It was Icelandic tradition to go Christmas shopping on December twenty-third, St. Þorlákur’s Day, and Gitta wanted to take Sören to see some of the local stores, which would also be a prime opportunity for the aunt and nephew to continue getting to know each other. Elaine and Anthony were also invited along, and since the mother and son hadn't seen each other for months, it was a chance for them to catch up as well.
Nicholas, too, was invited, but he felt like he'd be intruding on family bonding... especially for Sören, who had been raised by alcoholics and deeply needed the sort of nurturing care that Gitta was offering. Besides which, Anthony was observant enough that it would be difficult to do any sort of Christmas shopping in his presence and hope for it to remain a surprise.
So it was that Nicholas went out in the rented Vauxhall to do some shopping of his own, which doubled as a chance to drive through the scenic wintry landscape of Skye and take it all in, peaceful and deeply relaxing. Today was a day of moody dark clouds - rain was expected later in the day - and the way the orange-brown heather paired with the dusting of snow and the silver-gold light through the clouds made the hills look like they were burning. At one point Nicholas had to pull over his car and snap a few photos of the craggy hills and mountains under the stormy sky. He knew Sören was probably enjoying it too, and wondered if he could expect new paintings from Sören soon.
And after hitting a few stores to browse and buy gifts for Anthony and Sören - as well as a small something for Gitta and Elaine to thank them for their hospitality - he found himself returning again to Talisker Beach.
Because of the ominous sky and the forecast of rain, Nicholas expected the beach to be deserted. Once again Mark was there, playing the harp, the melancholy minor chords and the haunting melody he sung, pain searing in his voice, fitting the troubled, choppy, dark sea. Once again Nicholas broke out into gooseflesh under his layers, hair standing on end, feeling like he couldn't breathe, captivated by the combination of Mark's song and the stark beauty of the silver shore under the steely sky.
Captivated by the beauty of Mark himself, the serenity on his face even as he sang of sorrow, his raven locks stirring in the sea breeze, long, elegant fingers flowing over the harp like he was weaving magic. Not even the ghastly burn on Mark's hand took away from how lovely he was.
Nicholas hung back, not coming closer, not wanting to disturb Mark, not wanting him to stop, completely enthralled by the show. He wished he could video record it for future enjoyment, without feeling like that would be creepy and inappropriate. After all, they were still mostly strangers.
Though, Nicholas couldn't shake the feeling that Mark was familiar, above and beyond being a fan of Mark Lauer's music for years. Mark was inhumanly beautiful, and for a brief instant Nicholas wondered if Mark, the harpist, was in fact one of the Eldar and that was why he seemed familiar - one soul acknowledging another - but surely that was too many coincidences? Surely not everything in his life was a connection to when he was Fingolfin?
Nicholas shivered.
Of course, Mark paused and turned to look at him, as if he had super-sensitive hearing and could hear Nicholas's light footfall on the sand meters away. For a moment they just looked at each other, and then Mark called out, "Hello again," and Nicholas awkwardly put up a hand in greeting. Then Mark resumed playing, this time a different song.
After awhile Nicholas strode towards him, spread out the blanket he carried under one arm, and took a seat at an angle where he could watch the waves and Mark at the same time. Mark continued playing like it didn't bother him to have an audience, and Nicholas savored every minute, every note, every resonance, getting lost in Mark's music, like the chiming harp and the crystalline tenor were its own little world. If Anthony had heard Mark play and sing, decades ago, Nicholas could see how Anthony could have fallen for him. That was a dangerous train of thought, but it was there nonetheless; Mark was a gorgeous man, all the more beautiful as he gave his gift of song, expressing a beautiful soul.
A few songs later, the promised rain began to fall, a few light drops then heavier ones. Nicholas got up, and Mark did as well. Nicholas opened his umbrella and gestured that Mark could share it, and together they walked under the umbrella, quickly to their respective vehicles - Nicholas was surprised by how fast Mark could move carrying a heavy harp.
By the time they made it to their cars it was really coming down, and Nicholas decided to let the windshield wipers work for a minute before he attempted to pull out of the parking space. Just before he could put his hands on the wheel, his phone vibrated. It was a text from Sören.
You doing OK?
Nicholas chuckled; Sören could be quite the mother hen, and he found it endearing. Yes, dear. It's only a little rain. As you know, I'm not going to melt.
Then Nicholas peered through the windshield as he waited for a response and saw Mark hadn't left the parking lot yet. Nicholas didn't think Mark was responding to any texts of his own, so he wondered what was going on.
