“Visitor” Mozart/Colloredo
They were still abed when Arco came. Wolfgang was dozing, nuzzled into the archbishop’s bare chest while the prince was drinking coffee and tracing some of Wolfgang’s feathers.
“Your Highness.” If their state surprised the count Wolfgang couldn’t hear it in his voice.
“Mmm?” Wolfgang could tell by the noise that Colloredo made that the prince was in a good mood.
“There is a visitor demanding to see your ...” Wolfgang could imagine Arco trying to choose a word, knowing well that the wrong choice could have consequences. Colloredo was quite picky with how his servants addressed him. “Companion, Your Highness.” He’d never seen any punishments for those that insulted him. Arco’s tone made him think there might have been some. He supposed it had been a while since he’d heard any mutterings of Fürstin.
Wolfgang half opened his eyes. Arco was fidgeting with his hands, nervous.
“And does this ... visitor have a name?”
“Leopold Mozart, Your Highness.” Wolfgang stiffened. Colloredo must have felt it as he stopped stroking the feathers of Wolfgang’s splayed wing and gave a few tender caresses to the musician’s head before resuming his earlier motion.
“Dismissed.” Wolfgang heard Arco’s acknowledgment and the retreating footsteps that followed.
Wolfgang sat up enough to look the prince-archbishop in the eye. Colloredo’s hand returned to the musician’s hair, resting there amongst the strands. A comforting gesture.
“It seems your father has come.”
Wolfgang nodded, his eyes falling. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“Do you want me to send him away?”
Wolfgang pressed his eyes tightly shut, scenarios flooding through his mind. “I-” Colloredo tilted the musician’s chin back up and Wolfgang opened his eyes. “He will only return, Your Highness. He’s just as pig-headed as I am.”
The prince pulled him into a kiss, long and deep and possessive in a way that was so distinctly Colloredo. “I suppose you were a bit pig-headed when you were younger. So very stubborn.” Another kiss, this time to Wolfgang’s brow. “But you grew out of it.”
Part of Wolfgang rankled at Colloredo’s statement. Deep down he knew it was true. He was so tame in Colloredo’s hands. He hated himself for it, sometimes. But oh, when the prince’s hands were on his body, when the prince’s voice dripped honeyed praise into his ear, when Colloredo touched his wings, oh, he forgot he had ever desired something so mundane as freedom.
“Let me send him away.”
Colloredo’s eyebrow arched.
“Even he is not so pig-headed as to continue to pursue a cause he knows is lost.”
Colloredo pulled him closer to kiss Wolfgang again, gentle and languid.
-------------------------------------------
“Leopold Mozart.” Arco announced his father.
Wolfgang supposed he and the archbishop made quite the pair. Colloredo was in his black ensemble, the gold cross that belied his rank on his breast. As if he needed it. There was something in the way the archbishop carried himself. No one could mistake him for anything less than what he was. Wolfgang himself was in his usual white, standing a step behind and to the right of Colloredo’s throne.
The musician took in his father’s darting eyes. He obviously hadn’t expected Wolfgang to be here. No, he’d expected him to be locked away in some back room with only a piano and his music for company. The archbishop didn’t tolerate the sort of behavior Wolfgang was known for from his servants.
“Your Excellency, I-” His father’s mouth opened and closed, as if he couldn’t find his next words.
Colloredo held up a hand. Just a few fingers really, lazily. His father shut his mouth. The prince then made a come hither gesture. He didn’t turn but there was no doubt it was for Wolfgang.
He took a step forward, to stand beside Colloredo’s throne. His wings were still, completely confident in what he was about to do even if Wolfgang himself wasn’t all that confident.
His father’s eyes flickered once more between the pair before settling on Wolfgang.
“Wolfgang, I-”
“Silence.” The archbishop’s voice cut through the air like a dagger.
Wolfgang swallowed. “Father.” His own voice sounded so calm, so steady. “I have found employment as a court composer to his highness the Prince-Archbishop Colloredo. I do not need you to manage my affairs.” He paused. There was one more piece he should say. “Your presence is a distraction. Leave.”
He took a few steps forward and turned toward Colloredo. He could see the glimmer of approval in the prince-archbishop’s eyes as he bowed. Colloredo gave a sideways nod. A dismissal.
Wolfgang felt his shoulders relaxing as he returned to Colloredo’s study, to the piano there. His mind couldn’t have conjured a tune even if he tried, but his fingers found one well enough, flowing, beautiful.
------------------------------------------
Hieronymus waited until Wolfgang was gone before speaking to the young musician's father.
“He came to my court the image of death himself and threw himself at my feet, begging for forgiveness. I think you, of all people, know just what it would have taken for him to do that. Arco, this man is not welcome in Salzburg. Now or ever.”
The count bowed and escorted the sputtering elder Mozart out.
Hieronymus made his way back to his study. The music that greeted his was anxious and slightly frenetic. Perhaps he should have been harder on the cur that inflicted the anxiety on his angel.
The composer paused briefly when Hieronymus placed his hand on Wolfgang’s shoulder, but resumed, his pace steadying, the anxiety bleeding away. Once it had gone Hieronymus went to his own desk. There was still much to be done before the day ended.
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Mozart, who is your favourite composer?
Das ist einfach, Stamitz!
If it weren't for him, music today would be wildly different! He was the master of simplicity, of elegance. Indeed, he pioneered the way of musical thinking that fully characterises the modern way of life; orderly, neat, and beautiful in its incomplexity.
If it weren't for him, I am sure my music, and that of my teacher the venerable Mr. Haydn, and of old Ludwig would be vastly different... Well, maybe not Ludwig. He seems to very much do his own thing with little care for the elegance of the Mannheim school of composition. Perhaps if he took a leaf or two out of their book his cadenzas might sound they belong with concerti... Oh, but I digress. Stamitz simply cannot be beaten!
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