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It is times like this that Jensen wishes he possessed some of the Eglantine skills. Standing in one of the alcoves and watching the merriment and splendor of the Midwinter Masque, he yearns to be able to record it in it's full flavor and likeness. The Houses of the Court of the Night Blooming Flowers had outdone themselves this year, and the hall was filled with all manner of creatures out of myth and fantasy. The Adepts of Gentian House drifted among the crowd carrying censors filled with incense and amber, their outfits bearing the moon and flowers of the house arms. Eglantine adepts clothed entirely in white with fantastical masks and flowered headdresses break into song or dance as the mood strikes them, a stark contrast to the adepts of Valerian who wear what appear to be torn and bloodied rags which reveal tantalizing stripes of flesh as they mingle. Orchis adepts have adopted the theme of faerie creatures for the night and flit from place to place with gossamer wings, peals of laughter following in their wake.
He has consumed several glasses of joie and as the horologist calls the hour, he watches with veiled eyes as the Winter Queen and Sun Prince are revealed, he knows neither of them but he is D'Angeline after all and appreciates the beauty they radiate. Yet even as the revel swings into high gear, he finds himself wandering to the hall and retrieving his cloak.
Making his way down the passage to the quiet garden where Jared awaits, he wonders again at his Casseline's refusal to spend the Longest night in prayer and quiet contemplation as do his brethren. When he comes upon the plot where Jared should be, he stills and catches his breath. Jared is kneeling amidst the artfully created wilderness of the garden, his curling hair falling forward to hide his face as he bends his head in prayer. He has removed his vambraces and plate armor, for once only clad in a simple jerkin and trousers. Eula blessed the D'Angelines with beautiful forms, but the strength and faithfulness of his convictions adds another shining layer of beauty to the warrior as he kneels in the breaking rays of the rising moon.
Jensen marvels again at the strength of this middle son, and his eyes covetously trace the long sinewy muscles of back and the gentle curve of his buttocks as they meld into the powerful thighs. He longs to brush his fingers along the pale stripe of skin exposed at the base of the Casseline's neck naked above the collar of his jerkin. He wants to feel the skin shrink and swell beneath his fingers, to hear the indrawn breath of sudden desire from Jared as he touches that private skin and at once, feels as if he is intruding on something sacred. Backing away silently to press himself against the wall in shadow, Jensen tries to calm his racing pulse and cool the burning flush that covers his body. He is no trainee to react so to a bit of bared skin but yet it takes a few moments to regain his composure.
All thoughts of the Masque and it's treasures pales now, and he wishes fervently to be able to record this moment of stolen time upon the book of his heart.