Flower of Scotland

[Nerweniel]

Flower of Scotland


The standing woman hummed a soft, Scottish tune as she, with a firm hand, wiped the remains of her last class of the term off the blackboard. The class behind her was empty, as her beloved girls had all ran downstairs already, but Jean- for that was the woman’s name- knew she had still a moment’s time before the Leaving Feast would start, and just for once, she enjoyed this loneliness.
As the last word disappeared from the black surface, the woman smiled. It was neither a smile meant to be noticed, nor a really cheerful one- but it was a smile, and she was quite aware of the fact that it was that smile which made her beautiful. With a quick pat on her thick, blonde hair, she turned around- only to look into the deep, brown eyes of a man.
She opened her eyes to scream- and it was only then that the mask of her rich imagination disappeared- and with another, though smaller, smile, Miss Jean Brodie greeted the man who’d been a colleague of hers for quite a few years now.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Lloyd.”
“Good afternoon, Miss Brodie.”
Jean nodded and flashed him a smile as he sat down atop of one of the tables. An uncomfortable silence fell as she put the piece of cloth she usually cleaned the blackboard with away- and the woman couldn’t keep herself from looking at her colleague with slight interest.
She had noticed him long ago, of course. One of her two only, male colleagues and certainly the most handsome of both, she’d noticed him with quite a bit more than just the usual curiosity of a colleague. But then, well- it had been over even before it had started. A handsome man, a little older than herself, with a past of soldier in the Great War, alright.
But a married handsome man with four children?
No, marriage did not fit in the perfect plan she had laid out for herself- such a useless institution anyway. And he was a Roman Catholic as well. She merely snorted at the mere mentioning of that- institute. If there had ever been an organization she preferred to stay far away from…
Yet she had to admit, as an afterthought, that Teddy Lloyd did not look like a Roman Catholic ought to look.
In fact, those brown eyes did have a certain something- accompanied with that boyish smile of his, and the bohemian-like way he wore his hair.
Fearless.
And reckless.
Jean shook her head, chasing those bizarre thoughts away to the back of her mind, as she tentatively stepped closer.
“What do I owe the honour of your company to, Mr Lloyd?”
Even though that line had come out as terribly stiff and rather forced, somehow she felt it was the only way she could safely communicate with this man now. As soon as she’d moved her feet to stand closer to him, she’d known it had been the wrong decision, after all- and his brown eyes boring in her blue ones felt wrong.
Horribly, terribly wrong.
He did not respond, though. Silencing her with a quick gesture, Jean could restrain a small cry from escaping her lips as his large hand grabbed her jaw and turned it to the side.
She did not protest, though. The look in his eyes was that of the art teacher, of the painter- not anymore of the man. And for some reason, that mere idea made her feel relieved already.
As he released her head from his grip, Jean turned her head again to look into his eyes. A strange feeling of sadness filled her- but she immediately suppressed it, and lifted her chin a little.
“Mr Lloyd, I am not used to-”
“Visit me at my studio one day, Miss Brodie. This is the address- I’d like to paint you.”
Before Jean could utter any more words, she found herself standing there, a dirty little piece of notebook paper held tightly between her fingers- and for the first time in her life, Miss Jean Brodie found herself totally speechless.
“Oh by the way, do call me Teddy.”
And the door closed behind his back.

