Aftermath

Author's note and disclaimer:

Reposted by request.

This is based on the book, but with a more mature concept of Howl's courting of young ladies and his moral code. I found Howl's predation on young virgins to be curious and got to thinking about possible causes while also looking into the rocky road of his and Sophie's developing relationship.

I do not own anything and write out of love of the story, not to benefit from Diana Wynne Jone's work.

AFF Warning:
Each chapter should have something citrus flavored, see Chapters for warnings.

Lime only M/F HxS (mushy kissing and some groping)

000O000


Chapter 4
In which a wizard is engaged

The morning in Wales was gray, drizzly and not yet started. In Ingary, where a window in the ominous moving castle was letting in the dull, gray Welsh dawn, a wizard was waking up. Howell was not used to being awake at such an early hour and he was not used to being held down by a beautiful woman drooling over his body nor to feeling so damned happy. He shifted slightly, nestling her under his left arm. She didn't wake. He touched the wet circle on his shirt and smiled. Silk. He'd have to see about that before the water stain set. His finger moved to her face, tracing the outline of her lips. He felt her body move closer to his. Small movements, sleepy movements, loving movements. Rolling to his side, he gave the top of her head a little kiss. He watched her smile and giggle, a thing he never would've imagined coming from Sophie a few days ago.

She remained asleep and he debated how far to push. His body had a ready answer. It would survive denial, though it wasn't accustomed to it. He nearly jumped when she moved her thigh against him, rubbing slowly up, then back down. Just as he considered reconsidering his restraint, she stretched one arm out and yawned, smiling up at him. The day might not have dawned sunny, but her smile more than made up for that, Howell thought. “Good morning, cariad.”

She had a dreamy look to her eyes and let her arm fall across his chest with a soft thump. Howell's eyebrows raised, but he couldn't let a chance like this go, so he returned the gesture, letting his hand trace the line of her body, from her shoulder down to her thigh and back up again. Sophie burrowed her head into his chest, eyes closed again and murmuring words in some sleep induced language. Damn, he thought. His hand quested up and down along her body until he forced himself to leave it on her shoulder. He couldn't have gone back to sleep if his life depended upon it; his body was wide awake and fully attuned to hers.

He twined his feet with hers, taking contact with any bare skin he could manage. She rubbed her clothed body against his, forcing him to swallow the moans he felt rumbling in his chest. How could such innocent touch drive him insane? He shook his head as her hand began to explore the fabric of his shirt. He watched understanding flood into her face, followed quickly by a blush. She looked down and he stopped breathing for a second; would she pull away? Sophie pulled herself up to face him, nose to nose. He stared deep onto her eyes, looking for answers, but unable to read what he found. Howell wanted so much to kiss her. Like an answer to his prayer, she leaned closer and kissed him. A peck on the lips, but it made him so happy he wrapped both arms around her shoulders and pulled her into rolling hug, repaying her one kiss with hundreds of his own, on her face, neck and shoulders. She pushed away now, but laughing in a throaty way that sent shivers to his toes.

“Howl,” she said, pleasantly. “Um, good morning?” She leaned in again and pressed her lips against his. He let her control this kiss. Her eyes were open, curious. His lips moved only when she seemed to want him to. Howell let the look in her eyes direct him and he parted his lips slightly, whispering Welsh phrases of love until her mouth relented and she gasped at the feel of his tongue on her. He didn't push, didn't force his way. Instead Howell teased her by slowly licking against her lips, then smiling at her and kissing her nose. She looked faintly annoyed, a common look on her face when she was a ninety year old woman, but it didn't sit well on her eighteen year old skin. She licked him back with a flick of her pink tongue. Good, he thought. He closed his eyes and the gap between them, his lips seeking a closer union with hers; his tongue following hers back inside, into the warmth of her mouth. This time her gasp was buried under his satisfied hum. He teased her, running his tongue along hers, touching the roof of her mouth, laughing as her shock gave way to understanding and then to desire. A buzzing began in the back of Howell's mind. It was a sound he was quite familiar with. His multi-track mind was working on a problem and as a solution began to present itself, all of the lines of thought began to converge. Rotten timing, but...

