Liou scribbled a thing (Medieval)

[Liou]

<_<
Well hi. I'm going to toss Medieval fics in here. Some day.




Wrong Steps
(Canon, 1314 - maingame, Day 7)

SPOILER: Click to show

The stiff, waxy smile stayed on her face for the whole morning, flitting from room to room and from noble to noble guest. It was the smile she gave to some of the princesses, while helping them to get ready for their day. It was the same one that she gave to the incredulous senior maid later on, who could only allow her to spend the rest of the day at the festival, after her work had been done at an inhuman speed.

It became just a little tense when she passed other servants and heard whispers of her suspicious activities on the night of the feast. It was still the same smile when she promised a Stallion lord to meet the Shadows, and when she helped a young Jade lord to find the new queen's apartments.

She could tell that people found it unsettling, that they did not feel as comfortable speaking to her when she was a constant whirlwind of almost ferocious activity. That suited her very well; it reduced her chances of being approached and interrupted in the Keep's corridors, or on the street. She didn't even need to use her excuse - that she was bringing someone a spare outfit for the festival.

The streets were already teeming with tipsy festival-goers in extravagant masks and outfits, and harassed-looking servants rushing back to their masters. A lone girl carrying an oddly shaped bundle would be the last thing on their minds. She darted down the street, ignoring the fun and games.

The more illustrious visitors came to the festival in carriages and used cloak rooms that would probably be guarded. However, the common performers had a few tents and trailers that, with any luck, would be left mostly unattended during their shows.

Laurie finally found a small, deserted tent at the back of the lot, with little more than a dirty mirror inside. The waxy smile finally faded away. He set down his cloth bundle and contemplated what he was about to do, which was, of course, madness. The number of things that could go wrong was dizzyingly high. A single snag would be enough to shatter the disguise that he had so carefully constructed over all those years.

Since the second mission at Jade manor, his friendly voices had not spoken a word inside his head. Were there three left now, two? They were too weak for him to count. His memories of them and what they were capable of were growing fainter, too. He would not even have their small comfort to help him.

For what seemed like the hundredth time, he considered giving up on the plan, putting the clothes back where he'd found them and never trying again. It might be his only chance, though - no, it was his only chance, what with his dangerous outings for the Shadows and their tense relations with the nobles, on which his sisters' fate now depended. She was waiting, and she wouldn't wait forever.

It had been so easy to interact with Rosie, at first. There was nothing strange about an ordinary girl interacting with another girl, getting close and holding hands. Everything was simpler when Laurie looked normal. If only he could keep his job forever. If only he could stumble upon a powerful mage in grave danger and, like in bedtime stories, accidentally save the mage's life. To show their gratitude, surely they would spare some of their magic to make him normal somehow.

He undressed quickly, as if ripping off a bandage. One brief glimpse of his difform, unnatural body in the mirror made him avert his eyes. He couldn't bear to think of what would happen if someone came in now. One by one, the pieces of his stolen outfit wrapped around him, obscuring once more this unsightly freak of nature.

The finely embroidered, deep purple jacket and trousers were special in that they had been tailored for a very thin man. They had vanished several weeks ago; no one would be looking for them now. Most important was the headwear. He pinned his hair up tighter than ever and guided its knot into the fancy hat, before fastening the satiny mask with trembling hands.

Would this outfit betray him again? Would he look like a girl in a ridiculous attempt at a masquerade? He chanced a look at the mirror.

A different person had materialised inside the tent. The tailored outfit had stretched his body, patted it into shape, added padding in all the right places. The shoes gave him a height boost that was completed by the hat and its plume. The collar flared and rose high enough to conceal the frailty of his neck. Even the smile that slowly etched itself below his mask was different. With his face concealed, nothing could betray him. It was a man that stood before him.

If that was how other people would see him, Laurie could walk out. The weight of the fabric on his skin acted as a shield. Even the slight restriction of his vision by the mask added a kind of intangible distance between him and the outside world. He would never know if he did not try.

He waited by the entrance of the tent, listening out, his heart drumming wildly; then he stepped out into the light.

The sky stretched above him. He was in the open, but he was completely covered. He found the nearest decorated tree, climbed up to its first branches easily - even in his heavier outfit -, and hid the bundle of his clothes in a nook.

The crowd, with its warmth, smells and noises, waited just a few yards from him. He took a few deep breaths and headed out, placing one foot in front of the other mechanically. He wondered if his legs or his poise looked strange. No one seemed to notice him, though. He reached one of the main walkways; people hurried right past him, close enough to touch. A few more steps and the crowd closed around him.

There were casual people in ordinary clothes, and others in rich fancy dress costumes. Every burst of laughter made him start and wonder if it was directed at him. It was not. He felt warm bodies brush past him, but it was not really him. It was the man that had been in the mirror, and strangely enough, Laurie did not mind if people bumped into him.

Someone's shoulder rammed into his chest, making him stumble. It belonged to a peasant, a jovial-looking man who had absently shuffled backwards while laughing with a group of friends, ale in hand. The man did a double-take when he took in the fancy masquerade costume. Laurie tensed - was something out of place?

"Pardon me, m'lord," the man called out with a bow of the head, before returning to his conversation.

M'lord.

He looked like a lord.

He certainly felt like a lord. His walk became more lord-like with every step he took; he could almost feel himself growing taller, his shoulders broader. He straightened his neck and raised his chin, giving courteous nods to people he passed, who responded with slightly deeper nods. He felt respected.

He caught a few groups of ladies glancing at him, in that furtive way he had learned to recognise from the maids at the castle when they appraised passing nobles. He was being appraised like a noble. The very thought of it made his chest puff out like a happy balloon.

Vendors were advertising their goods, calling for passers-by to sample treats and drinks.

"This young master seems like a man with a fine palate, one who'd surely appreciate some of this excellent black currant mead! Would you care for a goblet, milord?"

He was about to reply when a tiny prick of unease nagged at him. He had not practiced changing his voice; it could still give him away. This little masquerade was only a small taste of how he would walk later on, after the new queen's wedding, if everything went well. There was no need to draw unnecessary attention onto himself. He gave the merchant a hopefully gracious smile and a wave, but kept walking.

More vendors glanced his way, possibly hoping to have a finely-dressed gentleman endorse their goods. People were flocking towards the square where the dance was scheduled to happen. The twangs of instruments being tuned already sounded in the distance. Rosalie would be waiting there. If she had come.

The last times they had met, Laurie had let Rosie's sweet, bubbly charm win him over much too easily. He had to keep his cool this time. It would be dangerous to get his hopes too high.

It was not unlikely that he would simply catch a glimpse of Rosie in the distance, exchanging pleasantries with a bunch of strapping young men and preparing to enjoy the dance with them instead. That would be perfectly fine, he told himself calmly; much better, in fact.

