#twstsecretsanta

Instead of answering, Deuce coughed again. The horse was silent now, nuzzling its face in its master’s palm. He couldn’t be sure. The dust had not yet cleared, even though he kept splashing his face with cold water from the trough. His teeth were chattering too fast for him to even respond by then anyway. And if he had it his way, he would have been out of here before he had the misfortune of being spotted. But now that he was, and in such an embarrassing situation, there was no other choice but to sit and endure the lecture that was about to come.

It wasn’t that he disliked Sir Rosehearts. Quite the opposite. Among all the knights and chevaliers in the Rose Kingdom, he was the most prestigious on account of not only his name but his deeds as well. This was not all that unusual one might argue. Meritocracy was the basis on which all knights in the kingdom could advance from the mere position of a page to somebody who could rent or buy their own equipment and horse. Not to mention the monetary gains that would be had from being paid a stipend by their Majesty every month as a symbol of trust and gratitude. The custom had its roots in the war culture that sprung up after the great battle at Haddock’s Eyes five years ago, where Sir Roseheats had ridden in on a horse as white as snow, brandishing a sword and turned the tide just when it was about to lead down the path of destruction. He had been barely knighted two years ago, still fresh-faced and young and most of the rumours had been about his mother’s wealth and lineage buying him a spot among the nobles. He came from commoners, that’s what they used to sneer in pubs and marketplaces, under the guise of alcohol and handkerchiefs that barely covered the stench of their mouths. The older nobles, the blue bloods who dined on pheasant and kicked up their boots on tables when they leaned back in their chairs, couldn’t stand him at all.

Sir Rosehearts, the boy, the twerp - that’s what they used to call him during those meetings. They’d gather in his mother’s pub late at night and drink and eat until Deuce thought they would burst at the seams, throwing bile all over the walls, and whatever rotten things remained in them. They’d sing songs and gossip loudly then yell at him if he stared for too long or talked out of turn. He was just the innkeeper’s boy - what right did he have to stand beside them in his manure covered boots, with dirty hands? His mother told him to ignore them. She would tell him that they needed water or an egg or anything to get him out of there before the fury in his heart made him grab the back of a chair and swing it at their fat, puffy heads until they fell on the floor. He would frown and tell her that he wouldn’t do that - though he knew his hands were twitching, and he knew his temper was short - and then put on his coat, because it was winter, and walk all the way to the back of the coop where he would stay under the barren chestnut tree and let the snow gather atop his head until he was calm.

He hadn’t known Sir Roseheart back then. He was only twelve, with a runny nose, and a lithe step, living with his mother in the poorer side of town where if you stayed out too late you might never be seen again at all. It was the sort of place where people were born to die among the filth and lost dreams, just so a merchant could steal their boots and sell them at triple the price to somebody else. Even his mother had such a pair of shoes. It was inevitable, though not that tragic. Tragedy had only entered Deuce’s vocabulary that much later and by that time he was already trailing after Sir Rosehearts in the nicer part of town, standing by his side and soaking in any morsel of information and praise he was willing to impart on him.

Knights generally came from established families. They did not come from the slums, but only visited occasionally to remind the peasants that their shoes and clothes looked so much nicer than theirs. It was the way things worked. Except for Sir Rosehearts, who upon entering their little pub had bowed to his mother and wiped his shoes at the entrance so he would not drag mud inside. Then other things had happened - mostly to do with politics that he was still too young to understand at fourteen - but what stood out to Deuce was still the way he cleaned his shoes before setting foot inside. Not even he did that, though he started too after, for no other reason than he thought he should. His mother had been baffled, but to him, it all made perfect sense. So when Sir Rosehearts left astride his horse - his small stature compared to the size of the beast making for a comical image according to the patrons at the pub - he told his mother with as much seriousness that he could muster at his age that he wanted to be a knight too.

“Spade,” Sir Rosehearts said as he turned towards. Deuce blinked a couple of times before he clearly came into focus, his brows furrowed. “You have to be more careful with the horses. Have I not told you this before? They spook easily and dislike jumpy riders. Especially Hatta.” The horse gave out a neigh as if to confirm it.

“I’m really sorry, sire.” He found it strange to hear his voice sounding so polite and calm. Had it been anyone else he knew he would have already threatened to teach them a lesson. But with Sir Rosehearts, that sounded almost preposterous - the fantasy of the living hero was still embedded strongly into him, so things had to be measured and counted in order to make sense of his own expectations and fantasies.