“Paper!” He pulled himself away from her as fast as he could. “Sophie! My quill, quickly.” Howell hated to destroy the moment, but was equally unwilling to risk losing this brainstorm. Sophie was on the side of the bed with his desk but she looked at him dumbly in spite of his best hand gestures miming his desperate need to write. “Sophie!” His face was excited, hazel green eyes wide open and about to give up on her understanding. Just as his outstretched hand began to call the materials to him, she stood up, reached and grabbed them. The net result was Sophie being dragged by a floating quill and sheaf of parchment, with the ink pot knocking her in the head. He ignored her cross mumblings as soon as the quill touched his hand. Sophie remained standing and shook her head as she left unnoticed by the wizard who was flinging ink so fast in his scribbling that drops stained the bed around him leaving a Howell sized clean spot.

A few hours later, a fully clothed wizard came down the stairs. “Michael, I'll need you in the yard.”

The apprentice was picking dishes up from the table. He was dressed in his fancy suit and his face fell. “I thought we were going to Kingsbury?” Sophie, who was arranging flowers into several containers, stopped and watched Howell as well.

Howell scratched at the stubble on his chin with ink stained fingers before he answered. “We'll just send a message with our regrets, this will be much more fun! I promise. Calcifer?”

The demon didn't answer and Sophie shook her head. “He went out a few minutes ago, did you want a shower?”

“Yes, but no, that's alright. I wanted to ask his opinion on some details. Perhaps it would be better to get a woman's perspective.” He smiled a killer grin at her and she blushed. Michael's stare alternated between each of them as if he couldn't believe what he saw. He shook his head and muttered as he finished the dishes.

Howell turned his attention back to Sophie. “From a woman's point of view, if you could imagine a perfect male, would he be your height or taller?”

His dry delivery caught Sophie off guard, but she stopped staring at him like he was insane and addressed the flowers instead, “I suppose I'd like him taller.” She blushed when he scribbled that down, keeping his eyes on his paper.

“Stout or thin?”

“Oh, a bit thin, but not as underfed as you,” she needled, but again he didn't react.

“Any preference regarding hair or eyes? A blond perhaps?” This time he did look up at her as she thought. Michael also turned to watch. She blushed and couldn't look at either of them.

“Is mud colored an option?” Calcifer had appeared unnoticed and his voice took all three of them by surprise.

Howell laughed, “Well, I'm not sure we'll have much control, I was just curious what color to change my hair to.” A small bucket flew across the room at Howell's head, but he dodged it easily. “Sophie! A man can't be in mourning his whole life, I've got to dye my hair sometime. Anyway, I think my roots are starting to show.” Howell ran a hand through his hair and turned to address the fire demon, “Cal, if Michael ever finishes the dishes we'll get started on the shell.” His apprentice fairly dropped what he was doing to run to him.

“What's a shell?” Michael asked, rubbing his hands dry on his velvet suit. Howell winced, but handed over a sheet of paper. “Errands?” He stood reading over the list as Howell walked toward the door to the yard.

“I'll need those as quickly as you can.” Howell's hands moved in a seemingly random pattern and Michael began to disappear, but not before he was able to shout, “A doll?!”

Calcifer and Sophie both stared at Howell. The fire demon recovered quickly, shouting, “Howl, you can't be serious! A humonculous? Come on! You can do better than that!”

The wizard shook his head. Who the Hell did they think he was? Some stupid hedgerow mage who could only think on two levels? He ignored the complaints and looked over at Sophie's bed. His sheets were folded up neatly at the foot and he walked over to them. There was a faint striped pattern to the damask, but they should do fine. His favorite Turkish cotton, high weave sheets. Well, there would be some sacrifices, he supposed. Cleaned and folded, he smiled at her thoughtfulness. Without explanation, Howell picked them up and walked outside. In the yard, there were occasional burn marks in the grass. They looked like different sized feet and he knelt to examine the damage. Some were semi-circular and all had the familiar scent and aura of Calcifer. Howell frowned at them then crossed to his pile of scrap metal and got to work.