The dance floor opened in front of him, surrounded by garlands and decorated trees and overlooked by a small stage on which the musicians were preparing to play - with a few drinks in them already, judging by the looks of their faces. He strolled casually along the edge of the floor, scanning the rows of dancers for any sign of the keymaker. He was just a mysterious, elegant stranger come to grace the festival folk with his presence. A stranger whose breath inexplicably caught whenever he spotted a girl with a knot of blonde hair.

Rosalie had probably gone home already. He let his eyes wander over the final group of dancers - not that there was any chance of spotting her, perhaps, behind the next person. He was just being thorough. There was definitely no sinking feeling of disappointment in his stomach. At last, he reached the end of the dance floor and automatically lowered his eyes.

Then Laurie’s entire world was turned upside-down, because Rosie had been there the whole time, waiting; she had wrapped her arms around her knees, and she was crying.

His carefully constructed composure evaporated and he let it go in an instant, deciding on the spot that nothing in the world should ever be allowed to make Rosalie Dylas cry again, and his first act as a prince would be to declare that an official crime, even though she was crying because of him - no, she was crying because of her, the wrong Laurie, the maid.

An inexorable force seemed to reach into his chest and pull him forwards, but it closed on nothing, as he had already stepped up to Rosie, bowed and extended a hand. He had come to be a prince and he was darn well going to be a prince.

Rosie raised her head. Their eyes met; hers glistened with tears like pools of water under a rainy sky. A pang of fear seized him for a second, freezing him in that posture like a statue - what if she recognised him through the mask, what if it had slid out of place? Then Rosie's hand was in his.

The sudden, warm touch sent such a jolt through Laurie that his body moved of its own accord, helping her up and leading her towards the floor. They took their place among the dancers, not a moment too soon. He couldn't take his eyes off her face. He was in no position to reach over and wipe her tears, but she did that herself and gave a tiny smile, like a shy ray of sunlight peeking from behind a cloud.

The music had begun, a well-known song in the region. Rosie's hand was almost weightless on his, yet she might as well have him pinned to the ground. There was no escape now. He was trapped in the crowd and any push, fall or stumble could reveal his masquerade in front of Rosie.

He glanced at the sea of other dancers who wove in and out of sight around them. What if there was someone from the Keep who might recognise him? The odds were astronomical, but Laurie did not know the faces of everyone who worked at the castle. At least the dance steps came to him naturally; he didn't have to worry about that, thank Garrick.

Rosie was there to meet him at every step, flitting around him like a butterfly, eclipsing everyone else. Her skirt blossomed out with every twirl. Her cheeks were pink from dancing instead of crying now. She was all his to admire; Laurie could gaze uninterrupted at her delicate features, the curve of her arms, the smile that was slowly chasing the sadness from her face. A few strands of her hair bounced merrily along with her key pendant.

Laurie happened to have already danced with real, full-blooded princesses, when they needed practice for their lessons. He could say without a doubt that dancing with Rosie was better.

An incredible thought dawned upon him: he was dancing in public, dressed as a man, with a beautiful woman. They looked like a couple, she with her natural prettiness and he decked in his finery. Fairy tales had nothing on them. All the strangers in the crowd were now witnesses of what he had wanted to do ever since he was a little boy, his hopeless dream suddenly brought to life in a rush of sound and color.

Rosie responded to his every move. They could only hold hands and link arms, yet he felt connected to her entire lovely being through that small area of electrifying contact. He was perfectly content with it; it was more than enough to send butterflies through his stomach, making him pleasantly light-headed in a way that had nothing to do with the crowd.

The music transitioned into a softer song. Laurie slowed down, matching his steps to the rest of the dancers' almost unconsciously. Rosie inched closer. Then she leaned against him.

He was instantly flooded by her warmth, her scent, a brief tickling sensation from her hair, the form and weight of her body that settled onto him through the friction of their clothes, and the crowd that still surrounded them. He wanted to throw his head back and scream just to release the overflow of his perceptions, but it wouldn't do to move away now, not when she was resting on him.

Suddenly, he felt her breath blowing against his ear. A wave of heat washed over him. He thought his head might explode. It was all too much to take; he went completely numb, helpless to move. It took him a while to register what she had said:

"Who are you?"

That was a very good question. He couldn't have answered it even if his voice accepted to come out.

Right now he was much, much closer to her than he had ever imagined, with nothing more than a few layers of fabric to conceal his body - what if she noticed something strange about him, she would definitely sense something strange! Rosie's own heart-shaped key lay under these clothes, nearly touching her. It was all Laurie could do to breathe, stay put and let his arms adjust around her, with a small smile of apology.

She was gazing up at him; he couldn't tear his eyes from hers. They might have been standing on their own tiny planet because sweet 'Woo, she was his entire world right now. Please, let her not recognise him. Rosie had come for the maid. He didn't want her to learn about him, not here, not now.

The last few trills of music finally announced the end of the dance; the dancers stopped with varying degrees of grace. Laurie, still quivering under his costume, went back to holding Rosie's hand. He found some air to breathe again. Every burst of sound from the dancers near him made his skin crawl. He wove his way towards a quieter space on the side of the dance floor, flinching every time someone brushed past him. Rosie seemed content to follow him.

He had made it out alive somehow. His mind still couldn't grasp how close he had been to Rosie, how she had allowed him to touch her. It would all have been a dream, except that Rosie's dainty hand was still nestled comfortably within his. Laurie didn't know how to hold an entire person at once, but her hand had been perfect. He needed to honor his lady somehow.

Laurie glanced at Rosie's face, then lowered his head cautiously - now would be a terrible time to drop his hat or mask. His lips brushed against Rosie's hand. In that tiny moment, he tried to take it all in, to memorise the warmth of her touch. He straightened, his heart pounding, his head swimming because oh goodness, he had sort of kissed a girl. Like a Lord.

Rosie's hand slipped away. The butterflies in his stomach fluttered to a stop.

"I'm sorry. This was very nice but I'm afraid my heart belongs to someone else," she said.

Laurie nodded mutely. Of course. If the lady spoke it, then so it was.

But had she not told him otherwise before? Had she not given him the heart-shaped key?

"It's me," he thought numbly, "I'm right here..."

But of course she did not know him. His costume had turned into a barrier from behind which he could only watch, he, the impostor who had taken advantage of her and tricked his way into her good graces.

The lady had dismissed him. He gave her a curtsey - no, a bow, he had to give a bow while in these clothes -, then turned away and slipped back into the crowd.

Warm bodies pressed heavily against him from all sides. He was immersed in a neverending sea of people, their heads too high around for him to see a thing. He felt naked, as tiny as an ant about to be crushed. He couldn't have pulled out his dagger even if he had enough room to maneuver. Voices and shouts had fused into a deafening, unintelligible cacophony. If anyone spoke to him, their words never reached his ears. His head was so full of the sounds and sights of other people that it was as if he didn't exist inside himself anymore.