Sir Roseheart merely sighed, gathering Hatta’s reins in one hand. “Spade, I had taken you in because I saw potential in you, but you cannot simply coast on talent alone. You need to apply yourself, do you understand?”

He nodded. The autumn wind felt chilly against his skin, but it was better than the shame that travelled through his entire body at that moment. It was the parental tone that did it, he realized. The fact that he sounded so genuine in his concern when barely anybody else would.

“I understand, sire.”

“Very well,” Sir Rosehearts said. “Then I’ll put you in charge of looking after the horses starting from today. You’ll feed them, clean them and make sure they stay in good health. It is ordinary work for a page like you and it should help you get along with the horses better as well. If you encounter any problems let the master know and he will tend to your queries.” Deuce nodded again. “Good. However, first do make sure to change your clothes. I don’t want you catching your death out here in this weather.”

Deuce nodded and made his way towards the house. Manor houses, he later found out, had only come into the fashion of building on-site servant rooms quite late in the century, so the building that Sir Rosehearts had been given over as a reward for his military deeds was the type who lacked such a space. The servants, the few that there were, lived mostly in little cottages away from the main residence so it caused a bit of hubbub when they all presented for duty during the early hours of the morning. From his window on the ground floor, Deuce could hear the loud, gossiping voices of the younger maids and the distinct, matronal tone of the housekeeper as she chided them for failing to keep the buckets straight and spilling the milk on the pathway. They just laughed in return, and probably elbowed each other as he often saw them do, before the sound faded away. He usually woke up straight after that. It seemed to him that the world only began if he heard them from his window.

When he first got to the house - a year or so after Sir Rosehearts first stepped foot in their little inn - he thought he would be made to sleep into one of those little cottages as well. He wasn’t sure what the position of pages was, but it didn’t seem to matter to the master of the house either, so he was instead guided to one of the rooms on the ground floor in the eastern part of the house, which was much bigger than the upstairs room he lived in alongside his mother and grandmother. Even now, walking inside the room still left him gawking though he’s been here for more than a few months already. One of the girls had received word in advance and prepared a tub full of water for him, which smelled of lavender. It made him think of the country fields that he often visited as a child. The warmth did his bones some good, and as he submerged himself in it, he tried to forget the disaster that he faced today - which was not done easily because it was not the first of its kind.

Deuce wasn’t sure what was the problem. He’d always been a quick learner and sure-footed - maybe a little bit too clever his grandmother would say - and though reading and writing still came hard to him, he thought he might excel in all manners of physical tasks. That proved to be not so easy in the end. Not because he lacked prowess or anything of the sort, but rather that Sir Rosehearts expected a certain grace that he simply could not replicate, regardless of how many times he was scolded. He could not put the tea set on the table the same way he would at his mother’s inn - he had to be careful so the porcelain wouldn’t chip, though how that could even be possible was a mystery in itself. The cups here seemed to fall over if barely a little breeze would blow this way. Surely, Deuce couldn’t be expected to perform miracles.

Except he was and would still be. Sighing, he wrapped the towel around himself as he exited the tub, bringing puddles of water all over the floor. He’d have to clean that up before Sir Rosehearts heard about it from one of the maids. Besides the porcelain cup obsession, he was also attached to cleanliness as well. And that was more troublesome because to Deuce a level of cleanliness meant something completely different than Sir Rosehearts had in mind. First, his involved muddy shoes in stables or outside which was something that he was scolded for the first time he was caught. Cleaning his shoes had taken him an hour, and then there were the ones of the gardener and cook, not to mention the horse master and the stable boy - everybody in this house seemed to have dirty shoes all of a sudden. And yet he was the only one made to clean them until they shone and sparkled like looking glass.

Second, there was the issue of his plates and especially table manners - Sir Rosehearts did not allow them to touch the surface with the knife or scratch it in any way so Deuce often found dinners to be quite stressful since cutting up meat was akin to peeling off the skin. A thoroughly unappealing affair that left nobody content at all - Sir Rosehearts because it took Deuce twice the amount of time to finish his dinner, so his schedule was thrown off, and Deuce because by the time he was halfway through the steak it had already gone cold.

He shivered as he quickly donned on his shirt and vest, then sat on the bed to lace his boots. The heating in this part of the house was still quite shaky, so during the day they didn’t bother keeping the fire lit, which was fine during the summer and spring, but left him shivering down to his bones during autumn and winter. Still, he argued with himself, it was a small price to pay when it came to it all. After all, he did not come here to laze around in bed all day or find excuses to rush off to town on his own.

