This statement, if intended to comfort, missed its mark rather spectacularly. Norrell had never heard these words directed at him before, and was at a loss what to do about them. This upset him greatly, and convinced him that they were part of some cruel game Strange was playing upon him. His face reddened and he managed to turn away properly. “That is quite impossible,” he whispered. “You love your wife, not me. Please do not play such cruel pranks, Mr Strange. They ill become you.”
Strange fell quite still at that, as Norrell was certain he would if recalled to his senses by a mention of his wife. Norrell reached for his book, but his hands were shaking and his eyes would not focus upon it. They were blurred for some reason.
“It seems,” murmured Strange, “that you are as difficult a man to love as you are to thank.”
"Please,” Norrell pleaded, not wishing this joke to continue.
“Mr Norrell,” Strange said. “Gilbert.” This caused Norrell to startle, for the last time he heard his name uttered aloud was when he was sixteen and refused to attend his brother’s engagement ball. His mother had been very upset. “You are correct in your statement that I love my wife. Indeed, I shall always love her. But it has been twenty years, and I would hope with all my heart that she has found happiness in the life she now leads—a life which, if I am being honest, I will never share with her. And I believe, for Arabella is for more sensible than I, that she would wish the same for me.” He touched Norrell’s shoulder. “I have been lucky, sir. Men may live the whole of their lives and not find love, but I have found it twice, and I cannot think why love for one should dim love for the other.”
Strange rested his hand upon the back of Norrell’s. Norrell, for his part, was attempting to conjure the means by which he could paint all of this as yet another joke, but there had been no mockery in Strange’s words, nor any hint of a lie. And yet, for him to be honest meant that a great many assumptions Norrell had made about himself, Strange, and their travels must be false.
His hand, traitor that it was, turned itself over and laced itself about Strange’s. “I do not know what you expect me to do,” Norrell said, miserable.
“I expect nothing. I would appreciate, however, if you were to turn back to me or, barring that, at least to speak your own thoughts upon the matter.”
“I do not know them,” Norrell admitted. “I did not expect this in the least. I do not … that is to say, I have not … Mr Strange, I am not so well versed in these matters as you.”
“Ah,” Strange said, as though he did understand what Norrell could not. Norrell felt him stand, though he did not release the clasp of their hands. He walked about so they were facing one another once more, and then dropped to a knee.
“Please do not propose to me!” Norrell squeaked.
Strange grinned, though he did not laugh. “I can see that such a plan would face any number of complications,” he agreed. Then he framed Mr Norrell’s face in his hands. “Shall we try this again, sir, now that we understand one another a bit better?”
Norrell nodded, still feeling quite lost, but glad of this return of contact. Strange kissed him once more, and without the awkwardness of the angle, it was quite the easiest thing to return the press. Norrell squeezed his eyes closed, lest he believe what was happening too much and become desperate for it. Already he could feel that temptation to believe Strange too fully, to invest himself in this with everything he had. This felt like an old want, but he could not to his memory recall feeling it before.
Then Strange opened his mouth a bit. Norrell was uncertain what he might be about, and found to his great startlement that Strange meant his tongue to be involved in this endeavor. He could not imagine such a thing to be pleasant, and was about to tell Strange that in no uncertain terms, when Strange brushed his tongue against Norrell’s lower lip. For such a soft touch, it was incredibly effective! Norrell felt himself collapsing against Strange, opening his mouth to return the favor, only to find things rather complicated by their tongues tangling, catching, and rubbing. It was the oddest thing in the world, and yet terribly pleasant as well.
Strange drew away then. Norrell was not given the opportunity to begin to fear once more, for Strange’s fingers fanned out and he pressed his forehead against Norrell’s. “My dear Mr Norrell,” he said, as though those words alone carried great meaning. “I am quite determined to convince you that you are indeed precious to me.”
Mr Norrell had no clew how Strange intended to accomplish such a feat, nor how he himself might be convinced that he was precious to someone. But Strange’s expression was open and pleading, and his hands upon Norrell’s face were warm. He did not know what to say, and had only just begun to consider all the ways that Strange might be precious to him. For indeed they were many, and they seemed to multiply with every moment.
In the end, Norrell could say only, “And you are precious to me, Mr Strange, in more ways than I could number.”
When Strange kissed him once more, Norrell accepted that he would be convinced. It might not happen in that moment, but the next day, or the next, it would. He saw a future sprawl out before him of Strange reading over his shoulder, and interrupting their arguments with a kiss. He saw their magic becoming inextricable, and their lives following suit. He saw another eighty years in that manner, and Mr Norrell found no room in his heart to fear it.
