Angel / Protocol / Part Thirty-Nine

PART THIRTY-NINE

Children in training to be spouses played house, just as children not in training did.

Unlike children who were not in training, the play wasn't true fun as much as it was a Council-approved activity by which learning was accomplished. Just as tiger cubs in the wild learned to hunt and prowl by wrestling with their littermates, children in training learned how to follow the rules of protocol by imagining themselves already married.

To that end, there were slight differences that could be observed if one were to watch children in training playing house side by side with children who were not in training. Specifically:

1) Male children in training were just as happy to join in the game as their female counterparts

2) Neither male nor female children in training would assign the role of husband or wife to one of their playmates, or presume to take such a role upon themselves.

It was because of such things that Wesley felt that the most ideal situation for any spouse was to be, as he was, promised to the Council while still in the womb. There was an understanding and an expertise about one's destiny that could only come from training that began from the very moment one's lungs first drew breath.

There were, of course, children who were promised later in life. Fourteen was the absolute cutoff, and those who were promised at such a geriatric age were only accepted due to political negotiations and not based upon any assumption of their future skill. When promised - *if* promised - they were given away to minor lords and ladies in much the same manner as one might bestow a party favor. Far more commonly they were merely toys, not considered worthy enough for a proper marriage, but still more valuable than a non-trained person of their age might have been.

Wesley had avoided such a fate, for which he was profoundly grateful. Though he did sometimes wistfully think of how great he could have been if not for his obvious handicaps (and as much as Angel so kindly tried to insist otherwise they *were* handicaps), he could at least rest content in the knowledge that he'd been lucky enough to be given every possible advantage towards his education.

Which meant that when Wesley was a child he, like his counterparts, would gather in the playrooms and indulge in the fantasy of what it would be like when he was older, and given to the one he was destined for. The food was imaginary, the tea sets and household items were made of wood, but it had been, for all that, a taste of what was to come. Of course there was no actual husband or wife to fill in the more specific details, but that hadn't mattered. The details were unimportant, fulfillment of duty was all that mattered.

It was, then, with an unmistakable feeling of childish glee that Wesley lead Zhanna through the hallways towards the guest suite. The actual details did not match up to the pictures his mind had sketched out years ago. He had pictured a proper castle, and a proper nobleman as the first true visitor to be attended to. But, even so, it was his and it was real.

Even as he walked beside her Wesley could not help but look around him with pride. Not in himself, of course, such things were unthinkable. But in his husband Wesley could feel immeasurable joy. The walls around them might not be carved into exquisite patterns, the floor beneath them might not be covered with rare and valuable rugs. But, on the other hand, they were *made*. They were all, in their way, signs of his husband's leadership. Signs that in so many ways Angel was a true king, and leader, for he forged his kingdom out of his own blood and sweat, and did not merely rule over something conquered centuries before and now required nothing save symbolism and paperwork.

Wesley glanced at Zhanna as they walked, wondering what she thought of all this. The marriage was recent, that much he could conjecture. But more than that was beyond his scope. For the first time he found himself missing the connection with other spouses. There should have been a network, a system of information easily relied upon which he could use to better serve his husband. Granted some of the lack of communication was due to his physical location. The rest was a lack of trust in the Council. Even so, this provided him with a possible opportunity.

They arrived at the guest suite without interruption. The rooms were empty, as Wesley had ordered. He opened the outer door to the suite himself, making a sweeping gesture of welcome. "For your Lord."

Zhanna nodded silently. She lifted her skirt up the scant half-inch necessary to make crossing the threshold easier, then slipped past him to go inside.

Wesley followed her, closing the door behind him. "On behalf of my Lord, it is hoped that your Lord shall feel welcome here."

Zhanna's face lit up with a bright smile. She all but leapt into his arms. When she spoke, her words were English. "Wesley, it's absolutely wonderful!"

Wesley grinned, hugging her back. Zhanna always had been a rather poor student of protocol.

"I couldn't imagine - I had no idea - " Zhanna's hands patted Wesley's back, light and soft like two little birds, or like Hieronymus settling against him for a nap. "And here we are! *Married!*"

"It is wonderful," Wesley agreed. He detangled himself, but only so that he could look at her. Her face was flushed, her eyes shining. He found himself smiling back, feeling an echo of their younger selves as he did so. It was *real* now. This was no longer play, it was what they *wanted*.

Zhanna did not go far. Her hands rested in his own, cold, but not unpleasantly so. "Your husband - he's so *handsome*!"

"I do rather enjoy looking at him," Wesley felt a disloyal pang at his inability to disagree with the note of surprise in her voice. The truth of the matter was that he'd expected Angel to be hideous as well. The reality of *that* fantasy had been quite blessedly different. And, fortunately for Zhanna, this was the part of the script in which they were expected to compliment one another's husbands. Unfortunately Wesley found himself hard-pressed to say something about Randolph which was both complimentary and true. "And yours is... engaging in diplomatic missions. How very nice for him."