“Heard you took a bath with the horses today,” a voice from the doorway said. When he looked up, it was no one else but Ace wearing the same coat he had on when he rushed off to town this morning with the letter. Smirking, he crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, a sign that made Deuce’s shoulders tense. “Isn’t it a little too cold for stuff like that?”

“It wasn’t on purpose!” He managed to tie the final knots, standing up as he reached for his coat. “And how did you even learn about this? Weren’t you off in town?”

“The maids told me,” Ace replied. “They said you looked like a wet puppy. A sad wet puppy.”

“Shut up!”

“What? You think barking will intimidate me or something?” Looking behind him, Ace lowered his voice, barely above a whisper as the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall. “Though maybe you should keep it down for now, since it looks like your owner is here.”

“Wha-”

“Trappola, Spade,” Sir Rosehearts greeted them. Ace moved to the other side of the door, saluted and started searching inside the inner pocket of his coat as the smaller man appeared in view. He was still wearing the riding outfit from this morning, though the white pants and shirt were slightly smudged, and he smelled of manure as he often did after. “It looks like you two are getting along as usual.”

Deuce bit his tongue. His fingers struggled to tie his cravat, missing the fabric every time and he silently cursed to himself. Sir Rosehearts’ gaze was intimidating enough already, he did not need to be reminded of its weight, especially not with Ace around. Posh kids from established families made for very brutal judges, it turned out, and Ace almost seemed to take perverse pleasure in witnessing his foibles. Whether it was his ego getting stroked thanks to his increasingly favourable image before their master, or just the fact that the poor boy from the slums was getting humbled so easily, whenever there was cause for Ace to be involved in his humiliation he certainly did not pass up on it.

It couldn’t be this hard to tie a cravat, could it? Deuce was sure he must have done it before, somehow, and it really couldn’t have been this hard. The knot seemed gigantic, overly flimsy and too small at the same time, and Sir Rosehearts must have been staring for too many seconds already.

“Spade, are you-”

“A-ha!” From his inner pocket Ace produced a letter, small, white and with a familiar house seal on the front. One that had been corresponding with their lord for quite a while now, and which seemed to have born fruit to splendid opportunities from the way Sir Rosehearts scanned the pages and let out an appreciative hum.

Leaning forward, Ace tried to sneak a glance. “Pretty good news, huh?”

“Yes. Very much so.” Sir Rosehearts folded the letter neatly and stuck it in his front pocket, where it peeked with one of its corners. “And the rest of the materials that I’ve required from you?”

“All taken care of!”

“The shipping?”

Ace cracked his knuckles, flashing him a grin. “Was a bit of work, but finally convinced some of the guys to make an exception for the occasion. Flashed your name around a bit and they immediately started singing to a different tune.”

Sir Rosehearts regarded him briefly, then turned towards Deuce. “Today I will require your presence for something else,” he said. Glancing at his cravat he motioned for him to come closer, and deftly started to help him with the knot. Deuce inhaled sharply as he spotted Ace’s mocking grin from the corner of his eye, and focused instead on the steady gaze of his mentor. “You might not be aware of it, but a delegation will arrive shortly to visit the country. They’re foreigners from a place called the Valley of Thorns, quite remote and secluded. They do not see many humans, so it is imperative that we leave a good impression on them. Is that clear?”

Deuce nodded, then almost recoiled when his chin brushed against the top of Sir Rosehearts’ hands, though the man did not seem to notice anything at all. “Good, then I expect you to be obedient today and keep in line with Trappola. Understood?”

“Yes,” he replied automatically. Then, after a pause, he added, “Uh, what exactly are we going to do today, if I may ask?”

Sir Rosehearts patted his shoulders, in rapid, short movement, as if he was wiping lint or dust off his clothes. The cravat he had tied for him was a little bit too tight, pressing right against his throat and Deuce couldn’t wait until he was left alone so he could loosen it a little, and have more breathing space. He watched as Sir Rosehearts took a step back and regarded him, from head to toe, like he was trying to measure him or something. Then finally nodding, he turned on his heels, with Ace close behind and made for the large dining room, that they were not supposed to go in without his permission. Deuce almost stumbled as he tried his best to keep up, then inhaled again as the knot pressed against his skin. Sir Rosehearts did not look back to check on him, though he did not have to. They both knew that he would follow.

“I will make sure to teach you how to dance, of course. We would not want you to embarrass yourself now, would we?”

