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Peja's Wonderful World of Makebelieve Import
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2020-11-05
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Fragments - Silver Goblet (version 2)

Summary:

As the rain tapped on the roof, Tony moved deeper into the shadowy depths of the room.

Work Text:

Fragment - Silver Goblet (version 2)
by lucinda



As the rain tapped on the roof, Tony moved deeper into the shadowy depths of the room.  One of many areas that had been carved out of the hills, this room served as storage for so many things that the family owned, things that they weren't using but couldn't bear to part with just yet.  He passed a rocking chair with a faded cushion on the seat, a pair of worn boots with broken laces, a pair of shepherd's crooks leaning against a tall wardrobe, carved with twisting shapes that he couldn't quite see.  A little further into the old store room, and Tony couldn't even hear the rain.  It was as if the world beyond this room had faded away, no longer anything more pressing than a memory.

Tony was confronted with another wardrobe, this one half draped with what looked to be an embroidered tablecloth, with vines trailing drunkenly over it, an assortment of flowers and birds scattered in their wake.  Several old trunks had been stacked beside it, with solid hinges and metal straps binding them together, corners bound in dull bronze that had started to turn green.

With a small shrug, he turned to move towards the left and deeper into the room.  If anyone asked, he would spin a story about cataloging the old heirlooms, sorting out what could be useful in the new wing that was being built for Marius and his wife, or the cottage for Cousin Emily.  If he were to be honest, exploring the old rooms and looking at old things - be they valued heirlooms or just old junk that nobody had found to throw out - appealed to Tony.  He had always been curious, perhaps too curious, pestering his family with countless `why's and `what's that's, asking for stories about the traditions, the old paintings, about the neighbors... Asking about everything.

A sudden crash of thunder made him jump, bumping into a stack of boxes beside him, toppling to the floor.  Several of the boxes fell beside him, with one bouncing off his shoulder.  Tony yelped; certain he would be left with a bruise and grateful that nothing more sensitive had been struck.

One box popped open, and there was the ringing sound of metal against stone.

Curious, he looked around to see what had made the noise.  The box was easily found, the old wood cracked at the corner where it had hit the stone floor.  He suspected that his had been what had struck his shoulder, and blinked at the realization that the impact had caused the lid to separate, and that the box now only held a length of old fabric.  Something must have been inside, something metal to have made that sound, and Tony was determined to find it, even if it proved to be something terribly boring.  It couldn't be very big, the box was not even as wide as his shoulders, and no deeper than his hand was long.

Tony's search immediately proved that the storeroom had not been safe from dust and spiders.  Several sneezes later, he found something. The metal was cool beneath his fingers, and he pulled it out from under a wicker woven chair.  A few spider webs clung to the side, and a puff of dust had settled between Tony's thumb and fingers.

It was a small silver goblet, carved with vines that could have carried grapes or perhaps flowers.  Tony suspected that he would be able to tell if the light was better, but all he had was one little candle, and that was several feet behind him on a massive chest that looked to be made from walnut, large enough to hold a yearling calf. The weight of it told him that it was sold metal, and had probably cost a fair amount of coin, both for the weight of the metal and the quality of the craftsmanship.

Tony moved closer to his candle, wanting a closer look at the cup.   It had the darker hue of old silver, with the darker areas deeper in the ornamentation that came from years upon years of handling and use.  Turning it a little, he discovered that the inside had picked up a rosy hue from all the rich wine that it had held.  The wine had probably been grown right here, made from grapes that grew on these very hills, pressed in the valley that his family had owned for centuries.

He wondered if his grandfather would know anything about the goblet.  Grandpa knew almost everything about the family history, who had done what amazing thing, who had been foolish, who had been brave.  He could tell stories of brave knights, of shrewd politicians and merchants, of brilliant innovators who had developed new vintages. Surely such a lovely silver goblet merited a story or two?


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