Guimar de Massard Aesthetic
“That is not my Mate! How can you even think of such a ridiculous thing?”
Guimar could hear the ranting from some considerable distance, given his sensitive Vampire ears, and though he knew it would be far better for his state of mind if he were to block it out and just keep walking, he honestly couldn’t bring himself to pretend it wasn’t happening.
He’d gone from the overwhelming elation of finding his Mate, to the crashing reality of being rejected, in less time than it took to boil an egg. And he’d not even had chance to say a word to the man he’d found lecturing a group of tourists on the history and mythology of Rosslyn Chapel.
“I should have stayed at home,” he whispered, slipping into his native French. “I should not have come.”
Cadfael couldn’t bear to see his Sire’s hands shaking so badly. “Come and sit in the car for a moment.” He was trying to keep an eye on his own Mate too, as Lord Beringar demanded a few answers courtesy of the very nice, but clearly very bored American from Knight Clan, who had introduced himself as ‘Hicks’ and claimed to be acting as de facto bodyguard to Leigh Teabing – a man whose presence in Camelot Clan territory should have been discussed between Clan hierarchies preferably before there was a problem.
“I don’t care, woman! This is not possible, and I refuse to accept further meddling in the issue!”
Cadfael already knew Teabing to be as vociferous as he was loudly obnoxious, having met him when he’d stayed for a few years at Camelot Castle after Romulus and Remus tossed him from Lealta.
Rome had refused to deal with the man’s obsession over Robert Langdon, and Venice had made it abundantly clear that they would not tolerate anything whatsoever, threatening their beloved Leonardo.
But the general consensus had been that once Teabing found his own Mate, the man’s belief that he actually belonged with Langdon, would naturally fade away.
A sad fact that suddenly seemed, under the circumstances, to be quite ridiculously naive.
Teabing had always maintained that Langdon was falsely Bonded to Leonardo, who had been psychologically manipulating him from an early age. It had led to more than one awkward assessment by Lealta Clan’s Ruling Council, as they struggled to determine the nature of such strange allegations, and whether there could be any real truth to it. Questions were raised as to whether Teabing was meant to complete a Triad with Langdon and Leonardo, but such a suggestion was fiercely and repeatedly refuted by all three parties.
Leonardo’s miraculous salvation of Langdon as a boy, when at a seven years of age he’d been trapped at the bottom of a water logged, abandoned well with virtually no hope of rescue, was called into doubt and re-examined.
Nicolaus Meridius, as Head of Sylum Clan, had been forced to get involved over it all. So too Arthur Pendragon, as Teabing, being British, had been a member of Camelot Clan at that time. It had been one almighty fuss after another until finally Teabing found himself a place in Knight Clan, where his particular eccentricities could be overlooked as long as he didn’t cause any physical harm or distress as a result.
It hadn’t helped that Alexander, as Leader of Sanguen and therefore Head of the Kin Clan Structure, repeatedly threatened to behead the man for being a self-righteous prick, should he ever show his face anywhere in the Mediterranean.
Hugh had snidely suggested back then, that Imenand must surely have bribed La Croix with a hell of a lot of money, for taking Teabing out of everyone’s way.
Not that anyone ever suggested otherwise.
Still, things were rather inevitable after That Night, and Teabing had been investigated ever more thoroughly as a Childe of Galileo.
While Langdon himself had found it impossible to believe that someone so much a scholar of art and history, could have had anything to do with an attempt at destroying the Vatican, it had been agreed upon that should Teabing ever have to leave the relative safety of Knight Clan’s territory, there would be warnings sent out to whoever else’s Clan might be on the receiving end of any or all potential trouble.
But apparently, Knight Clan’s leadership wasn’t giving too much of a crap about the niceties of interClan diplomacy any more.
Which didn’t shock Cadfael all that much, but certainly pissed off Hugh Beringar as Head of Camelot Security.