*

The dining room was the largest room in the house. It was frequently used for all sorts of diplomatic dinners, or large meetings during which they served champagne out of those glasses Sir Rosehearts had them wash by hand every month. They were long-legged and dainty, making a clinking sound that reminded him of wind chimes every time he reached in the basin to retrieve them. And when held in the right light they would sparkle prettily. Not even at home did they have anything resembling such glasses. Ace complained that this was servants’ work and he, as a noble, shouldn’t be made to do things like that, but though he whined about it in front of Deuce all the time, he never said a peep of it to Sir Rosehearts. He just didn’t have the guts for something like that. That was Ace’s problem.

That and the way he did not seem to understand that even though he was from a noble family, it did not give him the right to throw his weight around, or try and pull rank over Deuce. Under Sir Rosehearts they were equal, on the same footing, not to be compared to each other.

“I’ll lead,” Ace said, straightening his vest and taking off his riding gloves. Or glove. Among the nobility he’d seen so far, Deuce was certain that Ace was one of the more eccentric ones. “And you’ll be the follow. Got it?”

Deuce paused, fiddling with his cravat, a frown on his face. “Don’t just decide stuff on your own.”

“What? You got a problem with that?” Ace asked.

“I do. Why do I have to be the follow? Why can’t you be the follow, and I’ll lead?”

“‘Cause you don’t even know how to dance, you idiot!”

“Hey! Who do you think you are to call me an idiot?”

Ace smirked. Leaning against the table that they pushed against the wall, he regarded him with a look that he could only describe as arrogance. “If it walks like a duck, and it dances like a duck-”

“Silence!” Sir Rosehearts’ voice cut through like steel. It seemed to whip against their spines, and straighten them both, so they looked like perfect soldiers, waiting for their orders. Even Ace’s dumb smirk was replaced by a serious, stern expression, though Deuce’s eye was then caught by the shorter approaching figure whose steps echoed in the room. “We don’t have time for your squabbling today, so make sure I don’t catch you doing it again. Understood?”

They nodded in unison as always. Stepping in front of him, Sir Rosehearts seemed to measure him again from head to toe, a calculating look in his eye. “Putting you two together would just end in a disaster, I’m certain. You always seem to get in trouble. And for this event, I can’t afford you to make any mistakes.” He offered a hand, still gloved, and Deuce blinked. Frozen on the spot like that, there was nothing else he could think of doing. “Not to mention, that while Ace is a more proficient dancer than you, it still does not make him suitable for teaching. He’s too brash.” Biting the inside of his cheek, Deuce did his best to look like he wasn’t enjoying the rather baffled expression on his rival’s face. “That’s why I’ll be teaching you how to dance myself.”

Deuce coughed. “I’m sorry?”

“Yes?” Sir Rosehearts asked. He motioned for Ace to set the gramophone in place, just moving the needle a little to the right and orchestral music started to fill the room.

“Uh, you said that you would teach me,” he swallowed, throat already tight. “You would teach me how to dance?”

“I did. Is there a problem?”

“No, uh,” Deuce muttered. “It’s just that I’m not very good at it, so I, uh, might step on your toes.”

Sir Rosehearts blinked. Removing his jacket, he put it down on the back of a nearby chair, making sure to smooth it over so it wouldn’t crease. Ace had settled on another chair, next to the gramophone, arms and legs crossed, looking too much at ease in that position. “That is normal. It is all part of the learning process, after all.”

“Uh, I’ve never danced before.”

“You will start now,” Sir Rosehearts said, and reached out with his hand. “When you ask somebody to dance, first you must do it with a bow.” He leaned over slightly, keeping his back straight and hand still reaching. Deuce thought that if he ever had to do that, he certainly wouldn’t ever look as dashing as Sir Rosehearts did. “Do you understand?”

“Uh, yes?”

“Then show me.”

He kept his back straight, leaning over slightly and holding out his hand in what he hoped would be construed as polite behaviour. Sir Rosehearts grunted, a tinge of approval in his voice and Deuce’s heart stopped pounding. “It shall do for now. Very well. The next part, is when your offer is accepted, and your partner shall take you by the hand,” - the grasp was firm but gentle, holding his hand just slightly as Deuce sat up straight - “and you rest your hand on their waist. Are you following me?”

“Yes!” He had never held his mentor’s waist before and found the experience stranger than he could ever describe. Though, then again, he had not held anybody’s waist before. Dances in the slums did not amount to anything like this, but rather were chaotic gatherings where everybody would hold hands and spin in circles until the soles of their feet hurt, or their hands had become too clammy to hold onto another person’s. Luckily, they were wearing gloves so Sir Rosehearts couldn’t tell just how much he was sweating behind his collar as they stood in the middle of the room.