It was mid-day when Sophie came out to offer him food. “Howl,” she said as she set down the simple lunch. “About the King's summons?” She paused while he crossed the yard and sat down, acting interested in the bread, cheese and ham. “I don't think you should just ignore him like that. You are the --”

“Co-Royal Magician, thanks to you.” He pointed a long finger at her nose and smiled when she blushed.

“Yes, well, um, what I was wondering was if we shouldn't send someone,” she said.

“Ah, yes, I'd forgotten.” He scratched his head. There was a reward involved. A grin formed. “What about you?”

She blushed, apparently having had a similar idea from the start. “Well...”

“Oh,” Howell said. “You can't go dressed like that. Not if you're to represent our family!”

Her eyes widened as his hand came up and touched the fabric of her dress. He stood, slowly tracing the outline of her breasts and pulling her close. His fingers moved along the gown continuously. Sophie pulled back, her arms flailing against him until he laughed lightly and released her. “What do you think you're doing!” She faintly panted in her anger, but Howell took one of her fists and twirled her with it, admiring the fit of the new gown on her young body. The stitches were perfect. She looked annoyed, probably by the fact that he could do magically what she had practiced all her life with needle and thread, he thought. “Oh,” she said, looking at the whole of the gown. It wasn't just in fashion, it was a whole new style. The high waist flattered her figure and tucks here and there added interest to the lay of it. The color was the same blue that she'd gotten used to, but the fabric was richer and there was a shine to it that caught the light as she continued to swirl in the sunlight, laughing lightly.

“There,” he said. “Now to your hair,” and he pulled her close again, burying his hands in her braids and using his leverage to urge her into a kiss by nuzzling his slightly rough face against hers. Her eyes held a trace of the earlier mistrust, but already the colors within the irises were changing. She held her breath as his lips neared, hissing it out as he nibbled. Howell felt a thrill run through him when she finally kissed him back. He opened his mouth slightly, whispering her name and she allowed him to deepen the kiss. His hands kept moving, easing her braids out and encouraging her hair to form a loose bun style he'd seen in the city not long ago. Her lips were soft and encouraging, her tongue driving him wild with its tentative tastings of his mouth. Even when he had the hairstyle, Howell kept the kiss going, relaxing into her strong arms and enjoying her willingness. One of the warding spells alerted him to Michael's return, and Howell pushed away, panting slightly. Sophie pulled him back down within seconds, reclaiming her hold on him as he listened to the voices drifting out the open door.

“Howl! I got the things, they didn't have a boy doll... well not that I could notice--”

“Uh, he's a bit busy, kid,” Calcifer said in a gentle voice. “Look around, who's missing?” Howell heard some odd hissing noises from the fire in the pause. Was Calcifer trying to mime kissing?

“What's he... oh, are they?” Michael seemed in equal measure confused and horrified. Howell imagined he could hear the teen blushing. “Last night they were fighting? I don't get it.”

“Don't look at me,” the demon protested. Then in a softer voice, “I think they kind of like it that way.”

Outside in the yard, Howell laughed low and soft, breaking the kiss but moving to nibble his way to her ear. “I think we need to continue this later; you've places to get to and I've magic to work.” He pulled back and watched her face as she came back from wherever her passion was leading.

“You barely touched your lunch,” she chided him. Ever practical Sophie, he mused.

“I will.”

Her hand rose to touch the hair style and she looked down at the dress again. He pulled her toward the house and she followed, but not before getting a good look at his project. “Howl? Whatever are we going to tell the King?”

“Hmm, oh, tell him it's a secret project. Perhaps you could lead him to think it's new armor?” He looked at the metal chest plate that lay in the sun.