Doctor Teabing, as it turned out, was on some kind of lecturing tour with a group of people who had a specific interest in all things Illuminati, following on from the events of That Night. Such a thing was bound to have an impact on the public consciousness, and there had been a massive uptick in curiosity over all manner of conspiracy theories and secret societies.
Sensing a money making opportunity when it came their way, more people than just Teabing were taking best advantage. In 2007 alone, the volume of books on the shelves about similar issues, had quadrupled. And there were films, shows, and tours all over the world, claiming to have some connection to the ‘global terrors’ of secret sects and their power hungry leaders.
Cadfael really wanted someone to try and calculate the odds on him and Hugh dragging one of their oldest friends to a place like Rosslyn Chapel, only to have said friend meet hitherto unknown Mate.
Guimar was, however, not so much concerned with the mathematics as with his inability to see what the problem was. He’d never heard of Leigh Teabing, even in passing, let alone been aware of the scandal that followed the man like a virulent plague. But as his Childe sat him down in the car and explained the long history of such matters, it quickly became apparent that there were a few things in which Passion Clan had played no part, and remained blissfully unconcerned.
Which in turn, rather made him feel personally affronted. If not a little foolish on top of everything else.
“Perhaps I might seduce him, no?” Guimar had reverted to his native tongue and stayed there, but Cadfael chose not to tell him. “I am not without resources after all.” And yet the expression on his dear Childe’s face was not one to fill him with hope. “You have told me everything?”
“Yes. But I fear, given the reaction that your mere presence has evoked, that Leigh’s obsession may prove too much to break. If he had found you sooner…”
It had been an exceptionally long time since last Guimar shed tears, and though he wanted to deny what the Vampire inside him was desperate for, his slightly more rational mind told him Cadfael was probably right.
He could still hear the ranting and railing, never mind that it was being tempered by a woman’s calming, evenly measured tones.
Hicks had said that his wife, Lucy, often acted as Doctor Teabing’s personal secretary. She certainly sounded like a very nice woman, but Guimar could not tell whether she fully understood the implications in such a moment.
“I should know more of this Robert Langdon person,” he concluded.
“None of this is his fault, or his doing, old friend.”
“I believe you.” From somewhere de Massard drew a smile before running a hand over the ache that was forming between his brows. “Nevertheless…”
Cadfael sighed. “Do not consider him a rival. Please?”
“Right now, I do not know what to consider. I am rejected by a Soul I have never yet spoken with, and who in turns seems unable to entertain any though whatever of my existence.”
Around them, cars in the parking lot began moving out, leaving a patchwork of empty spaces.
Cadfael wondered how many were simply done for the day, heading for lunch, or fleeing from Leigh’s unexpected shouting that cast an almost hysterical shadow over so very dignified a place.
He could sense Hugh’s own tightly wound anger start bubbling to the boil, and struggled to send calm reassurance through their Bond so that matters wouldn’t lead to a visit by the local Constabulary.
And their day, that had been meant only as a mildly interesting diversion, was suddenly soured by the brutal reality of an old problem no one had ever really known how to fix.
He wanted to believe that a noble and decent man like Guimar, deserved better than a stubborn old mule like Teabing, but he kept that to himself too. After all, he and Hugh had hardly been the most perfect couple, and there were many others of his acquaintance who hadn’t exactly met the easy way, or been instantly accepting of one another.
“How many times do I have to tell you people? My Mate was brainwashed by da Vinci!! Never in a thousand lifetimes, was I meant to be with anyone but Robert!!”
The screeching got louder as Teabing stalked through the car park from where he’d been yelling at Lucy in the tour bus his group were using.
Guimar glanced away, growling harshly in his throat, and it made Cadfael wince at the kind of memories such a sound could dredge up. He had visions then of a vicious fight amongst the cars, with horrified but curious tourists capturing it all on their cameras for the evening news.
Arthur having a royal fit.
And The Bruce demanding whoever’s head got in the way first.
But that it didn’t actually happen at that point, didn’t mean it would never come.
Leigh Teabing Aesthetic