“Should the lead look so stiff when holding the follow?” Ace joined in mirthfully from the side. The music had started playing, so his voice had a slight rhythm to it that shouldn’t have been there otherwise.

Sir Rosehearts sighed and to Deuce that sounded like a horrible admonishment. “No. Indeed, he ought not to look like that at all. Spade, please relax your shoulders.”

“Sorry.”

His position stayed the same, his muscles too tense to let up, and that did not seem to please his mentor. “Spade, did you not hear me? I asked you to relax your shoulders. You look ready to faint.”

And he really was ready to do just that. “I’m sorry, I just- I’m really not used to any of this at all.”

Sir Rosehearts regarded him wearily, grey eyes looking through him, seemingly as if he could tell. And Deuce was certain that he could. There was just something about Sir Rosehearts that looked as if he was grander than life, grander than anything his imagination could muster, and grander than his whole existence could ever amount to. And perhaps that was what scared him the most. This knowledge that greatness existed and yet felt so far away from him still. He could shadow him all his life, learn all the moves, know all the lines and in the end, it would not matter.

He’d still stay a kid from the slums.

“That is alright,” Sir Rosehearts said. With his left leg, he took a step forward, forcing Deuce to relent his place, his right moving independently of him. It was almost like clockwork as they repeated the motions, Sir Rosehearts taking steps backwards and forwards and almost spinning him around without even taking the lead. “We all start somewhere. I, myself, took quite a while to get used to this sort of rhythm.”

“You did?” Deuce asked, then flustered quickly added a ‘sire’ at the end. They continued to spin in circles, their footwork light and seamless.

“I was not born into wealth, Spade. My knightship was an unexpected result that surprised even me. So I had to adapt, and that required me to learn skills that I never thought of having before.”

“Like dancing?”

Sir Roseheart smiled. Leaning to the left, he guided Deuce into a small dip, and a spin. “Yes, like dancing. And proper dining. And what the proper salutations for a foreign state dignitary ought to be.”

“Those are really tricky,” Ace added from his seat. Sir Rosehearts shot him a glance, but he didn’t say anything, just continued to guide Deuce on the floor until the motions became almost second nature to him. Dancing had become a rather appealing notion, as Deuce saw his feet move with a grace he had not been aware he had possessed. Emboldened by the sight, he pulled Sir Rosehearts closer and took a step forward, until the smaller man had to lean back surprised by his sudden change in attitude. Even Ace had let out a whistle at that. “Not bad!”

“Indeed,” he agreed. Deuce couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face. “You seem to learn quite fast, if you’re able to gather so much through so little, Spade.”

“No,” Deuce muttered. “It’s all thanks to you, sire!”

And it was. When Sir Rosehearts had appeared before him, all those years back, and made him think he ought to become a knight, Deuce had been seized by an inexplicable surge of ambition to fulfil that notion. He claimed it was because of his mother. Because of his grandmother. Because of the slums that made life hard and dreams matter very little, so they always laughed at you whenever you dared to glance up at the sky. He thought it would all just be a show of resilience on his part, and he never expected things to be easy, though they were more than tough and way too often.

And nothing seemed to help him cope, or reason his presence, except that in this moment, where the music was still playing, and his feet were still moving and his heart still beating he realize that the ideal he was chasing after was quite human. Sir Rosehearts made him bow at the end, just as the music was ending, and his back was a straight line because he knew that it would make him happy.

Slow clapping was heard from the side. Still sitting leg over leg, Ace shot him a smirk as Deuce glanced at him. “Well, guess you weren’t that bad. Might make a dancer out of you, after all. Right, Sir Rosehearts?”

“That’s quite true, Trappola.” Sir Rosehearts fixed his gloves, eyes focusing on the creases in his shirt. “And I’m glad that you agree.”

“Of course.”

“Excellent, because then I’m certain that you would not be opposed to practising a little with Spade as his follow.”

It took everything in his power not to laugh at Ace’s bewildered face, then the grumble that erupted, followed by a glare. Deuce bowed slightly before him, hiding the smirk that made its way on his face, keeping his back straight. Ace could snicker and laugh all he wanted. It did not matter to Deuce at all anymore, because he would catch up to him eventually, and Sir Rosehearts would see him and be proud of the knight he had raised under his roof, where the ceilings might as well have been the night sky and its shooting stars.