eglantine_br (eglantine_br) wrote,

Of Several Dreams

Title: Of Several Dreams

Author Eglantine_br

Rating PG

Word Count 580

This one probably makes more sense
if you have read the one before it. That one is 'The Trouble with

Of Several Dreams

The dream came.

Kit stood before the black oak desk.
The man behind it was in shadow, but Kit knew him well. The man had
the list. Kit could see it, read it. It was written in a cipher so
simple that a child might break it. He could see the man's eyes. They
were, as always, hard, cold, sharp as flint.

“They are on the list.” The man's
finger pointed.

And Kit tried to explain that the list
was incorrect. That the intelligence was wrong. He had never, that
he never would --- But he was to explain in Greek. And he could not
remember his Greek.

He could not remember the simple words,
the clearest arguments. His mind failed him. His mouth was dry.

“No!” He could only protest in
ordinary speech. He could only cry out in fruitless protest, as
anyone would. His mother and sisters passed before him, mute. Their
death was certain. His fault, all his fault. He struggled to speak,
to move. He could not. He saw his father, taken last, struggling. His
hair was gray, and Kit could see in the dream how Father had grown
thin with the onset of age.

“Why won't you save us Christofer ?”
Father asked.

And he realized, looking down at
himself, that he could not speak Greek, could not find his words,
because he was not Christofer at all, but a stranger.


He woke, in cold horror, to the sound
of steps and the door opening. His heart was pounding, the room was
dark. He got his fists up, they were all he had.

“Easy now, It's me. It's me, Kit.
Hush, no, shh...”

Thomas Walsingham's arms around him,
and the warm skin of his neck, where Kit's face rested. The joy
flared, and then died, as Kit came fully awake.

“You were dreaming.”

And Kit did not say 'dreaming of your
uncle, who made me a spy.' The warm hand was stroking Kit's back now,
touching him knowing and kind, through the linen of his shirt. And it
was so easy to rest his head. It would be so easy to say nothing,
nothing of that, or of the other thing. No.

“You are to marry,” Kit said.

The caress stopped, but the warm arm
embraced him still.


“I'll no more of this then.” Kit
kept his voice quiet and flat.

“You could, we still could--”


“But I love thee.”

“Why tell me that now?”

He could not help the anger in those
words. And he drew back, but the pain in Walsinghams eyes was too
much. Kit looked down at his own empty hands.

“You want us both, but I will none of
that,.” Kit said “You must come to love her. You will get
children of her--”

Kit cocked his head.

“As to that, are you sure that you

“Oh yes,” Tom Walsingham said. “I
have been making a trial of my abilities.”

He smiled, with uncomplicated pride.
Kit felt himself smile back. He was aching with sorrow, but already
weary of anger

“But I am not married yet.” Thomas
Walsingham said. His voice was low and roughened now.He moved closer
to Kit. He smelled of complicated spices, and warm skin. His hair
was pale silk, and his touch was warm.

“Let me stay,” he said. And Kit

Tags: fiction, kit marlowe
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