Laurie was starting to think that he would never make it out, when the crowd finally parted and he could breathe again. He had emerged from a walkway and onto an empty stretch of grass. The performers' tents caught his eye; he wasn't too far, thankfully. He stumbled mindlessly towards them, remembering to clamber up one of the trees and catch his old clothes, his lifeline.

At last, he found himself in the small, cloth-enclosed world of the tent again. The pieces of the costume fell to his feet like dead leaves. For a moment, he allowed himself to curl up in the center of the tent, revelling in the empty space. His ears were still ringing.

When he raised his head, he was greeted by a bundle of skinny, shivering limbs huddled inside the mirror. He tore the pins out of his hair and let it fall in front of his face, gazing at the curtain of its locks instead. The empty maid dress lay in front of him. He fiddled with it glumly for a moment, then slipped back into it with a sigh. The costume of the person that Rosie did like. Maybe. It didn't make him feel good, but it made him feel safer when it shielded his skin. He tucked the heart-shaped key out of sight.

The maid patted her hair, skirt and smile back into place. It was time to get back to work, and she began by folding the masquerade costume neatly, her hands falling back into their pattern.

King Garrick would have danced a lot better at the festival, had he been there. Well, soon enough, everyone would see him dance. Tonight, if she played nice enough with the Shadows, her sisters would return, and she would be able to sneak into Stallion Manor and bask in his presence again. She couldn't wait to hold the nobles' possessions and to run in the night, under cover of darkness.

[Liou]

Shinko let me post our collab here! \o/


To Make Instead of Break

SPOILER: Click to show

“Woo above and Pit below, when will this blasted arm stop hurting?” Morgaine exclaimed, swiping her locksmithing tools aside with a grimace of exasperation. It had been a month since the events of the coronation, and business was finally starting to pick up for her again. She was getting commissions from people around the city, and had even been approached by a steward from Raven’s Keep about preliminary plans to eventually work on some of their damaged locks once the walls and ramparts had been repaired. There was just one problem- she physically could not fill those commissions.

The Courdonian thief who’d attacked the shop the day before the coronation had come perilously close to taking Morgaine’s life. He’d failed, thanks to the quick intervention of Leif and Jeniver Jade, Xavier Lynn, Ilaria Braide and Kirin Mao, but it had been a remarkably close call. She would never regain the use of her left eye, and her right arm had suffered severe nerve damage that left it with a constant muscle spasm and made it almost impossible to close her hand into a fist. The healers said it was mending, but there was no telling how long that would take, and in the meantime Morgaine couldn’t work. If she couldn’t work she couldn’t make money to feed herself and Rosalie. They had a nice buffer of money saved up, but she didn’t know how long it would hold if she wasn’t making any profits.

With an exasperated sigh, the woman leaned forwards so her head was pressed against the counter and rubbed her temples with the good hand.

A headscarf made for very flimsy protection, but it helped Laurie feel at least a little bit more discreet in the streets of Medieville. He didn't think it safe to change his identity and walk in men's clothes yet, and kept wearing a slightly modified version of his maid dress instead. At least his youngest sisters had returned home, which was reassuring in several ways: the king's people and the Shadows were not trying to arrest him or interrogate his family, and there would be more girls to help Briar at home. He finally had time to look for a proper job.

He removed the headscarf shortly before reaching the Lock and Key Shop, which he visited often to check on Rosalie. His relationship with the girl was going remarkably well; so well, in fact, that he was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his emotions in check around her. It did not help that he could relate to her problem with that overbearing Courdonian prince. That only made him more anxious to keep her safe.

After Rosie had told him about the Courdonian rogue's attack on the shop, he understood that fear only too well, the sense that someone out there might be plotting harm against you and had the power to infiltrate your home. Just the idea that someone had dared to invade the territory of his loved ones put Laurie in a cold fury. He would use whatever time he could spend at the Lock and Key Shop to make them at least a little safer.

Morgaine's injuries, too, gave him a jolt of anger that he had to bottle up. He did not dare imagine how much worse it could have been. After the way she had cared for his sisters without even knowing them, and after everything Rosie had told him about her, the locksmith represented a kind of paradigm of generosity to him.

He had been startled by her calm reaction a few days before, when he had let Rosalie explain about his gender. He had entrusted the explaining to her because she would know better than him how to put it for Morgaine, and it would be a shame to have the keymaker keep a secret from her partner. Laurie wasn't completely off his guard yet, though. Morgaine might just be testing him.

He knocked on the door and entered the shop.

"Hello- are you all right, Madam Braham?" Seeing the locksmith with her head on the counter, he walked briskly to her side in case she needed assistance.

Morgaine was surprised when she heard a knock on the door- most people just walked in, it was a store after all- and looked up with her undamaged eye. A tired smile played across her face.

“Ah, hello Lawrence,” she said. “I’m fine, I’m fine, just contemplating how I’m going to manage to keep my business going until my arm decides to behave.”

She lifted the limb in question, which chose that moment to give a helpfully violent jerk, and made her wince with pain.

“But don’t mind me; you’re looking for Rosie, I assume? You actually just missed her I’m afraid, she’s gone out to erm… work on her sale’s pitch, if you catch my drift.”

"Oh. All right." Laurie hoped that arm twitch was not as painful as it looked. At the thought of Rosie's ‘pitch’, he had to hold back a smile.

"You both seem to have a lot of work at the moment." He eyed her arm again. "Is there anything I can do to help you, while she's out?"

Morgaine was surprised by the offer, but smiled. “Hm. Well a lot of the work I need to do that my arm isn’t cooperating for is rather specialized…”

A thought seemed to occur to her, and she chuckled softly. “Though I suppose given your previous occupation perhaps you might have at least some passing knowledge of how locks work, so maybe you can help me. If I walk you through it verbally, you think you could stick the pieces of a lock together and solder them in the forge?”

Laurie tensed at the mention of his previous occupation - was she mentioning it out of scorn? Was this a challenge? Whatever she asked of him, he would show that he was up to the task, on his best behavior. Fiddling with locks in a perfectly legitimate fashion.

“Of course, I will follow your guidance. Tell me anything you need.”

The tensing wasn’t missed by Morgaine, and she smiled sadly but didn’t comment on it. “Well c’mon over and sit down then- let’s see what you can do young prince of keys.”

Laurie blushed a little at the nickname and lowered his head, pulling his hair back into a tighter bunch before coming to sit with the locksmith. He wondered what he looked like in Morgaine’s eyes, now that she knew about him. Should he use a deeper voice to make a better impression? No, he hadn’t practiced enough. Better focus on the actual work. Rosie would probably hear about this later. He had to give it his all.

