Chapter 1 #6
The friends had never discussed Ephraim’s marital state or lack thereof.
In the early years of his marriage, Dr Hitchingham had playfully needled Ephraim about finding a suitable young lady to meet at the altar.
After the loss of his wife, however, he never spoke of the matter again.
Indeed he seemed to find a great deal of relief in their friendship; Ephraim being the sole fellow of his acquaintance yet unmarried and one whose marital bliss could not remind him of his own howling loss.
The bachelor and the widower had grown far closer and better friends in their mutual loneliness.
Whether Dr Hitchingham had ever suspected the true cause behind his bachelorhood, Ephraim knew not.
He wondered if Dr Hitchingham thought of it now.
If he did realise, he wondered how much longer they would remain friends.
Or if the respectable physician would find excuses not to dine with the lawyer who lived on the perpetual brink of disgrace.
“No,” Dr Hitchingham said at last, jolting Ephraim out of his thoughts. “I would not describe you as flighty, Ephraim. You are now and have ever been a very dependable man.”
Ephraim would not have gone so far as that but appreciated the compliment nonetheless, and murmured his thanks.
Dr Hitchingham hesitated. “It is only that I wish you might be served as dependably as you serve others.”
It was quite unlike his friend to speak so gently. Ephraim knew not how to account for it. But his own inability did not in any way diminish the gratitude that washed over him like a warm and welcoming tide.
Before he could catch himself, this wave had moved him to clasp Dr Hitchingham’s hand atop the table.
The moment he realized what he did, he snatched his hand back.
Too late, for Dr Hitchingham could hardly have failed to notice the gesture.
More humiliating still, Ephraim busied himself with his napkin, as though mere linen could hide what he’d just done, like a magician’s scarf obscuring a cooing dove.
He forced himself to return his napkin to his lap and put his hands atop the table again as if he’d done nothing untoward and only hoped his friend might prove gracious enough to pretend along with him. A mortifying pause ensued.
Then Dr Hitchingham’s hand reached across the table and patted Ephraim’s knuckles in return. A rough gesture. Clumsy, almost. But nonetheless sincere.
Something behind Ephraim’s breast-bone unclenched.
And Dr Hitchingham cleared his throat and continued the conversation along some other track, and all Ephraim had to do was nod along. Though he couldn’t keep the smile from plucking at his lips altogether.
If Ephraim were not already a lawyer, Hullvardr thought he’d make an excellent nurse.
Per the Holly King’s instruction (at first) and in accordance with his own inclinations (after he’d met Ephraim himself), Hullvardr always arose before Ephraim to perform his valeting duties. As such, Ephraim hadn’t enjoyed the opportunity to show his affection through acts of service.
Until now.
Now, with his leg broken—quite literally hobbled—Hullvardr could do almost nothing for Ephraim.
And yet, far from the Holly King’s dire prediction of what would befall the elderly lawyer with no one to look after him, Ephraim seemed to flourish.
He arose with the birds every morning, beaming as if to make up for the feeble sunlight filtering down through the perpetual fog.
He murmured soft sympathies and reassurances as he drew Hullvardr upright in bed, his touch more of a balancing effort than a lifting one, though Hullvardr had the disquieting notion that if his own fae strength failed to raise him, Ephraim would attempt to haul like a sailor half his age.
His delicate hand lay against Hullvardr’s brow to determine if fever had returned, followed swiftly by his lips in a kiss that felt like a ward against it.
He softly whistled to himself as he boiled the kettle, toasted bread, and made up the breakfast tray for Hullvardr—tea black, toast amply buttered and slathered in honey and sloe preserves, precisely to Hullvardr’s preference without his ever speaking a word on the subject.
By fae standards, Ephraim’s acquaintance with Hullvardr had been unspeakably brief.
Despite this, Ephraim seemed to understand the whole of him, or very near to it.
“Miss Grytha,” Ephraim ventured by way of conversation, adding, “the bone-setter,” as if there could be any doubt. “What ought I to call her?”
“Just Grytha,” Hullvardr assured him.
“Yes, quite, but…” Ephraim’s brow furrowed. “She is perhaps… a huldrekalless?”
