One day, in the middle of dance rehearsal, Chris just stopped. The others blamed it on Lance, because it was Lance who, a half second later, knocked Chris over. But Lance knew that if Chris had been moving he wouldn't even have been there much less sprawled on the floor, motionless. Chris stayed put for a good minute.
"Yo, Lance!" Justin ragged, "Watch yo'self."
Lance rolled his eyes. Chris returned to the living.
"Owwww Lannnce!" he whined, pretending to writhe. "What'd I ever do to you?"
"You want a list?" Lance asked and forgot about it.
"Good day, good my Lord." The words echoed around Chris' head all day. Someone was nearby. How near, he couldn't tell, as Elven had a habit of carrying to the ears of those who spoke it. He fought the urge to run for the hills. Greetings in Elven never meant anything good. He was almost thirty now, maybe the King had some sort of insane coming-of-age duty for him. Whatever it was, Chris steeled himself for a fight.
"Air! Chris! Breathing good!" Justin squawked. Chris roused himself and loosened his suddenly iron grip on Justin.
"Greetings and blessings on you my Lord. I have.."
"Shit!" Chris jumped and dropped the soap. "I'm in the fuckin' shower! Now is not the time!"
"My apologies, my Lord. The spell is somewhat inspecific." The voice was female. Great. Knowing the elf wasn't going to go away until she'd delivered whatever message, Chris sighed. He rinsed his hair quickly and shut off the water.
"Hand me a towel?" A dark blue towel appeared at the curtain's edge. "You speak English. That's useful." He wrapped it around his waist. "That means that when I tell you to stick your message where the sun don't shine..."
"I'm not a messenger, my Lord. I am your bodyservant."
Chris tore the curtain back. "What?" What bizarre idea had the King come up with now?
The image that confronted him was not one of a harem girl. She was very elfin, tall, blonde, with sparkling violet eyes, ears more pointed than Chris' own, and undeniably easy on the eyes. But she carried herself with the attitude of one who is not to be taken lightly, and there was something dangerous in her eyes even as she frowned at him in confusion. Plus, no harem girl Chris had ever met, and he'd met a few, even if they were mostly human, would have waist-length hair and leave it in one long braid, just lying there. And the cotton dress/suede boots combination didn't exactly scream sex.
"Maybe your English isn't that good?" he ventured.
"Clohzean?"
"Oh. Um... escort... no, bodyguard." At her nod, Chris rolled his eyes. "I already have one. Tell his Idiocy thanks for the thought or whatever."
"There are some threats mortals cannot deal with effectively, my Lord."
She knew "effectively" but not "bodyguard"? Chris dismissed the thought. "Right. Like any elf is going to waste time on some bastard halfling."
"There are many who would spend much effort to eliminate the Crown Prince."
Chris sucked in a harsh breath before replying. "Aidan...?"
The elf blinked for a moment, composure broken. "You knew him, my Lord?" A moment of silence reminded her that it was definitely not her place to ask questions."His Highness died six months ago in a hunting accident."
"So I've been out here unprotected for six months?"
"There was much to prepare, my Lord. The mortal world is somewhat different."
"No kidding." Chris retreated into bad temper, folding it round himself like a safety blanket. "And I can't send you away?"
"I'm sorry if I inconvenience you, my Lord. There is a geas..." He waved away explanations, having figured as much.
"Give me the plan, quickly, and then go away. I'm sure you can protect me from a distance for at least a week."
"My Lord..."
"Just do it," he snapped, hard and fast. She jumped. Score two for the halfling.
"The lady Danielle..."
"Stay away from her!" Ex-girlfriend or not, Dani was still a friend and the last thing she needed was to get caught up in elfin politics.
"...has hired me as your personal assistant for FuMan Skeeto." The words were foreign to his ears, and it wasn't just the lilt of her accent. "My name is Robin Davies. I was born in Wales. My hiring is a surprise to you, but all my paperwork will be in order. I arrive in two days." She said it apologetically, but two days was more than he'd thought he'd get. A geas strong enough to make an elf join the mortal world was no laughing matter.
"Anything else?"
She hesitated, then shook her head."No, my Lord."
"Good. See you in two days, Robin. Get lost."
Chris sat silently for a long time. Aidan was dead. The patient, wise older brother he loved so much was gone.
Six months. Chris didn't have to wonder, he knew the day he'd made his decision was the day Aidan had passed. Somehow, he'd known. Part of the Royal Family curse. That it had taken six months for the news to reach him was simply another brick in the wall between Chris and his father.
"Chris?" Joey's voice cut through his thoughts, an unwelcome intrusion. "Got any vodka in your fridge? I think Timberlake stole mine. Little shit."
Chris forced himself to return to reality, to pull the bar fridge open, extract the Smirnoff's and go to the door. He would have time to grieve later. Perhaps, after six months, it was time to dream again. Then Joe got a look at his face.
"What's up?" he demanded immediately, ignoring the proferred alcohol. "Is everything okay?"
His best poker face wasn't working. Maybe he'd forgotten how. He stood wordlessly until Joey got scared. He pushed Chris back into his room and made him sit down. A knock on the connecting door and two telephone calls later, it was Justin who put his finger on what was wrong with silent Chris.
"Somebody died."
Chris nodded. The tears began to drip, and then to stream. Soon the Justin in his lap was joined by Joey hugging them both from behind, J.C. hanging on to one of his legs and Lance just kind of standing there, playing with his hair. After about ten minutes of solid, silent love, J.C.'s voice came from below.
"Who was it?"
Chris had two options - to stay absolutely silent, or tell the truth. Another part of the Royal Family curse. No lying about elves. He knew that if he opened his mouth, what he said wouldn't jive completely with what he'd allowed them to assume about his father. At some point, someone would ask questions.
But he needed to talk.
He stroked Justin's fuzzy head as he began to speak.
"His name was Aidan." Chris drew a shaky breath over that "was". "He was my brother."
The silence was surprisingly question-free. The others laid no judgements on his mourning.
"How did he...?" Lance wasn't innocent about many things anymore, but he still had trouble dealing with the reality of death.
"Hunting accident. Six months ago." Chris tasted bile. "My fucking father..." he spat out. Justin squeezed him tighter. "Aidan probably never told him that we knew each other. We didn't get to see each other much, obviously. But he taught me stuff. And he was a great listener. And... I didn't get to say..." His voice broke and the others waited in respectful silence while Chris cried himself out.
When they were alone, Justin asked awkwardly. "I know you're not like, super-religious and stuff... but do you wanna pray?"
He wasn't hurt when Chris turned him down. What did hurt a little was the soft request... "Just? I need to be alone tonight."
The night was cloudy, and a little cold. But on the rooftop of the Hilton, Chris' voice rang out clear and true. He sang a song six months overdue. No one who heard it understood it, but none of them had ever heard anything more beautiful than the Song of the Dead that Christopher ein Solveyn sang for his brother.