The locksmith held up a finished padlock from one of the displays. “First off, did you know that I can pick locks? It’s actually a somewhat lucrative aspect of my business. People lock themselves out of their houses depressingly often, and if the key is inside the house and they are outside and no one else is around who can let them in, the only way to get inside is to jerry-rig the lock. A professional locksmith, of course, is the first person you go to when you have issues with a lock. So I get to let silly people into their locked houses at least once a week. ”

Laurie lamented the fact that he had not come across any of those silly people; they might have given him some more legitimate work.

She reached into her tool belt and withdrew a set of nine steel implements of varying shapes and lengths. “These are my lockpicks. Dunno how similar they’d be to what you’re accustomed to, but I imagine you can figure ‘em out all the same. Now where it gets fun is in the how. Tell me Lawrence, have you ever seen what a lock looks like on the inside? Do you know why tickling them inside the keyhole with a bit of metal can pop ‘em open if you’re patient enough?”

He admired her kit; it seemed so professional and superior. "Oh, I never had that many picks, I just used whatever I found." There was no need to sound as if it was something he did frequently. He was just glad that Morgaine did not consider lockpicking an insult to her profession.

"I've never seen the inner parts, actually. I just feel... little things inside, that move." There was no need to sound like a complete idiot either.

The old woman smiled. “There are different sorts of locks, and different picks work better for different kinds. The kind you’re the most used to is probably what I’d call a pin-and-tumbler model. I’ve got an incomplete one I show to customers that I can use to show you how it works.”

She set down the finished padlock in the desk and pulled down what was essentially an identical padlock, but without a faceplate. “If you look at the inside, you can see all the little pins just above the keyhole. There are usually at least five pins, sometimes more, and each pin is in two halves. But the halves aren’t sliced in the same place on every pin. When I stick the key in, it’s been ground into a shape that presses the pins just the right amount to line up the slices with the top of the keyhole, and that lets me open the lock.” She demonstrated, using a key that was tied to the sample lock with a bit of twine. The mechanism turned, and the hook at the top of the lock popped open.

Laurie listened attentively. He understood at once; everything seemed familiar to him, minus the actual names of the parts. He couldn’t decide whether to feel pleased or guilty about it. He took it all in as if it were entirely new to him, though. He would learn it the proper way this time.

“Now here’s an interesting thing- I can’t pull the key out of the keyhole when it’s turned like this. I have to set the mechanism back to the lock position to pull the key out.” She gave the key a few hearty tugs to demonstrate, and then twisted it back and pulled it out. “When you pick a lock though, the picks are small enough to pull back out, so it leaves the lock stuck in the unlocked position. So you can always tell when a lock has been forced open because it’ll be unlocked without a key in the keyhole.”

He nodded at this with a small smile - that was the part he hadn't been able to avoid before.

“In terms of how you pick it, based on what you’ve felt you can probably guess at this point. You use the picks to push up the pins until you feel them click into place. Takes a bit more time than using a key, especially if the mechanism has safety pins in it, which are bumpy so that the pin feels like it’s at the slice when it really isn’t. But that’s the gist. Following me so far?”

"Those little mushroom-shaped ones," he whispered. "Yes, absolutely, everything is clear." Was it just him, or was Morgaine enjoying herself as she explained? He hoped so.

“Now I’m sure you are aware that with all the tiny parts that have to be manipulated just so, you need a steady hand- two steady hands, actually- to successfully pick a lock. Same principle applies to creating one, since I have to get all those pieces into place, weld them together, and set the mechanism so that it is just slightly different from the thousands of other similar locks I’ve made over the course of my thirty year career. Takes a lot of finesse, which,” she scowled at her hand, which as usual was twitching slightly just below the surface, “At the moment, I am not capable of. As you can probably imagine that is kind of problematic… especially when I actually have to do the smithing part of the locksmithing. I’d rather not weld the key pins to the tumbler so that the lock is impossible to open. Or drop the hot iron entirely and burn myself; I have enough injuries as is.”

He nodded with a sympathetic smile. Morgaine did have more than enough injuries. "I can't even imagine picking a lock with one unsteady hand, let alone working with a hot iron."

She sighed, then grinned. “But you have two working arms, least you did last time I saw you. This isn’t easy, and I won’t put you at the forge until you’re ready for it since working directly with the hot metal can be sort of intimidating, but even if you can just help me set the pin and tumbler mechanism together that would be a tremendous help. Unfortunately Rosalie doesn’t care for doing this. Credit where it’s due, she’s been trying to help me, but she gets bored with it very quickly and starts complaining. She considers locks boring, which is fair I suppose, they certainly aren’t crafty in the way her keys are. More an exercise in ingenuity and patience. I love Rosie, and she is many things, but patient is not one of them, at least not for tasks that she has no personal investment in.”

A little smile crept onto his lips when Morgaine described, oh so accurately, Rosie's attitude. Laurie could not very well imagine the key princess becoming enthused over all the parts of a lock, either.

"Yes... I do not think that would be one of her favorite activities, either. But I would like to try and set the mechanism together for you. I hope my hand will be steady enough." It did seem like something he could manage, if he relaxed.

With a chuckle, Morgaine pulled the pieces of the lock she’d been attempting to put together back over to the middle of the table. “I have plenty of back stock in padlocks, but of course people will insist on custom orders as if it makes any Pit-cursed difference in terms of how thief-proof the thing is. You’d imagine they’d trust a professional who’s been doing this thirty years to make the best lock she could make regardless but such is life.”

The old woman pointed to the mechanism. “This tumbler has seven pins, because of course the more there are the safer it is, right? And all of them are safety pins, all of a different design.” Morgaine snorted. “Thankfully I have plenty of components lying around, if I had to make these from scratch with my arm like this I’d be in trouble. Regardless, this is your project.”

Laurie's jaw nearly dropped at the sight of the monstrous lock. He had never needed to pick any custom locks of that kind and felt very glad of that fact. He hoped the pay for Morgaine's custom orders was worth it.

She pointed to the half-lock she’d been using to show him how it worked. “Using that model, see if you can put the thing together. Here’s my tools- I assume you can use a screwdriver?- and I’ll supervise and help you verbally if you’re having trouble with something.”

He glanced at the half-lock for reference, trying to identify the pieces of the monster lock. The pins were lined up; he found the holes on the cylinder and took a set of tweezers to grab the tiny metal objects. He found a small pick to help guide them into the chambers. "So I start with these?"

“Yes, start with the pins.” With a gentle smile, the locksmith added, “So, what do you do to sweeten Rosie’s temper after a day of making boring, ugly locks instead of beautiful keys, gosh Morgie.” She heightened her voice pitch at that last, puffing out her cheeks in a fairly good imitation of Rosalie in a bad mood.

