#loredan

[ofstarsandsand-blog1]

Ranethir and Loredan ( @silver-and-midnight ) looking so incredibly gorgeous and gold-trimmed while out on their expeditions. This is how Ranethir gets himself into trouble.

[sunthorne]

Of Monsters and Masks

@silver-and-midnight For Loredan mention and as a response of sorts to this: http://silver-and-midnight.tumblr.com/post/155013147026/falling-snow

           His pulse pounded in his own ears, a counterpoint to his shaken breaths and it seemed the whole world had narrowed down to himself and the feel of the man in his arms. He had squeezed his eyes closed against the sensations and it was still too much to bear. Everywhere Loredan touched him felt electric, and his lips parted on pleas that only emerged as breathless little sounds of desire. He was lost in the rhythm of their moving bodies, of his own racing heart, the throbbing beat of which he felt in every place they touched. His fingertips thumped with it when he raked them across the dark skin of his lover's back, his throat pounded with it under Loredan's lips until the sensation was both pain and ecstasy and he could not decided if he wanted to groan or scream. "Please, Lore..." was all that emerged. "Please..."

           His voice was a shaken thing he hardly recognized, ragged and husky with passion. And then it was not his own voice at all, but the voice of the man in the alley, caught close in the arms of a figure he knew all too well. The broken sound of the man's voice had been soft, nearly muffled by the whisper of the wind, but his own pointed ears were too keen to miss it, just as his eyes were too sharp to mistake the deep red of Loredan's curls for any other hue, no matter how dim the night. It was not pleasure his lover offered the stranger he had caught close in the shadows. It was not tenderness in the familiar lines of the arms that held the ragged beggar close. But he could not miss the eerie echo of their own lovemaking in it.

           He knew the feel of Loredan's lips on his neck, the way they made his pulse pound as though his heart wanted to beat its way out right into his waiting mouth. And then the wind brought with it the scent, faint but sharp on the cool air. Blood. And all at once he understood. His next breath drew in sharp over his lips... too sharp, the sound almost loud in the sudden lull in the breeze. Loredan's head lifted, and he could see the blood now, trickling over the lips he had kissed so many times. He watched his lover's single blue eye focus and then lift to meet his.

           Everything had gone still, the wind, the man who hung limp in the circle of Loredan's arms. His own heart. And for just a moment he stared into his lover's eye down the length of the alley and knew there was no mistaking each other. Suddenly every little confusion of the last years made sense, all the little things he'd pushed aside and tried to ignore until he could bear the weight of wondering no longer. A monster. A murderer. There was no breath left in the man that slowly slumped to the pavement as Loredan's arms released him. And he knew there had been others. He had heard and wondered at the occasional rumor the same as all the rest but he had never thought the answer lay beside him in his own bed.

           Loredan had been so careful, so very careful, not to let him know. And for a moment he almost wished that he had let the illusion linger. If only he had stayed home this evening and picked up his book instead of following his lover into the night. He might still wonder over a dozen little things but wondering would be better than knowing this. Almost anything would be better than this. Loredan slowly straightened, eye still focused on his and suddenly he realized there was more than his own torment over the knowledge to fear. He knew the secret Loredan had worked so hard to keep, and Loredan could not have missed that he did.

           His lover could be an intimidating man in his way, but he had never been truly afraid of him until that moment. His eyes dropped to the man at Loredan's feet, the pallor of his skin and the small seeping punctures at his throat. He remembered the feel of warm lips on his neck and that combination of almost pain and ecstasy he had found so often in his arms. His eyes jerked back to Loredan's face, and for just a moment he was caught in the fierce intensity of his gaze. It was the smallest movement that finally broke him free, the shifting of weight in preparation for a step.

           Another sharp breath seared its way over his lips and he whirled to run, wild and unthinking. He was heedless of the crate his heel caught and tipped, of his own near stumble and the scrape of his knuckles on the stone. He had to get away, out of Loredan's sight and out of his reach before he joined the man lying so still on the stones.

                                                  ***

           Hot lips trailed a slow caress along the beat of his pulse and he gasped, a low groan of desire catching in his throat. His eyes were hazy when they opened to meet the heated gaze of his lover's single eye. His hand slid up into the dark red curls, gripping with the hungry intent to pull Loredan's lips back down on his own. But something in his lover's expression froze him, some sudden fierceness he had never seen before. His lips parted over predator's teeth. "You should never have followed me, Laethalyn."