Ah, Hullvardr thought with a smile. Aloud, he gently replied, “A huldra.”
“A huldra!” Ephraim echoed, beaming anew. His lawyerly mind, Hullvardr had learnt, delighted in precision, and it was doubtless a relief to him to not have to worry he might give offense by applying the wrong title to her. “Just so, thank you.”
Given this, Hullvardr could hardly do otherwise than draw him down for a kiss, which only made him blush all the rosier.
As this scene repeated itself every morning, convalescence gave Hullvardr ample hours in which to reflect.
The evidence before him offered but one conclusion.
Tending to Hullvardr’s needs and wants brought Ephraim evident joy, a joy which Hullvardr belatedly realised he had denied his mortal lover all this while.
He resolved to find a way to continue indulging him in this delight after his own recovery without straining Ephraim’s frail form any further than absolutely necessary.
Perhaps it might suffice for Ephraim to gather the tea-tray together each afternoon; Hullvardr baulked at the thought of Ephraim arising before him after he’d healed up.
The only hour in which Ephraim left Hullvardr’s side was dinner.
He did so with evident reluctance and could only be convinced he did correctly with ample reassurance from both Hullvardr and Grytha that his fae lover would not perish if left alone.
Hullvardr was quite content eating what was left-over after Ephraim ordered double their usual luncheon from the tavern.
This did not prevent Ephraim from fussing over him upon his return, oft producing further delicate morsels from his pockets as he did so and apologising profusely for their somewhat crushed state.
Hullvardr dutifully accepted them, more out of affection than any hunger, but they suited his palate all the more for the earnest nature of the offering.
Each evening, after dinner, Ephraim slipped into bed beside Hullvardr. At first Ephraim had hesitated to join him abed lest he should stir in his sleep and bring his beloved still greater harm.
Hullvardr, however, knew first-hand that Ephraim was a very sound sleeper.
Upon hearing this, Ephraim seemed surprised and quietly confided that he had not known this about himself; he hadn’t shared a bed with anyone since university.
It was yet another fact of Ephraim’s life offered up casually and with a smile that nonetheless speared Hullvardr’s heart.
There were some folk who could dwell quite happily with only themself for company; Hullvardr knew Ephraim was not amongst them, and therefore sat heavy with the conclusion of what quiet lonely agonies his dear man had suffered for decades.
Aloud Hullvardr declared (truthfully) that he would himself sleep far more serenely with Ephraim in his arms. He did not mention that the thought of Ephraim slumbering alone in the garret ignited only despair beneath his breast-bone.
He instead poured this feeling into curling his long body around Ephraim’s delicate frame and soaking in the satisfaction of feeling his beloved’s ribcage expanding against his own chest. Ephraim might protect him during the day, but he reserved for himself the pleasure of defending his mortal all through the night.
While they were together and awake, on the hour—regular as the ticking clock itself—Ephraim offered Hullvardr his arm (alongside his crutch) and asked if Hullvardr would do him the honour (Ephraim’s words) of accompanying him on a turn about the room.
It was dull enough for an invalid and couldn’t possibly prove any less so for a man with two good legs still under him; and yet as Ephraim’s smile never waned and a genuine spark ignited in his eyes when Hullvardr accepted his invitation, Hullvardr very much felt chosen and stalking the perimeter of the bed-chamber to keep his blood flowing felt somehow like a promenade through Hyde Park.
Ephraim’s unstudied charm made Hullvardr desperate to dance with him when he was properly on his hooves again.
Perhaps, he hoped, he might coax Ephraim into joining him at Ostara.
‘Til now he’d avoided bringing Ephraim to the fae realms lest they overwhelm his mortal beloved’s admittedly-fragile heart.
(His literal heart: Hullvardr had felt it flutter out of time beneath his touch more than once and did not dare to test its limits.) The orgies of Midsommar and Mabon were obviously out of the question given how they over-set even the Holly King.
Ostara, however, had only dancing, and while Ephraim might not participate in the ceremony himself, surely it could do him no harm to witness it or to twirl on Hullvardr’s arm in their own rite.