Laurie couldn't help but chuckle at Morgaine's imitation. He rarely heard Rosie in a bad mood, except right after she got out of work, sometimes. His cheeks went a little warm - how did he sweeten Rosie's temper? It had never occurred to him that she needed to be sweetened at all.

"I think her temper stays sweet by itself, well it does when I see her... I don't do anything specific, I mean... she just seems to have enough fun strolling and having treats."

As focused as he was on guiding in the pins, it did help to think of Rosie at the same time.

Morgaine smirked. “Oh-ho, I see. Bribe her by going with her to get candy do you? Clever man. I remember you were spoiling her with nice foods at the feast. She got so flustered when I teased her about it too.”

Bribe her? Oh no, did he sound like he was manipulating Rosie? Well, Morgaine had a point, he thought bitterly; a creature like Laurie would definitely need a bribe, at the very least, to earn a lady’s affection.

"Yes, foods are always nice. Um, I just think it's nice to be able to enjoy good food when we can get it. To make the most of it." He flushed a little and stopped there - no need to sound like a starving country bumpkin, or like someone who can't afford anything better than candy.

“I can certainly agree with that,” Morgaine replied, massaging her bad arm absently. “I grew up in a little swamp village in Corvus and my father was a fisherman- I never knew my mother, she died giving birth to me. I was pretty poor for most of my life, until I apprenticed as a locksmith at sixteen. I still tremendously appreciate being able to eat varieties of food instead of the same thing every day- and I still heartily hate fish!”

Laurie noticed how she was rubbing her arm out of the corner of his eye, then his eyebrows creased slightly as he pictured her past. He had never had an opportunity to visit a swamp, but he had never heard anything that made him wish to live in one. A person like Morgaine did not deserve such misfortune, far from it. He was amazed that she had made it so far from such a low starting point.

"Oh my, I would hate it too, foods do become unbearable when you have the same every day!" He didn't even want to think of all those scraps of goat meat. Fish had always been a nice break when he could eat it; but he didn't mention that, so as not to ruin Morgaine's appetite.

The old woman watched Lawrence with the pins, smiling a little to herself. He did have a pretty steady hand- no surprises there, he would have to in order to be a successful thief. She hissed in pain as her arm spasmed again, making the fingers clench reflexively.

Laurie immediately put down the pin he had been about to insert, freeing his hand. "Something wrong?" He didn't know what kind of care Morgaine's arm needed, and he had a feeling that she wasn't the type of person to ask for help directly unless it was absolutely unavoidable.

“Nothing either of us can do anything about,” Morgaine replied tiredly. “Apparently whatever it is inside my arm that controls how it moves was damaged when the Courdonian sliced me open. It’s healing, slowly, but my arm twitches involuntarily like this almost constantly in the meantime. It’s something to do with stray signals from the brain or so the healers tell me, I didn’t really understand.”

She scowled a bit. “They gave me some medicine for the pain, but it’s made from a base of poppyseed, and I’m sure you’ve seen those poor souls who smoke the stuff and get addicted to it- the pain medicine can do the same thing if I use it for too long. So I just try to ignore it when I can and endure it when I can’t.” She smiled wanly. “I appreciate your concern though. I’ll be fine given a few months, hopefully.”

“I see.” Laurie went back to work on the lock, with just a slight frown. Not being able to control your own movements. That must have been absolutely maddening.

“Yes, smoking the stuff could make them quite desperate,” he said. “And there were a few odd nobles who clung to their boxes of special medicine everywhere in the Keep. Does valerian do anything to soothe your pain?”

“It does, sort of,” Morgaine admitted with a sigh. “But it also puts me to sleep, which isn’t precisely helpful when I need to be awake and alert. I’ve tried willow tea as well, but that’s more useful for headaches then body aches.”

Laurie couldn’t help but feel disgusted as he put himself in her place. "It's just awful," he muttered, "that you have to keep the mark of that scum on your body..."

The old woman smiled crookedly. “You’re sweet, and I appreciate the sentiment. But my lot is hardly the worst coming off of what the Courdonians tried to pull. I don’t know if Rosalie ever told you, but I survived that day because five people came to my rescue- three members of House Jade, one member of House Stallion, and a young lady from the tailor’s guild. The tailor, her name was Ilaria Braide. She attended the coronation the following day and…”

Morgaine, rubbed her face, a grim look coming into her eyes. “Well, let’s just say I won’t ever get the chance to really repay her for helping to save my life.”

Laurie had not meant to steer the conversation that way. Memories of the coronation flashed before his eyes - gryphon claws -, the benevolent Ilaria Braide possibly somewhere among all the faces he had seen in the pandemonium. She can't have been much older than his sisters. His stomach twisted.

His hands, now better acquainted with the tools, worked faster. "I'm sorry, Ma'am," he said in an automatic show of sympathy, even bowing his head a little out of habit. There wasn't much else he had been able to say to ladies at the Keep. He almost offered to refill Morgaine's teacup, but finished assembling the pieces instead.

“It isn’t your fault,” Morgaine assured him. “But it’s part of why I try not to make a fuss of my injury when I can avoid it. That and it’s just not in my nature to let anything keep me down for long.”

She watched as he finished putting together the tumbler mechanism and smiled. “Thank you Lawrence, that’s a big help. Managing those tiny pins with my arms like this would have been practically impossible. You’re not exactly dressed for messing around with the forge though, and I’d not ask you to play with a hot iron all willy-nilly like that, so maybe I can get that part done another time.”

She stood, cracking her neck a few times. “Would you like something to eat or drink? Doesn’t exactly seem fair to ask you to do my job and not at least feed you.”

Warmth flooded Laurie's cheeks. Of course he wasn't dressed adequately for doing proper work, or for anything at all, really. His left hand clenched in the folds of his skirt; he struggled to keep his cool. Between that and not being able to afford another outfit, he couldn't tell which was more embarrassing.

"That was not a lot... Well, yes please, if you were going to have refreshments. I hope to help you more another time." At least she had suggested another time. He hoped that it was not only out of politeness.

She smiled when Laurie agreed to help her again, though she hadn’t missed the discomfort on his face. What was that about? Filing it away for later, Morgaine shook her head. “Kiddo, I would have been at that an hour and still not gotten the pins in the slots. By the end of the day I’d probably have either been in tears from frustration or begging Rosalie to groan her way through helping me again. It was more help than you realize.”

He glanced up at her, surprised. Would this tough lady really have been in tears? She had to be exaggerating, yet Morgaine's tone sounded serious. He would do any little thing he could do to prevent that vile injury from affecting her. Laurie hadn't even thought that he was helping Rosalie at the same time. "Then I'm glad," he said, a little more cheerful.