***

“And when, I wonder, have you turned into this utterly preposterous woman, Jean Brodie?” said woman muttered, combing her hair in front of her bathroom mirror. She read the badly hidden nervousness in her own, big blue eyes and hated every bit of it.
“Jean, you are going to visit a colleague. A married colleague. A Roman Catholic, married colleague with four children.”
It didn’t quite suffice. With a last look in the mirror to check the bright red summer frock she was wearing, the woman set off- knowing that this man held some bizarre kind of power over here and hating it with a passion.
She was spoilt, of course. Used to being in charge in everything she did- even at school. Even there she had never quite been the obedient employee the school headmistress had wanted her to be- and she knew that the older woman disliked her for it.
But Emmeline Mackay was a woman, and Teddy Lloyd was a man.
That was the great, crucial difference, which Jean Brodie, even to herself, barely wanted to admit. She knew she was a reasonably pretty woman. She knew she could make man run for her if she wanted to- but there was more.
Jean Brodie liked men, liked them a lot, and yet she prided herself on the fact that she had never allowed one of them to trick her into marriage. She, namely, was in her prime- thank you very much- and she would not be caged.
Why was it then, that Teddy Lloyd had rendered her dumbfounded by two lines and a few looks- by a merely artistic interest in the lines of her face?
A rather indignant snort echoed through the empty hall of the house where she lived, as she closed the front door behind her back, taking her bicycle with her.
The wind in her hair and on her cheeks made her feel considerably better- and once more, as she felt the noises of the city engulf her, Edinburgh, as it lay there in the afternoon sunshine, gave her strength.
She was in her prime, and one man was not about to change that.
Her back perfectly stiff, her neck perfectly rigid, Jean felt her tartan cloak billow behind her back in the soft, summer wind and once more felt proud to be a citizen of Edinburgh.
Born somewhere on the Scottish countryside, young Jean Brodie had quickly decided that a life between the sheep was nothing for her. Edinburgh had been the big challenge for her, it would all start there.
But now, more than twenty years later, if she was honest with herself, and that she was, Jean had to admit that it had not quite started yet.
A fresh gust of wind, though, wiped all depressed thoughts away again. She was in her prime, she was a teacher- and, most of all, she had her girls. In other words, she was perfectly happy.
As she rode her bike into the small hallway of the address he had given her, it was with a determined gesture that she threw her stole over her left shoulder. Teddy Lloyd could paint her. Alright.
She was interested in art- and beauty, and truth- and who could be painted better than a woman in her prime, after all?
But she would remain composed- like the Mona Lisa.

[Nerweniel]

“Jean, is that you?”
The baritone voice of the painter echoed through the hall- and even though Jean quite raised her eyebrows at this casual use of her first name, she did start to ascend the steep, wooden stairs in front of her.
“Second floor- door’s open!”
She knocked on it nonetheless, though- and her knock on the door sounded firm and just as professional as she had wanted it to sound. Two short, curt knocks, separated in time by only a mere second, and she forced a small, greeting smile on her face as she pushed the door open.
“Yes- yes, do come in.”
A smile crept into the dark brown eyes of the already slightly wrinkled face as the man turned around, a paintbrush in his hand, left hand extended towards her in greeting.
“Jean! Welcome to my studio- there’s some tea over there, if you like, and you can put your cloak on that chair.”
A slight movement of his head indicated a small sofa in the corner of the room, and Jean rather stiffly nodded as she turned towards it.
“Very well, Mr Lloyd. Thank you.”
As Jean dropped her cloak on the couch, sitting down beside it, she poured herself a small cup of tea. Earl Grey- her favourite. She wondered whether he had known- but no, that couldn’t be.
“Call me Teddy, by the way.”
His voice, terribly close to her ear, almost caused her to spill some tea, and she turned her golden blonde head with a brusque movement, brutally meeting his brown-eyed stare this time.
“I shall call you Mr Lloyd, and you shall call me Miss Brodie- till further notice.”
She hated being this close to him. It felt strange, as if he was in charge, and that he was not. Of course he was not.
With a faint sigh and a sip of her tea, she allowed her eyes do wander through the rather big room she was sitting in. It was obviously an attic, but it was just as obviously a painter’s studio. Perhaps the best way to describe it was “a mess”, but that did not quite do the place justice.
It was more. She felt at home in this studio, even though she could not explain it. It fed her romantic mind, in a way, and on the other hand it was so undoubtedly worldly. The romance came forth more from the area it was situated in than from the place itself, she reckoned, but it was true.
The so-called “historical” part of Edinburgh, which she had visited so often with her girls, looked entirely different in the late afternoon sunlight, and she could not but admire it. It seemed so quiet, so very peaceful- and yet somewhere in its depths she had found this man, so restless and careless and so obviously an artist.
Yes, she did admire him. How could she not- she, who had always revelled in everything artistic? How could she not like these surroundings, with the smell of paint in the air and paintbrushes everywhere?
As he took her by the arm and guided her to a chair in the middle of the room, the look in his eyes was no longer one of the easy merriment of earlier. It had changed into something no less deep- but- different.
It was as if only now, he really saw the woman beside him, and the cool, blue glare with which she challenged his own eyes could not but fascinate him- and on that moment he knew.
She deserved to be painted- she had to be painted.
She was quite the sight indeed.
“Are you seated well- Jean?”
It had been a risk, but he’d taken it- and she smiled.
“I am- Teddy.”