"He's been quite interested in meeting your Lord," Zhanna said, replying, as Wesley had, with a positive statement which did not imply any ability for the spouse to claim credit for good things on their husband's behalf. "He hopes to form an alliance."

Wesley felt that Randolph vastly overestimated his own importance, but did not say so. "Let me show you around. The rooms have been set up for your Lord's pleasure."

"Excellent," Zhanna's blue eyes scanned the area. "It has been some time since my Lord has been in a Council-approved home."

"You shall find all of the necessary items," Wesley said. "And should your Lord need anything else, it will of course be provided for him."

Zhanna tugged at the heavy blue coverlet that was on the bed. Wesley saw her struggling to form the proper words. "I shall tell my Lord of this. With no disrespect, may I ask if *all* of the items are in place?"

"All of them," Wesley promised. He stepped back, revealing a small wooden box that had been placed unobtrusively on an end table. It was unremarkable, save for the gold lock which bore the Council's seal. "For your Lord."

This was, of course, a roundabout version of the truth as the box contained things only a spouse would need. Potions, ointments, tinctures, and powders of every sort geared to the specific goal of helping to maintain the illusion that spouses had no wants, no needs, no problems. Zhanna could never *ask* for help cleaning her garments, or healing her wounds, but Wesley could pre-emptively give her the assistance. And, by helping her, he was helping her husband. Had he gone to her home, she would have been expected do to the same in turn.

"Is Andrew with you?" she asked, rather unexpectedly.

"No," Wesley said. "It was... felt I could serve my Lord better without the distraction of servants."

"My Lord requires a potion," Zhanna said. "Something stronger and more worthy of him than my own efforts can create."

Wesley frowned. "Your Lord is unwell?"

"There is nothing wrong with my Lord at all," Zhanna said, her voice making it clear that she was only answering Wesley's question, not taking insult at the implication that there might be a problem. "He is perfect in every possible manner."

"But there is need for a potion," Wesley said, giving her a look to show that he understood the jist of who they were talking about, if not what.

"I only wish to make my Lord happy," Zhanna replied.

"I'll do my best to help," Wesley promised.

***

It was with no more information than he'd started with that Angel left Xander and Willow and headed back to his own suite. He didn't like this. Even at his worst, at his most soul-pained and sanity-lacking, he'd still had *some* kind of idea of what was going on around him. Not a *great* idea, not a *complete* idea, but enough that he felt content to sit on his particular patch of earth and defend it.

This was not good. This was a lot of unknown, and it was tied in to the two major unknowns of Angel's life: his kingdom, and his husband.

Which made sense in a way. Both the kingdom and the husband were things that Angel found himself caring about in spite of himself, and wanting to protect no matter what the danger, and damned if he knew how either of them really worked or why they stuck with him for this long.

Well: okay, Wes *had* to. But the concept was still the same.

Bad enough to try to nail that particular Jell-O to the wall on the best of days... and okay, possibly Xander was starting to influence *his* vocabulary and wasn't *that* a scary proposition? But point being it was hard enough as-is. Worse still when Angel felt there was a fox in his henhouse, only he couldn't tell which of the constantly moving animals had feathers or fur.

Except for the kitten. Not that Angel could understand *it* either, but at least he felt certain that it was one thing that made Wes happy, and as such it was nice to have around.

"Sire? Oh sire?"

Angel stopped. This couldn't be good. Wes had done his little dance of words and protocol. Angel was supposed to be alone right now, waiting for Wes to come join him. What he should *not* be doing is talking to Lord Clammy. Not that Angel ever *wanted* to talk to Lord Clammy, but he felt pretty certain that doing so without the safety net of Wes's watchful eye was a mission bound to end in disaster.

On the other hand, hard to ignore the guy now without knowing if it was going to set off an international incident.

Angel looked over his shoulder. "Hey... you."

Randy jogged up to meet him. "Your eminence, how fortunate that we would meet again. It is as if fate itself shone down upon us, and guided our paths together."

"Did, uh - " Angel struggled to remember the name of the servant Wes had sicced on Randy " - Paul not, uh, do the job correctly?"

"Your manservant Peter was very kind in his ministrations towards my care," Randy said. "I know not, your grace, if a Paul was to attend to me, but if he was I am sure he would have been beyond adequate for the task as well."

"Great," Angel said. He stared at Randy. Randy stared back. This did not seem to help matters in the slightest. "So... something on your mind?"

"I had hoped, your lordship, that we men of nobility might share a moment away from the crowds," Randy leaned in, speaking low as though they had a rapport, "and the demands of publicity."