He didn't have to wonder long. He watched Mark get out of his car, brow furrowed, and Mark took a deep breath before he walked over to Nicholas's car. Nicholas rolled down his window a little as Mark came closer.
Mark gave a nervous laugh. "My car battery's dead. You don't by any chance have jump leads in your rental, do you?"
"I don't, unfortunately, but I can give you a lift back to the bed-and-breakfast."
"All right, that will do. I'm pretty sure Gitta and Elaine can drive out to give me a jump later today or sometime tomorrow." Mark glanced back at his car. "Do you mind if I put my harp in your trunk? Do you have room? The likelihood of anyone messing with my car over the next 24 hours is slim but I get a little paranoid."
"I don't blame you. It's a magnificent harp. By all means, the trunk has room." Nicholas popped the trunk.
Nicholas rolled up the window, then watched as Mark walked back over to his car, got out the harp from the trunk, and carried it over. Once the harp was secured in the trunk of the Vauxhall, Mark got in the passenger's seat. Nicholas felt a little tingly and his cheeks burned. Self-conscious of his reaction to Mark's proximity, he gave a small, shy smile, cleared his throat, and began to pull out onto the road.
For the first few minutes of their journey there was silence, both of them watching the road and the rain, the haunting beauty of the dark sky weeping over the hills. Then Nicholas broke the ice, feeling nervous, but also not wanting to be rude. "Thank you again for the lovely performance. I hope I wasn't intruding."
"I didn't mind." Mark turned his head and smiled - that smile made Nicholas's heart skip a beat. "I would have told you if I did. I don't exactly mince words with my opinions."
"That's good to know."
"And thank you for being willing to drive me back. I know we don't really know each other, I'm not much more than a stranger."
"Well, you haven't murdered Gitta and Elaine." Nicholas couldn't resist the little bit of levity, hoping to further thaw the ice. "Yet."
Mark's eyes narrowed, as if he'd hit a nerve, and when Mark turned his head to look out his window, Nicholas exhaled, feeling like he'd put his foot in his mouth with the joke. Nicholas hoped he hadn't offended Mark, so after giving Mark a moment to look out the window, Nicholas said, "I'm sorry, that was in poor taste."
"It's fine," Mark said, steel in his voice.
Nicholas sighed. Then he decided to try to smooth it over with kindness. "Do you have any errands you need to run? Any last-minute Christmas shopping? I'd be happy to take you, while I'm out and about."
"I don't, but thanks for asking." Mark turned back to him and their eyes met - Mark had such extraordinary grey eyes, so beautiful - and then Mark said, "Actually... I'd like to buy you a coffee to say thanks for the lift, if that's all right with you."
"You don't have to -"
"I want to. There's a very nice cafe I frequent that has good toasties and pastries."
"When you put it that way..." Nicholas laughed.
After driving some more in silence, that now felt a bit less awkward, Mark gave directions to the cafe. It wasn't completely empty but it wasn't busy either, and they were quickly seated by a window. Nicholas looked over the menu while Mark told the waitress, "My usual, please."
Nicholas decided on a hazelnut mocha coffee with whipped cream, and a few slices of banana nut bread. He was impressed by the selection of cakes, and thought about ordering a couple of pieces to take back to Sören and Anthony, but then he mused aloud, "I should bring Anthony here so he can try cake in-person."
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Nicholas regretted it, not wanting to hit another nerve by bringing up Mark's ex - if Anthony was still hurting close to twenty years later, Nicholas wondered if Mark had any wounds from that time also. But Mark just gave a sad yet fond little smile and said, "He still likes cake."
"'Like' would be rather an understatement."
Mark chuckled. Then he leaned back in his seat and said, "Thank you."
"For?"
"Taking care of him. He seems... less troubled than when I met him, even though he's clearly faced some adversity since our ways parted. It seems like you and... Sören, is it? Have been good for him."
It touched Nicholas that Mark still seemed to care about Anthony, in a way. "We all take care of each other," Nicholas said. "Anthony has been good for us, too."
"How did you meet, if you don't mind me asking?"
Nicholas found it odd that Mark wanted to talk about his ex, instead of avoiding a sore subject, but he didn't mind. "It's a bit of a complicated story."
"We're all complicated people. I understand some things about being complicated myself."
I'm sure you do, Nicholas thought to himself, trying not to look at the burn on Mark's hand. Nicholas quickly glanced away and out the window, and then back at Mark's eyes. "Anthony and Sören were in a relationship together. They were engaged to be married, then... difficulties arose, and they broke up. Sören and I met a little over a year later - I bid on him at a bachelor auction and we began a relationship thereafter - and then Anthony asked for a second chance. Sören insisted on testing the waters as friends first, and after a year, they got back together with my permission. Anthony became a fixture in our lives and I developed feelings for him too. The three of us started on this path in March and haven't looked back. It's unconventional, but it works."