***

“Now just turn your head a little to the left, Jean- yes, just a little-”
Jean obeyed and flashed him a slight smile, quickly regaining her posture at his slightly raised eyebrow. Stifling a small yawn, she stretched her back once more- and she knew what he was thinking. It was getting later and later- and still his paintbrush was racing over the fabric at an incredibly high speed.
At first, she had felt slightly weird about his constant looking at her, but with a nod of her head and a faint smile, she’d got used to it, and in fact, now she enjoyed his casual and- of course- totally artistic attentions more than she wanted to admit.
She was being painted. The mere idea gave her a strange, excited feeling, low in the stomach. A feeling of importance- of holding the world between her slender fingers for once- instead of the usual, small piece of chalk.
She was important. Finally. Her face was being painted- the look in her eyes. And even if she would ever get past her prime- not that that would ever happen, of course- at least that glorious period would be etched against the windows of time by crafty hand of- of Teddy Lloyd.
She sent the man another smile, turning her head a little bit in the process. His frown came quickly and immediately, and as she tried to correct herself, he merely stepped from behind his easel.
“No, Jean- not like that. Gently- no, gently-”
He rested both hands against her cheeks now, as he crouched down in front of her, concentration obvious in every muscle of his face. As he stroked her cheek so as to move it into a different position, she smiled.
She could literally read the look of confusion in his eyes- and could only mirror it with one of her own. All of a sudden, the silence was neither comfortable nor enjoyable anymore- and as the painter got to his feet again, Jean glanced up to him through her long eyelashes. An uncomfortable pat on the shoulder was the only thing she got, and as he continued his work, she sighed.
“Teddy, do you have a little more tea for me?”
The painter looked up from his work once more. With one, experienced glance at the near-finished painting in front of him, he shrugged his shoulders as he put his paintbrushes in the glass of water beside him. A true artist knew when to stop for the day- and that moment had come.
His concentration was gone, and whatever he’d do now, it wouldn’t do any more good anyway. Looking at the woman sitting in front of him, he recalled exactly how he had lost that never-failing focus of his- and wondered how it had happened.
He’d had many female models over the years, lots of them prettier or way less clothed than Jean Brodie, and yet never had he felt so positively disturbed by her mere presence that it even hindered his painting- his painting, which was the very essence of himself.
As he took a bottle of wine- his last bottle of wine- from the closet against the wall, he felt her eyes boring in his back, and didn’t know what to think of it. The look in her eyes made her a beauty, he knew- along with that bizarre, radiant smile of hers, but she was not like any woman he had ever seen or even met.
“Is a glass of wine okay?”
He barely heard her answer, though.
The look in her eyes reminded him of- something much greater and more important than she was, and for the first time he understood that rather ridiculous of her “Brodie girls” for their teacher.
Oh damn yes, how he understood.
As he handed the woman sitting beside him on the couch a glass of the cheap, red wine he often drunk while painting, she flashed him a subtle smile as she took her first sip.
“Oh it’s very nice, thank you.” she remarked, staring at her leather-clad feet in a rather prudish way- and Teddy almost grinned.
Oh, lady, so now we’re in spinster-mode once more, aren’t we?
The artist moved entirely on instinct as, neither knowing nor caring about exactly what he was doing, he flung an arm around the sitting woman’s waist. The next moment, his lips crushed down on hers and what he’d never expected would happen, happened- she did not pull back.
Neither of them heard her half-emptied glass of wine break into pieces as it fell on the floor.

[Nerweniel]