Morgaine said, “I don’t know how much you have, but for working with the kiln I usually stick to short-sleeved things- you don’t want a trailing sleeve to catch fire. And also something you don’t really mind possibly getting ruined. I have two dresses I use for kiln work, and both of them are streaked with soot despite the leather apron I wear over them.”

He nodded. "Right, I will remember to set aside a spare dr-" He dropped his gaze. "... a spare outfit."

Short sleeves would show his thin, unmanly arms. At this point, it wouldn't make much of a difference. Laurie never had problems discussing clothes with girls from the Keep, but now that the locksmith knew about him... It was like admitting to his indecent duplicity, wasn't it. Every little inadequacy of his would be revealed to Morgaine, so that she could wonder what on earth Rosie saw in him.

The locksmith went over to the door and locked it- she didn’t want to leave the bottom floor unattended and accessible- then beckoned for Laurie to follow her upstairs to where she and Rosie had their living space. “I think I have some cheese cubes that should still be pretty fresh; Rosie was supposed to get some sticky buns, though I don’t remember if she got honey or cinnamon off the top of my head. Do you have a preference? And of course I’ve already got the kettle on, I just need to light the fireplace again if you’d like some tea, or if you prefer I think I’ve a bottle of ale lying around somewhere.”

Laurie had already been upstairs a few times, invited by Rosie after walking her home. He had spent those visits mainly sitting still, being afraid to touch anything and jumping up to help Rosie with anything she might be carrying. The place was more familiar to him by now, though. Even while Rosie was gone, the keymaker's comforting presence could still be felt everywhere. Laurie stretched his arms a little, something he did a lot more now that the gryphon scratches on his back had healed.

"I'd prefer tea, please. Cheese would be perfect." He glanced downstairs again. “I wouldn’t want to keep you away from customers for too long, though!”

The old woman shrugged, “Honestly since I work mostly by commission I can count on one hand the number of people who walk into the shop in a given day, but if you’re worried about it we can always take our snacks back downstairs once the water’s boiling.”

She picked up a flint striker from beside the fireplace, and after a few tries managed to light the kindling under the teapot. While she waited for the water in the pot to boil, she went over to the pantry and pulled out a platter of cheese cubes in various colors.

Laurie had to remind himself to sit down instead of hovering around, as he was a guest.

“Help yourself; I’ve got blue cheese, feta, a little goat cheese, and some various other things with names I can’t pronounce, but they’re all good.” She picked up a piece and popped it into her mouth happily as evidence of this. “I’ve never been much one for candy; this is candy for me. Help yourself.”

She leaned back in her chair. “There wasn’t a ton of space in the swamp for herding. There were one or two cattle ranchers and one woman who had some goats but past that not a lot of domestic animals except for chickens that could be cooped, and ducks that thrived in the swamp. I didn’t get much cheese growing up but I always enjoyed it when I did.”

Laurie had smelled the goat cheese immediately, but he also recognised the other cheeses.

“Thank you - you seem like quite a connoisseur, I’ve rarely seen that many cheeses at the same time, except at the Keep. Oh, I hope you enjoyed the selection we had at the feast!” The feast where his brother had bothered Rosie. Perhaps not the best topic. He internally kicked himself.

“I did, though I wager I was one of only a very few who was enjoying the food,” Morgaine remarked with amusement. “I think most of the folk present that night were rather more interested in the fluid refreshments then the Hors d'oeuvres.”

“Is that Kineian tomme? I remember it has more of a zing than our local one.” He selected a piece of cheese and sampled it with intense concentration, trying to stay away from the topic of the Keep.

“It is, well spotted,” Morgaine replied. “I suppose you’d have at least seen a lot of interesting foods up at the keep. The sorts of stuff even someone like me wouldn’t feel was worth the waste of money.”

“Yes... it got a bit too interesting at times, especially when the Ophids visited - you don’t want to know.” Laurie wrinkled his nose slightly and took another piece of cheese. “My favorite cheese was that firm one from Augeron in Bern. N-not that I got to eat a lot of cheese at the Keep, we only sampled a little sometimes, when an assistant chef wanted to give some to the girls.” He blushed. “A-and he gave some to me too. Herding in a swamp, you said! That must have been, er, interesting. Living there too, of course.”

She ate some more of the cheese herself, and smirked. “I well imagine it was. I’m sure you know that goats are fantastic climbers? When the water got high, it wasn’t uncommon for us to find the goats up on the roof of our houses. Eating the thatch, because of course.”

Laurie let out a short burst of laughter at that. "Oh 'Woo, I spent days climbing after the little cretins when they refused to come down or just chickened out! Good thing our neighbor's dogs couldn't reach them or be bothered to try too hard.” He found it slightly incongruous for a merchant to converse about dirty animal shenanigans so easily, but if she seemed so comfortable with the topic, then he might as well.

“And of course they'd try to trick me into climbing higher after them - balancing on a rotting beam and pretending not to reach for a goatling that's about to saunter away, so much fun.” He leaned back in his chair. “Ha, I don't know how poor Arthur got any sleep when was in our loft. Or how he didn’t get all of his hair eaten. Keeping all those morons entertained enough to prevent disasters is enough to keep you busy for a day. Did the goats from your village go swimming too?"

Morgaine was pleasantly surprised by how much Laurie warmed to the subject of goat mischief, but she was certainly willing to continue the subject if it was one he could get his teeth into. The ex-thief wasn’t usually very talkative with anyone except Rosalie or his family.

“Sometimes yes, though the goatherds tried to curtail that as much as feasibly possible. It wasn’t really very good for them if one of the goats got eaten by a crocodile or picked up leeches.” Morgaine shuddered a bit. “Woo I hated leeches. The local physicians swore by them, but I was never convinced. At any rate, the goatherds tried to keep the little buggers in line, but ‘tried’ is the operative word there. I recall waking up three days in a row when I was thirteen with one in particular scratching our boat running around in it. I may or may not have gotten impatient with the herders failure to reign it in and dropped it back off at home the third morning with all of it’s fur dyed purple from inedible wild berries I gathered.”

Laurie's eyes widened at the thought of crocodiles - Morgaine had spent her entire childhood in danger of being swallowed by a crocodile? The mention of her prank got another chuckle out of him.

“Oh goodness, a purple goat - the look it must have had on its face. Ha, I hope they had fun trying to scrub it. Well, that’s still better than leeches.”

At that moment, he recognised a faint sound of bubbling water from the teapot. Without thinking, he stood from his chair and went to fetch a tea set that he had spotted in a cupboard before.

Morgaine was startled when Laurie stood, her expression reflecting surprise and confusion, but a few seconds later she heard the faintest sound of whistling from the spout of the teapot and smiled with amused patience.