           He jerked awake, heart pounding unpleasantly, nostrils suddenly full of the scent of beer from the nearly empty cup his knuckles had just bumped over. A low groan caught in his throat and he lifted his head from his cushioning arm, rubbing at the marks his armor had left on his cheek. He shouldn't be sleeping in the tavern, booted feet stretched out from the bench for people to trip over, the meager contents of his pouch available to any enterprising pickpocket. In plain sight for Loredan to see if the monster he had once loved happened to be looking.

           But there was a part of him that felt oddly safer in the firelight with the voices of the crowd around, watchful eyes that might at least notice if harm came his way even if they did not help. Stifling a yawn with the back of his hand he set his mug back upright and waved for a refill. Maybe Loredan wouldn't notice him even if he did come in, he told himself in a vain attempt to quiet his still pounding heart. Laethalyn knew he had always looked a great deal like his twin sister after all, and the resemblance was even more decided when he wore her clothes.

[ofstarsandsand-blog1]

Parties

           He supposed one might have called them work, but Ranethir loved parties. He had since the very first time he'd stepped into a ballroom in Calpheon and seen all the glittering lights and lively people within. There was a sort of thrill to it that hadn't died inside him even now that parties were a familiar thing and he sometimes received more invitations than he could possibly manage to accept.

           He took a careful sip of the champagne in his glass, enjoying the way it tickled and sparked on his tongue and mindful of the way it dizzied his head. One sip was all, even if the dancing had left him thirsty and a little breathless. His head was already light with several such sips over the course of the night and he did not want to be drunk, not yet.

           His eyes drifted over the room again as he turned the glass in his fingers and once again he found his attention caught by sway and drift of soft red curls over a black coat, as their owner finished a turn and made for the wall. He didn't know the man, but he had found himself looking at him all evening. He was an attractive man. Long hair in loose curls that made him wonder what it would be like to trail his fingers through them and skin like warm copper in the light of the glittering chandeliers.

           He hadn't missed other details, the way the man's coat was tailored well enough to fit him like a glove, the fine cane he collected back into his hand as he relaxed away from the dancing. He fit in the room the way the coat fit across his shoulders and Ranethir wondered for the third time that night how he could manage an introduction. He took another sip of the champagne.

           "Ranet!"

           He managed not to startle at the exclamation, setting the champagne flute away on the nearest tray and turning to face the man who'd spoke. He liked Lord Tirillon, and not only because he always extended him an invitation for his parties and paid him handsomely for attending them. "Ferris." He smiled. "You really have outdone yourself this time. I want to ask how you got the chocolate to make fountains, but I'm afraid that would spoil the magic."

           Ferris chuckled. "I've no idea really. I just tell them what I want and someone comes up with a way to make it happen. I keep trying to stump them so I can have a really spectacular tantrum over it, but I haven't managed it yet."

           Ranethir couldn't help laughing as he set both of his hands into the offered pair. "I'm not sure I can imagine you managing a spectacular tantrum either. You're one of the most pleasant people I've ever met."

           "I suppose that's almost as good as being notorious for my temper, even if it's not as interesting. Take a turn with me before someone else snatches you up? I'll set them to something fast, we've been dying of waltzes all evening."

           "I'd be delighted."

           Lord Ferris Tirillon danced as he lived, the music picked up its tempo at his signal and Ranethir found himself actually needing to concentrate on keeping his feet where they should be. Part of it was the champagne. His head felt light and pleasantly dizzy, and the glittering light on jewelry and lace and the dance floor was dazzling. He was laughing a little breathlessly when the music came to a stop and he and Ferris bowed to each other over still joined hands.

           "Thank you for the dance, Ranet."

           "Thank -you-." he said and meant it, even if he felt just flushed enough to wonder if perhaps he'd already had a bit too much champagne. He made for the wall, offering several smiles on his way there, though he was a little too dizzy to be certain just who received them.

           He was too thirsty to resist another glass when a tray passed by him, but rather than sipping it immediately he took it with him to the small window at the corner that had been left open a little. It was nearly winter outside, and the air that drifted in from the streets and canals below was cool and pleasantly bracing in comparison with the heady warmth of the ballroom. He took a few shallow gulps of the air before allowing himself another small sip of the champagne.