Angel felt fairly certain that publicity didn't mean what Randy thought it meant. "Okay. Well, I guess I have a second if - "

"Excellent, sire, my heart sings to - " Randy stopped, frowning. "Ah, is your majestic highness aware that there is a small animal, perhaps feline in nature, which is inhabiting what seems to be the lower left pocket of your suit coat?"

Angel didn't bat an eye, nor did he look down at Hieronymus. "That's not in fashion where you come from?"

"We are not as advanced as you, your lordship," Randy replied. "But perhaps one as humble as myself might learn from your greater experience. Though you do not, of course, look any of the number of your years, save in that any who saw you would see in you one who has wisdom."

There were times when Angel really wished Spike was around. At the moment it was a toss-up as to whether Angel wanted him there to laugh at Randy as much as Angel wanted to, or if Angel simply wanted Spike there instead of himself. "Yeah, okay, well thanks for that. I actually think I'm supposed to do a thing right now, so maybe over dinner you and I - "

"With due appreciation, your grace," Randy leaned in again, "over dinner we will not be men of nobility with the solitude that is currently enjoyed between us."

"Which would be such a shame," Angel said.

"It would be no shame to share space with those to whom you are tied through blood and kinship," Randy said, "though it would, your lordship, tie the tongues that we would use to speak of such beings."

"Right," Angel said. "Which, again, would be a real pity because - "

"Particularly the tongues that we would use to speak of beings to whom we were married, your grace."

Angel blinked. This was bad. He told himself it was bad. It was *very very* bad to go behind Wes's back and talk to some pissant little freak about things that Wes didn't feel free to share on his own.

On the other hand -

"Hey look, a bench," Angel limped over to the side of the hallway where seats could be found. He sat down with a wince, knowing that he was soon losing his ability to deny to himself - and Wes - that he hadn't healed properly from his torture. Hoping Randy hadn't noticed, Angel decided to distract him with a question. "You wanted to talk about Wes - about my spouse?"

"A fine man," Randy skittered over to sit beside him. "A respectable man. Not that one such as you requires one such as me to provide what must be, for you, now known information. But as familial guest in your grand estate it falls to me to clarify that my respect is given, without asking, to you and to he who is yours."

Angel's head hurt. He made a mental note to at some point thank Wes for taking all the Council-approved bullshit speeches and parsing them down to things that, compared to *this*, Angel could understand. "Thanks?"

"It is with great joy that I sit here before you," Randy continued, "knowing he and now knowing you, and hoping that, should such a union be advantageous, there might be connection in future beyond that which fate has already decreed."

"Yeah, that... we'll talk about later," Angel said, feeling certain that he *didn't* want to talk about it at all but guessing that he should check with Wes first. "You were asking about Wesley?"

Randy's eyebrows furrowed. "Asking, your grace?"

"You were," Angel might not know how to speak Council bullshit, but he definitely knew how to lead a beta personality when the need struck him. "You were going to tell me about how you knew him before."

"Ah," Randy sat back. It was clear that he was fairly certain he *hadn't* been about to do that, but by the same token he could be convinced to do otherwise if it meant making Angel happy. "Yes. The prince. A fine specimen of Council breeding and education."

Now it was Angel's turn to sit forward. He kept the surprise out of his voice as he asked, "He is?"

"Oh yes, your lordship," Randy nodded his head, dislodging strands of hair out of his ponytail in the process. "Many were we who, upon blessed with the gift of introduction to his highness, thought and expressed wish and observation that were we to be honored with the bounds of matrimony, it would be a singular and pleasurable honor were he to be the intended."

"You *liked* W - his highness?" Angel asked. "You and others?"

"Most definitely, sire," Randy said. "Though I need not, I am certain, explain the benefits of bloodline and aspirations to such that other, far lesser men than myself, would have lusted towards in the name of advancing their own stations, I can speak to the knowledge that was shared - respectfully, admiringly - of the prince's talents, and of those who longed for even brief discourse with him, be such things only fleeting if that might be all that was allowed."

"And this was - " Angel puzzled it over, trying to take it in " - guys - uh, lords like you? Or others?"

Randy shook his head, not comprehending. "Men *and* women did long - "

"I meant rank," Angel said. "Was it just people of your rank, or did others want to marry him?"

"Rank was no limit to desire, your lordship," Randy said. "To my awareness, it continues to be of no obstacle."

"How close are you to the Council?" Angel asked.

"I have... some connection, your eminence," Randy said. "I was not unknown to them or they to me even prior to the bond between myself and my wife."

Angel checked the time. Wes was probably back in the suite by now, and either way it wasn't long before they were expected to have dinner. "We're going to talk more about this."

Randy stood up. He wiped his hands on his pantlegs, then offered one to shake. "With *honor*, with *joy* do I accept your invitation to - "

Angel ignored him. "Later. I'm going on alone now."

"Of course, your grace," Randy bobbed a quick bow, then scampered off.

Angel sat there, alone with his thoughts and a cat who couldn't answer any of his questions.