“Some habits die hard, hm?” she remarked, standing up and going for a small jar in one corner, which had her tea leaves in it. Passing it towards the young man she went on, “Here, if you’re inclined to do that I won’t stop you, holding the pot steady to pour is an exercise in patience with this arm. Though I do wonder, since you probably poured tea fairly often for the princesses, if you can tell what kind this is? It’s a pretty common one so I don’t know if royalty would have drunk it, but I’ve been surprised before.”

Laurie paused for a second, wondering what Morgaine was getting at.

"Oh. OH, sorry, I didn't... I mean, I don't mind... if that's all right... um, thank you." He took the jar of tea leaves. "Sorry for handling your utensils without permission," he finally uttered. "I'm used to doing this at home, too." He really did not need the extra embarrassment of performing a servant's task in front of her, but if it prevented her from using her injured arm... perhaps that counted as chivalry.

He smelled the leaves briefly and was pleasantly surprised by their scent. "Hm, ceylon. Nice. Well this won't need to steep as long." Laurie hadn't had any real tea in a while, actually. He was used to other, cheaper herbs with a similar taste. Like those that he picked himself, for free, to use at home and save money on tea.

"Their Highnesses do enjoy more illustrious teas than ceylon between their rose water and lavender drinks, but I still got to pour some on multiple occasions - not all guests get the same treatment at the Keep." He dropped the fact casually while adding in a scoop of leaves. "And of course it would not do to use the wrong tea for the wrong person."

He brought the teapot to the table on a tray, having already found cups, spoons and honey.

Morgaine chuckled, “So there’s a hierarchy of tea is there? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, everything’s about ceremony and reinforcing who has political power over who with the nobles sometimes. Though you’d think they could all just enjoy a drink without bringing such nonsense into it. As the elves like to say ‘it is ever thus.’”

She sat back down at the table. “Me I’m a simple soul. Good tea, good friends, warm fire, and I’m set. Some merchants like to try and affect a seeming of nobility and use their money to imitate those of the upper crust; trying to toady for political power and impress potential noble sponsors or customers. Except all that does is make the nobles look down their noses at you when you don’t do it right- being the best at what you do is what gets you sponsors and customers, not pretending to be something you aren’t.”

The old woman laughed suddenly, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to ramble at you, I can go off sometimes. I’ve met a surprising number of decent nobles since last summer, I confess. Master Leif and Master Mao are both very nice, and Aines is a good and appreciative customer, if in desperate need of a vacation, poor man.”

After leaving the tea to steep for a couple of minutes, Laurie had poured it into the cups and placed it on the saucers, with the spoons at the precise angle to which he was used. He flitted around the table with gentle, discrete movements. Once he was done, he returned to his seat and instinctively waited for Morgaine to take the first sip.

He listened to the locksmith’s remarks on social climbers with a knowing smile. “At least those merchants give the nobles excellent topics for gossip, from what I’ve heard.” He didn’t ask about the nobles Morgaine had met, though; good servants don’t pry. Not so obviously, anyway.

“Some nobles are quite pleasant, indeed.” Laurie gave a little smile, looking down at his teacup. “Master Aines is incredible. For some time I was convinced that there were actually several of him.” Upon arriving at the Keep, Laurie had not been so surprised to meet a talking raven, actually. He had met unusual creatures before, and the appearance of the royal advisor was really the least of his concerns.

“He certainly knows how to get things done,” Morgaine remarked with amusement. “Though how the stress of managing as much as he does hasn’t given him a coronary yet is beyond me. I cannot be glad enough not to have to deal with all of the nonsense he fields on a daily basis. Managing the shop keeps me busy enough; speaking of which, I suppose we should take our tea and head back downstairs, hm?”

"Of course." Laurie moved swiftly, placing their teacups back on the tray to take them down the stairs. He was glad that the locksmith had suggested it before the conversation could become too lengthy. "I hope you will be all right with the rest of today's work."

“Should be able to manage,” she said. “It’ll mostly be taking orders and selling pre made items. Nothing I need fine motor control for, at least not in both hands. But thank you for your help. It was nice to be able to borrow someone else’s hands without them whining through the entire process about how boring it is.”

Laurie was still not sure whether or not Morgaine was exaggerating in her description of the key princess. Now that they were back downstairs, he could hardly believe how much time had passed, and how well everything had gone. The locksmith hadn’t laid him a single trap.

“Thank you for teaching me, Madam Braham! You explained it well, I never imagined I would learn from a professional. I hope I can make it worth your while. That um, impressive custom lock, when are you planning to finish it?“ He tried not to let too much hope into his voice.

Morgaine smirked a little at his use of the word ‘impressive,’ but then her expression softened. “I’m glad you found the experience to be worth your while, Lawrence.” but then sighed. “Well good business form means I should have it ready within the next three days- I usually try to take no more than a week with padlock commissions since they’re so small. Unless I’m just overloaded for whatever reason, which doesn’t usually happen. Probably tomorrow evening or the following.”

She gestured at the forge. “I usually prefer to do the fiery part of the crafting after the shop closes you see, so that customers don’t wander in here while I have hot implements and a roaring fire going. You still interested in helping out with that part?” With a small smile she added, “I can’t promise you won’t burn yourself, though I do have blacksmith’s gloves and an apron these things can still happen.” She held up her good arm, showing Laurie a few small brownish spots on the skin- old burn scars.

Laurie gazed at Morgaine's scars with interest, trying not to stare too hard. He had many fears, but fire had never been a strong one among them. The thought of acquiring scars from working with dangerous implements was oddly thrilling to him. He didn't mention it, though; he didn't want to sound giddy or reckless. Working men were supposed to have an array of scars and calluses. All he had for show were a few faint marks from knives and one or two scars on his torso, and he couldn't even remember the stories to go with them.

More importantly, he did not like the idea of Morgaine working at the kiln with her bad, jittery arm. She would not get another burn scar while working on that monster lock, not on his watch.

"I’ll help as much as I can! I could come tomorrow night with a spare outfit. I'm still searching for jobs around town."

“That sounds perfect,” Morgaine said cheerfully. At his mention of looking for a job, she made a mental note to set aside some runestones for him tomorrow night. If he was going to be helping her with her work when he could have been out hunting for a real job to support himself and his family, he deserved compensation.

“Oh, before I forget- Rosalie said that Daria and Ciara were back in town? Here, I made this up for you to take back to them, and Briar, to celebrate their return.”

She went behind the counter, and emerged with… a lockbox. One of the sort that she used for her random lockbox game. Though usually she sold the small keys separately, this one had a key hanging from it by a bit of twine.

“Open it for your sisters when you get home and they can watch- I bet the younger ones will enjoy the suspense. It’s edible, I’ll tell you that much, but as to exactly what it is, that I’ll leave a surprise. I loved being a mother dearly, and I’m probably going to die before my own ‘we have all the time in the world for that’ half-elf children give me grandkids to spoil, so I take my small pleasures where I can.”