"I don't judge," Mark said. "I've had some interesting relationships of my own." Now it was Mark's turn to look away. Nicholas wondered about that - the thought of Mark having a threesome with anybody was strangely erotic, and he didn't want to think like that about Anthony's ex - and then their eyes met again. "I'm glad you guys are happy."
"Thank you. And... thank you for not resenting me for... being with Anthony."
"I couldn't. I broke his heart, you and Sören put it back together."
Nicholas knew that Anthony had been the one broken up with, and that ghosting had happened, but he didn't know what prompted Mark to fade from his life like that. Nicholas wanted to ask what happened, but he felt like that was for Mark to tell him, volunteering the information unasked, he didn't want to be invasive and make Mark feel like he was on trial.
He also felt slightly disloyal for wanting to hear Mark's side of the story, but then, he had heard Anthony's when he crashed back into Sören's life. Nicholas knew from his years as a priest that sometimes good people made mistakes, and doing the math, Mark was probably quite young then and at a very different place in his life.
The waitress came back with their coffee and snacks - Mark's usual was a chocolate espresso with whipped cream, and a plate of scones.
"How often do you come here?" Nicholas didn't think it could be every day, or Mark wouldn't have the physique he had. Then Nicholas felt another twinge of self-consciousness, not wanting to notice Mark's physique.
"Once a week or so. Sometimes twice. There are other cafes on the island I visit, less frequently. I spend my days roaming around a bit."
"I see. You don't work?"
"I do put out the occasional album and my music generates sales. Nothing new in awhile. I also made some smart investments with my trust fund."
Nicholas detected the slightest defensiveness in Mark's tone, and also noticed that answer came quite quickly, as if it were an answer Mark had rehearsed for the inevitable question about his employment status. He knew that Mark did have a few albums - he owned them all - but nonetheless, something about that statement prickled him as being "off" somehow, the same sort of feeling he got in his priest days when someone was trying to confess or seek counsel and hadn't given the whole story. There were skeletons in Mark's closet, which seemed somewhat obvious, between the burnt hand, the sad songs, and living at a bed-and-breakfast in a remote place like Skye, like he was deliberately trying to avoid dealing with people... dealing with someone who might dig too deeply.
"What do you do?" Mark's voice cut into his moment of suspicion. "Are you retired?"
Now Nicholas was the one who felt himself bristle. There were, of course, plenty of retired people at his age, but Nicholas felt sixty-nine, as he would be in a few days, was too young to retire from teaching. "I'm a professor at UCL. I teach Classics."
"Nice. I approve. Ancient history is very important." Mark gave a wry smile. "Those who forget their history are doomed to repeat it."
If only you knew. Nicholas looked out the window again, watching the pouring rain. Tears unnumbered ye shall shed. He had found his brothers again in the sunset of his life, but at least he had found them, and he hoped with all his heart the worst was behind them.
"I taught at Merton College, but I downsized and came to London some years back," Nicholas said.
"So you're an academic's academic."
"I suppose. It's a subject I feel passionately about, anyhow. Like you said, history is important. I feel now more than ever, it is a relevant subject in the face of a changing world, to see both the glory and the folly of those who went before us. And... it's fascinating. I have been a Classicist since my thirties and I still feel there is much left to learn."
"That's a good attitude to have. You never stop learning. I'm still learning things myself."
"Well, you're also still young," Nicholas said, raising his cup of coffee. "I'm at that age where everyone under forty-five is 'the youth'."
Mark's lips quirked, but he said nothing in return, only raised his own cup and took a deep sip, looking out the window and shifting a little awkwardly in his seat.
Nicholas wondered about that, and decided he should probably shut up for awhile before he put his foot in his mouth again. The banana nut bread was delicious, especially for being warm straight from the oven, and even though Mark wanted to pay for both of them, Nicholas still felt like leaving a tip just to express his appreciation of the lovely banana bread. The banana bread gave him an excuse not to say much more in the cafe, and once they were back on the road, they watched the rain, soothing. But the peace of the rainfall didn't last long, with Nicholas once again feeling like he'd said or done something wrong, and though Mark was still barely more than a stranger and they might not see him again when they returned to Skye, Nicholas felt like there shouldn't be awkward tension with Christmas so close.
This time Nicholas tread more lightly, letting Mark take the lead in conversation if he wanted to. "Penny for your thoughts," Nicholas said.
