from:

http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Category:Leonardo_Loredan