His Butler, Beloved {KuroWattyAwards 2014}

V: His Butler | | Reminiscent

"My lord," Jasper paused in his washing of Ezzelin's back with the smooth sponge.

The Italian lad kept his head hung low and glanced over at the silver-haired man. "What is it, Jasper?" he asked in a bland, blank tone.

Jasper tilted his head and furrowed his brows in concern. "You seem . . . distracted, to say the least; is something troubling you?"

Ezzelin looked away from Jasper and stared out the round window next to the bathtub, up at the glistening stars and the full moon adorning the navy-blanketed night sky. "Yes." he said, as he carried his left hand from the depths of the warm, soapy water and slowly turned it about, examining it with a sad expression.

Jasper sighed heavily and continued washing Ezzelin's scarred back. "Young master, why are you so?" he asked.

Ezzelin plunged his hand back into the water. "My caretaker," he paused. "she used to sing this song to herself; it wasn't a happy song, but I now understand its meaning. Could you perhaps sing it for me, Jasper?"

The silver-haired butler raised an inquiring eyebrow. "What were its words?"

Ezzelin frowned. "It's almost as though she'd written this song for just me." He ran his left hand through his wet tresses. "The lyrics follow that of a nursery song of London Bridge's Falling Down; do you know the tune, Jasper?"

The man nodded his head in confirmation. "What human doesn't know its tune? I have asked myself."

Ezzelin chuckled. "I suppose now you are mocking me for wondering such a ridiculous thi-" Jasper wrung the sponge out over his master's head, exhausting his words.

"I would never mock you." said his butler, in a reassuring kind of tone. "What say the lyrics, my lord?"

Ezzelin gave Jasper an even look before saying, "Lonely meadow there upon, there upon, there upon," he paused. "a crumbling hill for dead has gone, dead has gone, dead has gone."

Jasper propped his elbows on the edges of the white intricate bathing tub and smiled at his young master. "Do continue, it sounds appealing."

Ezzelin closed his eyes. "Stood a hare whose eyes were gone, eyes were gone, eyes were gone. Came a snake whose mouth had grown, mouth had grown, mouth had grown. Sank its teeth into its leg, into its leg, into its leg. Fell the hare whose flesh rot off, flesh rot off, flesh rot off."

Jasper furrowed his eyebrows and sighed. "That's a rather vivid song, my lord."

Ezzelin nodded and stood from the tub. "Indeed."

Jasper walked over and grabbed the large creme towel and wrapped it around his master, helping him out of the tub and to the smooth tiled floor of the bathroom. "Let us clothe you and ready you for bed, then I shall sing it to you; okay, young master?"

The boy closed his eyes as Jasper stepped out of the room and brung in Ezzelin's long black silk gown. "Will this be suited?" he asked.

Ezzelin nodded subtly, confirming the garment. "Quickly." he said.

His butler walked back over to him and gently slipped the smooth fabric over Ezzelin's head and slid his master's small arms into the wrist-length, over-sized sleeves. Once the gown was on him, Ezzelin led the way to the bed and stopped next to it. "Sing it for me so I might dream of her." he monotonously said as he lifted the thick comforter up and slid himself in between the blanket and comfy bed.

Jasper smiled subtly and placed his hand over his right breast. "I could do no less, my lord." he said, removing his hand, he walked over to Ezzelin's bedside and removed his thin black glove then dragged out his large case from underneath the king-sized bed.

Ezzelin sat up and glanced over at him, his eyebrow arched in question. "What on earth have you there?"

Jasper chuckled. "Ah, curiosity!" he paused and unlatched the strange instrument's black case's three locks. "You shall see, young master."

Ezzelin squinted his eyes at his butler in suspicion as the silver-haired man slowly lifted the case's lid. Jasper reached down into it and pulled out, by its neck---an elegant, snow-white glossy cello. The tan Italian boy had never in his life seen such a marvelous instrument; his mouth had gone slightly agape from his gawking of the stringed beauty as Jasper placed it in front of his knees, holding it in the candle's light for Ezzelin to admire its beauty a bit longer before he removed the matching bow from the case. "When did you store this on the carriage?" he asked with wide, shimmering eyes.

Jasper closed his eyes and smirked as he lifted the bow up to the cello's side. "My lord, I do believe that you were not present when I loaded the carriage."

Ezzelin dead panned and crossed his arms, then made his fingers do a wave-like motion to Jasper; informing him to begin whatever he was about to play. Jasper's smirk widened into a grin as he dragged the rosined bow across each string, creating a sweet orchestra of soothing, dark notes as he began to play.

When did he ever acquire such a talent for playing the cello? Ezzelin wondered to himself.

"My lord," Jasper said as he stopped playing and looked over to the confused lad.

Ezzelin raised his eyebrow at his butler. "What is it, Jasper?" he asked.

Jasper smiled and placed his right hand, which still gracefully held the bow, over his left breast, then closed his eyes as if they were humbly bowing. "Allow me to sing you a different lullaby." He smirked and delicately carried the bow across the strings, this time in a different arrangement of notes---creating a much more deeper, eery tune.

Ezzelin frowned. "How is this to make me fall asleep, Jasper?" he asked.

Jasper peered his crimson eyes up to his master and smiled as he continued to play. "Patience, young master." His eyes then flashed a vibrant fuchsia and his pupils changed from a circular form to a slit. "Your slumber will come shortly, you must close your eyes and lay your head upon your pillow first." he said, as if speaking and playing the cello at the same time were a simple task.

Feeling uneasy, but calmed, Ezzelin did as his butler had said--he closed his eyes and placed his head on the pillow, opening his ears to attentively listen as Jasper opened verse with his deep, Italian accented voice:

Alone they sinned,

and followed the wind

Came a soldier,

tall the hind

Drew his sword,

sheathed in blood

Hushed the fire,

that reckoned within

Swallowed the pain,

gone his mind

Came the wolf,

devoured his form

Stood a ghost,

over the corpse

Strode the demon,

whom beckoned him forth.

Gone his soul,

gone his form,

their bond is torn.

"Jasper," whispered Ezzelin, who had sat up and allowed his own mouth to dry from how agape it had remained for the past couple of minutes.

The butler removed his bow from the strings and smiled at the young boy. "Young master?"

Ezzelin fiddled with the fine sleeves of his silk gown and sighed. "Good night, Jasper." He lay back down and closed his eyes, turning his back to his butler. "Keep watch over me tonight."

The silver-haired man placed the white cello back in its case and looked at his master with a thoughtful expression. "Always, my lord."