"Oh." Mark leaned back in the passenger's seat. He took another deep breath, like he was about to make an announcement, and then he faced Nicholas, brow furrowed. "I thought about whether or not to say anything about this, I don't want to make things weird -"
"Oh god. You heard us, didn't you?" Nicholas's face was on fire now... all the more mortified for feeling a naughty thrill because of it, wondering if Mark had gotten turned on, remembering those nights with Anthony long ago. Wondering if that remark about interesting relationships meant Mark thought about what it would be like to join in...
Why are you thinking like that, you bloody pervert. Nicholas was mortified, not able to believe himself.
"Well... yes and no. I have heard that, yes -"
"I'm sorry. We'll try harder to keep it down -"
"-but," Mark raised his voice a little, "what I'm remarking on isn't the thing you're thinking of."
Nicholas raised an eyebrow, completely confused. If Mark wasn't referring to hearing their sex noises, then what had he heard?
"OK." Mark breathed again. "Here goes. Do you recall a few nights back, when Gitta and Elaine asked me to pick up some aloe vera while I was running errands in town?"
"...Yes."
"I overheard a conversation between Gitta and Sören where they were discussing how Gitta burned her thumb. They were trying to keep their voices down, and they were speaking Icelandic, but. Ég tala fyrir tilviljun íslensku svo ég skildi hvert orð sem þeir voru að segja."
Nicholas didn't speak Icelandic himself but he got the gist Mark was saying that he did, which Nicholas found very interesting considering Icelandic was such a difficult language to learn; Nicholas wondered where, how, and why Mark had picked up Icelandic. Before he could ask, Mark went on. "So yes, I know Gitta burned her thumb on a stone you have in your possession. I... would like to examine the stone you have." Mark waved his burned hand. "I had a similar experience with burning my hand on a stone a long time ago and I'd like to see if it's the same kind of stone or not."
Nicholas drove faster, even though his heart was racing and his hands were starting to shake and he worried he might crash the car in this state. This was exactly what he was afraid of - that sooner or later, someone would find out about the unique properties of the two stones Sören had found - that he had reclaimed, that he had once made - and they would want to investigate.
Or worse.
This was not good at all. Maybe Mark's curiosity was just innocent, or maybe Mark was going to report it to someone and then the stones would get taken away and Sören would snap. Maybe...
Nicholas decided to deflect. "I think perhaps you misunderstood the conversation. As you know, Icelandic is a very tough language for non-native speakers. I've been with Sören since 2015 and I still only know bits and pieces, mostly swear words." Nicholas gave a nervous laugh.
"Oh, I don't think so." Mark gave a knowing smile, but his eyes were not smiling. "I don't think I misunderstood at all. I think you're trying to protect the stone, which is... understandable. But I'd really like to see it. Please."
Nicholas sighed deeply. He pulled over. Mark's eyebrows shot up and Nicholas realized what it looked like - there was still a little ways to go to the bed-and-breakfast and it would be an even longer walk, Mark probably thought Nicholas was going to make him walk - but Nicholas needed a moment to pull himself together, completely disarmed, feeling trapped. He could barely breathe. After a moment he resumed driving and said, "It's not my stone."
"No, it's not." Mark's eyes narrowed.
Nicholas felt a defensive bristle - that felt like a challenge - and then Nicholas cleared his throat and said, "I have to address this with the owner of the stone and see what he says about showing you. He may not say yes. He is, as you put it, protecting the stone." Nicholas wasn't going to tell him whether the owner was Sören or Anthony, not wanting either of them to be harassed about it.
"Please do talk to him. I thought about just entering your room and trying to find it myself, but that seemed rather unethical."
And that seemed like a thinly veiled threat - Mark hinting at what he'd resort to if they didn't voluntarily show him. Not that "show me or I'll snoop around for it" was much of a choice. Once again, Nicholas's hackles raised.
"We'll see what he says," Nicholas said simply.
Once they reached the bed-and-breakfast, Mark took the harp to his room; Nicholas retreated to his own room and sat on the edge of the bed with a long sigh, feeling like he'd done something seriously wrong just by admitting they had it. They had two, in fact, but Nicholas wasn't going to tell him that.
Sören and Anthony got back from shopping a short while later to find Nicholas still sitting on the edge of the bed, stroking Tobias on his lap, staring at the floor.
"Elskan, what's wrong?" Sören asked, all worried brown eyes, going right to him. "Did something happen?"
"In a sense, yes." Nicholas looked up. Forgive me, he spoke into Sören's mind. "We have to talk." He lowered his voice. "It's about the Silmarils."
chapter 7 | return to Learning To Fly | return to Other Tolkien Fic | return to index