           It helped, and Ranethir's breath left him in a pleased little exhalation as he started to turn from the pleasant view of light on the flower boxes toward the ballroom once more. There was someone standing there, just at his back and so close he'd come near to stepping right into the man. His glass nearly slipped from his fingers and it was only years of training that helped him bite back a startled yelp. He swallowed, lifted his eyes to smile and realized it was the man he'd been trying all evening to figure out how to introduce himself to.

           This near Ranethir was all the more conscious of how attractive the man was, of the drape of deep red curls and the fine fabric of the dark coat that offered them such a pleasant backdrop. "I didn't hear you." He murmured, then quickly caught himself and smiled. It was not hard to smile looking at him. Lifting the glass by way of explanation he offered a small chuckle. "Perhaps I should not have too many more of these. It's a lovely evening isn't it?"

           "It is." The man agreed.

           His voice was as pleasant as his face, and as cultured as his clothing suggested and Ranethir felt an odd flutter in his stomach. He loved parties, they were full of possibilities, and he suddenly rather wanted to think that the man standing before him was one. "Lord Tirillon throws lovely parties, but I don't think I every recall seeing you at one before. I'm sure I would have remembered if I had." He said, swallowing and suddenly aware that the man was still standing just a little too close. Not quite intrusive but just enough to set him off balance and to make his own words seem more intimate than he had meant.

           The man's lips curved up with a slow smile. "We haven't met." He agreed.            "Until now." This time when he lifted his silver eyes to meet the man's he fully meant the glance to be as intimate as their closeness suggested. It still startled him to feel the faint tightening of his own stomach in response, the odd flutter of unfamiliar nerves. He took another sip of the champagne, partly to calm that odd sensation and partially to cover the subtle movement of his other hand in palming one of his cards.

           "Until now." the man agreed.

           Ranethir extended his own hand, and when the man took it he squeezed and shook, careful that his grip held just the right amount of firmness. He left the card when he released the hold, still warmed from his own skin and wondered if it tingled in the man's palm the way his fingertips still did from the touch. He almost lifted the glass again. "I'm Ranet."

           If the man had meant to make a response it was cut short by another familiar voice. "Ranet!" He turned and offered a hand and found himself with barely the time to abandon his glass on a flat surface before another friend swept him back onto the dance floor.

           He hadn't learned a name, had barely managed to say more than a few words to the man. Perhaps a small part of him couldn't help being disappointed by that. But he had left his card in the man's hand. Fine thick paper, faintly scented with his own cologne, his name and address written in careful calligraphy at the center. Then discreetly in a bottom corner the three words he couldn't help hoping the man might notice. 'Write for engagements.'

[vastinsanitysavesall]

It wasn't until quite late in the afternoon that Loredan woke up. He was hung over, depressed and angry with himself for not coping better. He decided to go out for a drink.

Colours in the Steel - K.J.Parker

[artinfiction]

A bust of Leonardo Loredan mentioned in Swann’s Way, volume one of Towards the Remembrance of Things Past by Marcel Proust, translated by C. K. Scott Moncreiff.

He [Swann] had always found a peculiar fascination in tracing in the paintings of the old masters not merely the general characteristics of the people whom he encountered in his daily life, but rather what seems least susceptible of generalization, the individual features of men and women when he knew, as, for instance, in a bust of the Doge Loredan by Antonio Rizzo, the prominent cheekbones, the slanting eyebrows, in short, a speaking likeness to his own coachman Rémi . . .

[Proust appears to be either mistaken, or misleading; Antonio Rizzo died in 1500, before Leonardo Loredan became Doge in 1501, Rizzo was the architect of the Stairway of Giants, which features later in the book, so it could well be deliberate. There is a celebrated painting of Loredan by Giovanni Bellini (after 1501), it is the middle picture above, there is a relief by Alessandro Leopardi (1505), who, like Rizzo, was also an architect and, finally, there is a bust by an unknown sculpture made sometime in the middle of the sixteenth century and now in the Birmingham Museum of Art.

All pictures from:

http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Category:Leonardo_Loredan

]

[danicroitorfilms]

Loredan & Diana - Highlights