“Oh, yes... is it?” She looked at him and back at the gleaming scrap.

Howell felt a familiar tingle in his mind. “It will be,” he muttered. “Just not yet.”

“I wasn't thinking of that, though.” She entered the house, bustling about as normal, despite the looks of surprise Michael and Calcifer gave her new appearance. “I was wondering more about what I should tell the King and Queen about me. I can't rightly tell them I'm your mother or go as your cleaning lady.”

“I thought that was obvious?” Howell sat in the chair nearest the fire. He waved one hand casually. “You're my fiancée.”

Sophie seemed unwilling to breathe and the others had similarly stopped moving. Howell was the only one unaffected. He stood up with such force that Michael had to dodge the skidding chair. Howell walked over to where Sophie stood, her left hand on the table. He stood before her, feeling naked under her eyes. And not in a fun way either, he thought, it's unfair that she made him feel so vulnerable.

“Happily ever after?” His voice was tight with tension. This wasn't how it was supposed to work! Howell thought vaguely of a suitor kneeling before his lady love, but pushed that out of the way. Calcifer and Michael dared not make a sound. Howell bluffed on. “Please give me your hand,” he asked and Sophie was strangely compliant. He took her hand in his and with his other hand briefly turning scissor-like, cut off a lock of his hair. Howell put the hairs around her ring finger and the fibers turned from black to a dark brown. He encouraged them to twist into a circle. Since she hadn't pulled away, he bent forward to kiss the ring, enchanting it and willing it to turn into a gold band. “There,” he said.

“There what?” Sophie said, her voice barely above a whisper. Protest was warring with acceptance in her eyes. She glanced at the ring. It gleamed in the light, the smooth gold betraying nothing of its origins.

Howell smiled. “Now you can go back to the King and accept whatever commendations he has in store. You're the true hero, Sophie.” He pulled her to him easily and she formed her body along his, as if she knew that was where it belonged. He held her hand tightly in his. “This ring will help you get home safe afterwards.” Howell's joy was so great, he was sure his heart would burst, but instead laughter began to bubble from his chest. He kissed the top of her head and she looked up at him, smiling. “I don't want you getting lost in Kingsbury again.”

The lovestruck smile faded from her face, “Oh, and how will I get there?” In fleeing the Witch of the Waste, they'd cut off their doorway into the city.

What's the point of being a powerful wizard if you can't show it off? He kissed her nose and with a gesture threw open the mansion's door as a footman raised his hand to knock. “Your coach?” the man said, bewildered.

“Now hurry darling, and remember to carry yourself as the beauty you are.” He let go of her and Sophie took a few steps toward the doorway, then gave him the oddest look and left.

Once the door had closed, Howell seemed to deflate, leaning against the table for support. What had he done? Others would know... his little Sophie, his sweet present wrapped in curses, would be out in the open. He swept a hand along his forehead, a wrinkle imperceptibly settling in, and listened to Calcifer stage whisper to Michael, “You owe me that bucket of fat wood.” He raised his voice, addressing Howell, “That was the dumbest thing I've ever seen you do, and that's saying a lot!”

Howell shook his head, still looking at the door. “How so?”

“The ring? Hello! What if she loses that? Think how easily it could be cursed!” Calcifer took the silence as affirmation and went on, “so how's my shell going?”

Howell thought for a moment. “I don't think it's such a risk, Cal. The Witch is gone and I can't think of anyone else who would--”

“A string of broken hearts ring a bell?”

“But there isn't a witch or wizard stronger--”

Calcifer sighed. He interrupted, speaking as if to a child, “Howl, you don't need a strong person to cast it, not if you've got something from the body of the person. You know that.”

Howell waved his arm distractedly. “If she loses it, it'll just end up in a trade shop and I can track it easily. No one will know what it's made of unless she tells them.” Unease began to creep, why would she tell anyone? Why wouldn't she? Howell knocked aside the feeling of foreboding. “Come on outside and bring those things, Michael.”