The wind caught at the tree, and showered the two magicians in light as they kissed in this newly woken world.
FILL: A Newly Woken World (4/4)
Strange fell quite still at that, as Norrell was certain he would if recalled to his senses by a mention of his wife. Norrell reached for his book, but his hands were shaking and his eyes would not focus upon it. They were blurred for some reason.
“It seems,” murmured Strange, “that you are as difficult a man to love as you are to thank.”
"Please,” Norrell pleaded, not wishing this joke to continue.
“Mr Norrell,” Strange said. “Gilbert.” This caused Norrell to startle, for the last time he heard his name uttered aloud was when he was sixteen and refused to attend his brother’s engagement ball. His mother had been very upset. “You are correct in your statement that I love my wife. Indeed, I shall always love her. But it has been twenty years, and I would hope with all my heart that she has found happiness in the life she now leads—a life which, if I am being honest, I will never share with her. And I believe, for Arabella is for more sensible than I, that she would wish the same for me.” He touched Norrell’s shoulder. “I have been lucky, sir. Men may live the whole of their lives and not find love, but I have found it twice, and I cannot think why love for one should dim love for the other.”
Strange rested his hand upon the back of Norrell’s. Norrell, for his part, was attempting to conjure the means by which he could paint all of this as yet another joke, but there had been no mockery in Strange’s words, nor any hint of a lie. And yet, for him to be honest meant that a great many assumptions Norrell had made about himself, Strange, and their travels must be false.
His hand, traitor that it was, turned itself over and laced itself about Strange’s. “I do not know what you expect me to do,” Norrell said, miserable.
“I expect nothing. I would appreciate, however, if you were to turn back to me or, barring that, at least to speak your own thoughts upon the matter.”
“I do not know them,” Norrell admitted. “I did not expect this in the least. I do not … that is to say, I have not … Mr Strange, I am not so well versed in these matters as you.”
“Ah,” Strange said, as though he did understand what Norrell could not. Norrell felt him stand, though he did not release the clasp of their hands. He walked about so they were facing one another once more, and then dropped to a knee.
“Please do not propose to me!” Norrell squeaked.
Strange grinned, though he did not laugh. “I can see that such a plan would face any number of complications,” he agreed. Then he framed Mr Norrell’s face in his hands. “Shall we try this again, sir, now that we understand one another a bit better?”
Norrell nodded, still feeling quite lost, but glad of this return of contact. Strange kissed him once more, and without the awkwardness of the angle, it was quite the easiest thing to return the press. Norrell squeezed his eyes closed, lest he believe what was happening too much and become desperate for it. Already he could feel that temptation to believe Strange too fully, to invest himself in this with everything he had. This felt like an old want, but he could not to his memory recall feeling it before.
Then Strange opened his mouth a bit. Norrell was uncertain what he might be about, and found to his great startlement that Strange meant his tongue to be involved in this endeavor. He could not imagine such a thing to be pleasant, and was about to tell Strange that in no uncertain terms, when Strange brushed his tongue against Norrell’s lower lip. For such a soft touch, it was incredibly effective! Norrell felt himself collapsing against Strange, opening his mouth to return the favor, only to find things rather complicated by their tongues tangling, catching, and rubbing. It was the oddest thing in the world, and yet terribly pleasant as well.
Strange drew away then. Norrell was not given the opportunity to begin to fear once more, for Strange’s fingers fanned out and he pressed his forehead against Norrell’s. “My dear Mr Norrell,” he said, as though those words alone carried great meaning. “I am quite determined to convince you that you are indeed precious to me.”
Mr Norrell had no clew how Strange intended to accomplish such a feat, nor how he himself might be convinced that he was precious to someone. But Strange’s expression was open and pleading, and his hands upon Norrell’s face were warm. He did not know what to say, and had only just begun to consider all the ways that Strange might be precious to him. For indeed they were many, and they seemed to multiply with every moment.
In the end, Norrell could say only, “And you are precious to me, Mr Strange, in more ways than I could number.”
When Strange kissed him once more, Norrell accepted that he would be convinced. It might not happen in that moment, but the next day, or the next, it would. He saw a future sprawl out before him of Strange reading over his shoulder, and interrupting their arguments with a kiss. He saw their magic becoming inextricable, and their lives following suit. He saw another eighty years in that manner, and Mr Norrell found no room in his heart to fear it.
The wind caught at the tree, and showered the two magicians in light as they kissed in this newly woken world.