Jean did not know what exactly was happening. She’d been staring at her feet, reflecting on her own bizarre feelings, as all of a sudden, a muscular arm had pulled her closer. A wet mouth on hers had swept her off her feet in no time, and entwining her fingers with his dark brown, almost black hair, she gladly pressed closer to him in an impulsive movement.
Of course she had kissed men before- many men- but this was different. The tingling sensation inside of her chest proved that- as well as the look in her eyes. With a slight feeling of panic low in her stomach, Jean realized that she was not in control. For once, she was not in control, and it frightened her more than she could say- but with a slight feeling of defeat, mixed with the lightness the wine caused in her head, she realized that she did not want this to stop.
As, with a slight groan down in his throat, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her towards the simple bed in the far left corner of the room, Jean never released him from her almost desperate grip.
Teddy smiled against her lips. She was tall, but thin, thus not heavy, and as he dropped her atop of the tartan bed covers, he took a second of his time just to look at her. Golden hair ruffled, cheeks flushed, blue eyes staring at him in both surprise and longing, she was a wholly different picture from the woman he had painted just a few minutes earlier.
And yet she was eternally prettier like this, in all her passion and carelessness and- freedom.
As she stretched her cotton-clad arms to pull him atop of her, he knew, with every bit of artistic blood flowing through his veins, that he had been right in his first observations of her. She was distinctly different from every other woman he had ever known- she was…
“I love you, Jean.”
His voice was husky with emotion and desire as he lowered his mouth to hers once more, fingers toying with the top buttons of her dress. There were too many of them, but his fingers were the fingers of an artist- and she was eager to help him, almost tearing his shirt off his shoulders in the process.
Their tongues fought a battle of the titans for supremacy- yet none of them won, and Teddy felt a familiar tug of energy below his waist as her fingers massaged the back of his head.
Why- did she have to be- so damn- wonderful? Why did she have to be so goddamn irresistible, as she’d sat there, with that prudish little smile on her lips and yet in her eyes that bizarre, untouchable tone of leadership, of heroism.
He could not entirely grasp what she was, or what she was to him- but in fact it didn’t matter anymore. His pants and their underwear quickly joined her dress and his shirt on the floor as their kisses grew more and more passionate. As he felt the woman beneath him shiver, Teddy pulled the covers over them- but the next moment, he knew very well that her trembling had a wholly different reason.
Gazing into her blue eyes for some bizarre kind of reassurance which he knew he didn’t need anymore, Teddy could only see desire- desire and- was it love? He could not be sure- not entirely, unusual woman as she was- but he was glad because of that.
Finally, finally a woman with whom he did not have to be careful, afraid she would break. Finally a woman who could be his equal in desire, in ecstasy- in life itself. Finally a woman who he could love- who would understand what he meant when he spoke of loving.
He could not be sure of Jean Brodie. He did not know whether he’d ever be sure.
But he wanted her.
As he took her with him to heaven itself, moving in a rhythm beyond human imperfection, beyond earthly unimportance- and finally they were together in paradise.
As they fell down again- her sweaty leg over his, his arms around her- Teddy knew he’d caught a glimpse of who she really was. And the only thing he was sure of was, that he wanted to see it again.
When, later on, they lay together, sated and sweaty, tired but triumphant, Teddy knew, looking down on the woman beside him, that she was the prettiest like this. Stark naked, blue eyes closed, blonde hair wet and thick and ruffled- but beautiful in every single way.
No, she was not the prudish school teacher he had painted on that night. But one day he would paint her like this- Jean Brodie, the real one.
And that night, Jean fell asleep with the words “I love you” on her lips.
She even believed they were true.

[Nerweniel]

Teddy was the first one to wake up in the morning, as the first ray of sun fell through the closed curtains right on the face of the woman beside him. Jean was still snuggled tightly against his chest under the covers, and as he softly stroked her rosy cheeks, careful not to wake her, he could not but smile.
It was strange, but only now did he really study her facial features. He had been painting her, he had been making love to her- but only as she slept did he feel safe to really look at her, not having to worry about meeting that strong, unfaltering blue gaze of hers.
With a soft thumb, he traced her features as if painting them, seeing them, for the very first time. She looked peaceful in her sleep- more peaceful than he knew she’d ever be while awake. He did not know her all that well, perhaps- but he knew her well enough to know for sure that whatever she was, Jean Brodie was no peaceful woman.
The line of her mouth proved that- rosy, yet firm and determined as it crossed her pale skin- as did her nose. Slightly longer than usual, he noticed with his artist’s eye, it proudly rose from the whiteness of her face as a token of her free spirit. Yes, she indeed was beautiful, and a joy to the eye of a painter- and yet the one thing which added most to her beauty was hidden as she lay there. The electric blue of her eyes, which had looked so magnificent even in the near-darkness, was invisible now, and he could only see it with the blissful eye of memories. A very vivid memory, too- and yet it wasn’t enough.
He’d never get enough of her.
As her eyelids fluttered, mere minutes later, the artist inside of him wished he had the power to get up and get a sketchbook- but the man inside of him knew that he couldn’t leave the bed now. He wanted to see her wake up.
As her eyes fluttered open, he all of a sudden recalled a tune- very old, a tune of his childhood, and even back then it had been centuries of age…

O Flower of Scotland,
When will we see your like again?
That fought and died for
your wee bit hill and glen.

He did not know whether anyone had ever “seen the like again” of the true Flower of Scotland- but one thing he did know. If anyone had ever come close, then it had to be Jean Brodie.
Flower of Scotland, yes- that was how he would call the painting. It was the only title which could possibly fit her. Flower of Scotland- the jewel adorning Scotland’s crown.
The first look in her expressive, blue eyes, though, was more one of surprise- shock, even- than of joy, but immediately she pulled herself together and smiled, resting her head against his chest once more.
“Good morning, Teddy…”
Her voice was hoarse, yet soft as she sat up in bed, a blanket wrapped tightly around her chest. Teddy smiled as he lazily raised a hand to stroke her cheek.
“Good morning, Jean. Slept well?”
“Very well, thank you…”
He could not but feel that their dialogue was forced and their words empty- and it hurt him. As she started putting on her clothes, he noticed the look in her eyes once more- and realized, with slight wonder, that a frightened doe did perhaps come closest.
Before he knew it, she was standing in front of the door, her bag and cloak in her hands, muttering something about “leaving for Italy”- and as she turned around, he read some kind of fear in her eyes, mingled with a sadness and- softness which he loved, yet could not explain.
“I must go, I am going to Italy, and my train does not wait.”
She’d hardly looked in his eyes since waking up, and as he stepped closer, he could almost feel her reluctance.
“Can I-”
She did not pull back as he, once more, pressed his lips to hers, but when he, finally, released her, she left nonetheless.
“Goodbye, Teddy.”
“Goodbye- Jean.”
Teddy Lloyd would always remember that day as the day the love of his life waltzed into his life- and waltzed out of it again.

[Nerweniel]

Thirty years after that blissful day, two walking silhouettes quietly made their way onto an Edinburgh graveyard. The elder of them, a man, was leaning heavily on a walking stick, while the younger one- a woman in the end of her twenties- was apparently looking for something. Her long, dark brown hair was pulled back into a thick braid, and her eyes were big and grey as she turned towards the man again.
“Father, I think I’ve found her.”
The ticking of the walking stick against the stone of the path quickened considerably, as the now grey-haired man with the dark brown eyes came to stand beside his daughter.
What he looked down upon was a simple, grey marble gravestone. It was not richly decorated, nor very spectacular, but it fit nonetheless. It fit- it fit her.

Jean Louise Brodie
1898-1945

Who shall find me a virtuous woman, for her price is far above rubies?

The irony, sheer irony, of the question on the gravestone almost made the man smile bitterly- and yet he didn’t. Perhaps this was the way things had to be- perhaps it had been his, her, their fate after all.
There was but one text, he knew, which perhaps, perhaps, fit this woman- the true Flower of Scotland- better.

The hills are bare now,
And autumn leaves lie thick and still
O'er land that is lost now,
Which those so dearly held…

Tears came in the man’s eyes as he bowed his head. Yes, of course he loved her- still loved her. Of course he had never stopped loving her.
“Father- are you ready?”
The voice of his daughter made him look up, and slowly he nodded.
“Coming, Jeanie.”
And arm in arm, Jeanie Lloyd and her father walked into the sunshine again.

The End

[ginger newts]

Aw, sad but beautiful. I like how you covered the before and after. Well done.

[QuillofMinerva]

Oh my...the end was so sad.

I loved the story so well done Lies

[Rikki]

Great ending! But a bit sad... But I loved it nonetheless.

Love, Rikki

[Hogwarts Duo]

Oh how incredibly sad but it was a great story! I love how you described their meeting in his studio and the morning after. Hope you'll do another Brodie fic in the near future! ^_^

[KayleeTonksLupin]

Yes, by all means, do another Brodie fic. You must pull me further into this world of Brodie-ness I as yet know nothing about except for what you told me and this fic. It seems very intriguing and altogether Minerva-ish. Must learn more.

Je t'aime,

Kaylee

[LinZE]

I loved this - yay!
and i have to say that the following verse of the anthem is rather poignent to (in my humble opinion)
Those days are past now,
And in the past
they must remain,
But we can still rise now,
And be the nation again,
*grin*
thanks for sharing
xLx

[osusprinks]

I watched the Prime of Miss Jean Brodie a few months back after reading about it on the board and actually (though I loved Maggie) didn't really like it. Your story changed my mind some how. Thank you for that.

[childminerva]

great fic...I watched The Prime a few months ago as well, and only because of this board.

[StormAngel]

great fic... I totally have to watch that show again... I taped it down a while back..

[primadie]

Wow!! Beautiful writing, well done!

I especially liked the descriptiveness of it.

-And to those who didn't like the movie, I would suggest watching it again. It grows on you