The old woman didn’t mention that aside from the treats for Ciara, Daria, and Briar, there was something else in the box- some cookies with candied blueberries. Rosalie had helped Morgaine to pick those out for Lawrence, based on what the keymaker knew of his preferences for food.

Laurie had just taken his last sip of tea when Morgaine produced the gift box, and had to fight to keep the hot drink inside his mouth while she explained about it. Well, if it was for his sisters, he had to take it. He had learned a long time ago to always accept gifts, anyway, as embarrassing as it was.

He took the box, stammering a long string of thanks - good ‘Woo, what a pretty box, he’d have to bring it back afterwards. If only he could invite Morgaine to dinner or offer her some treats in return.

“How thoughtful, the girls will be absolutely thrilled! You seem to have experience with children and presents. I was going to try and find some treats for them at the market, to make up for my absences.” It blew his mind that this woman could care for his sisters despite having met only one of them, and barely so. He would ask the girls to come to town and help with the shop’s next big round of cleaning or laundry, when he got home.

Morgaine smiled gently, “I was always happiest as a mother. My children are grown now with lives of their own to live, but old habits die hard, especially when they’re the sort of habits that give your life a sense of fulfillment. And I…”

She drifted off, her gaze turning sad. “I owe Briar for not being able to help her more over that business during the funeral and coronation. I promised I’d help her but I had no idea what to do against the power of the Grand Duke, and besides, at the time legally he was within his rights.” She shook her head. “All the same, I feel guilty- I wouldn’t blame Briar if she hated me for it.”

Those were exactly the words that Laurie should be saying. It struck too many chords within him, that feeling of being powerless to help a child who needs you. Even he hadn't been able to rescue Bry; he was the one she should hate. But to hear this from another person was strangely, dangerously relieving, as if Morgaine was sharing his burden. Typical of a mother.

Laurie had learned to live without the comfort of a parental figure. He shouldn't let it affect him, not after such a long time. The girls, though - they still needed someone, and he had to admit that he was far from adequate. Everything about Morgaine's kindness was so familiar. It seemed almost too good to be true, considering the Kidde family's usual luck.

"You..." He couldn't hide the tremor in his softening voice. "You've been more generous to our family than we would ever have dreamed. I'm sure the girls would love to meet someone like you."

Morgaine smiled crookedly. “I’m glad you think so, at least. I do the best I can, even if it’s not much.”

She sat down behind the counter again, taking a sip of her tea. “So what do you want to do now? Wait for Rosalie? I wouldn’t mind the company but you did mention you’re looking for a job…”

Laurie replaced his teacup on the tray, still running his fingers over the craftwork of the gift box. He was definitely overstaying his welcome. He had acquaintances to find, and others to avoid.

"I should go." He could hardly believe that the conversation had gone so well, for such a long time. Morgaine hadn’t mentioned his abnormality even once. Somehow, knowing about her background made him feel safer talking to her. Maybe she really was all right with him. Even so, he would continue to prove his worth to her and give it his all.

“Thank you for everything.” He reflexively positioned his feet for a curtsey, then remembered to give Morgaine a bow instead.

“If Rosalie would like to catch me in town later, if she has time, I’ll probably stop for a rest by the bridge before going home, around five o’clock.”

Morgaine nodded. “I’ll be sure to let her know then; thank you again for your help with the lock, Lawrence. Good luck in your job search.”

[Liou]

This is not canon. Not by any means.

So Very Reassuring

(mild warning: captivity, um, medical things, and... bugs?)

SPOILER: Click to show

Few buildings in Medieville stood as tall and proud as Stallion Manor. The dwelling of the house of progress was not only comfortable, but well-managed and -staffed, with resources put into necessities rather than frivolities as per the house's principles. Nothing was allowed to fall into disrepair, and the layout was designed to implement security measures as efficiently as possible. There were no exploitable flaws.

Yes, Stallion Manor was a well-defended place. Naturally, the chambers of its head, the Grand Duke of Bern, were located in the securest area. Laurie felt very safe there indeed.

The first glow of dawn had barely tinted the sky above the roofs of Medieville. Shadows still covered the town, probably teeming with the rebels named after them. Both were equally capable of infiltrating places they should not. It would take no less than the protection of Stallion Manor to ward them off.

From her post at the window, the slender blonde maid stroked the handle of her knife, scanning the night with all of her senses on high alert. She abruptly turned to glance at the room behind her, but nothing seemed to have moved. The manor was still silent. The only sounds coming from the town were the faint crowing of poultry. The back of Laurie's neck was still prickling, though. That majestic frosty aura was familiar. She let the heavy drapes fall back against the window and padded towards the large canopied bed.

The Grand Duke's eyes opened. Laurie immediately curtsied.

"Good evening, Miss Kidde," he said after peering into the darkness for a moment. "Or perhaps I should say good morning?"

"A good morning to Your Grace," she replied breathlessly, thrilled that he had remembered her name. His awakening was just as perfect as the rest of him, better than in her imagination, especially without the pesky bars of her jail cell in the way. He was already so alert that one might think he had been awake for several minutes at least. "Did something trouble your sleep? It would be a shame for you not to get all the rest you need."

"It appears that I shall be starting my day earlier than planned," he said. "As for whether anything troubled my sleep, I presume that you would be better suited than I to answer that question."

The maid had gone over to the fireplace to light a candle in the fire that still warmed the room. She placed it in a lantern and brought it to the Grand Duke's bedside, bathing his prone form in a yellow glow and throwing his sharp features into relief.

"Our surroundings seem secure," she informed him, "and will hopefully stay that way. Is Your Grace comfortable?"

"I am quite comfortable for the moment, Miss Kidde." The Stallion paused, as if to listen out. "Is there no one else currently awake - in case I should need them to bring me something, for instance?"

"Your staff will not wake up for another couple of hours, Your Grace." Laurie realised that this was a rather specific piece of information, but she smiled instead of explaining her prediction. "I shall make up for their absence and fulfil all your needs to the utmost of my ability." She froze, then slinked back to peek out of the window. She pulled the drapes tighter, glancing uneasily at the light of the candle. "One cannot be too safe."

"Am I to understand that you are looking out for some sort of danger?" the Grand Duke asked in his calm, conversational manner.

Laurie spun to face him, her back pressed against the heavy brocade curtains. "The Shadows, Your Grace," she uttered in a barely audible whisper. "Everywhere. Listening to us at this very moment, perhaps. No place is safe from their prowling, not a single inch of pavement in this city."

"Our agents have thoroughly investigated these Shadows and rooted out a considerable number of their bases, which should come as no surprise to you, Miss Kidde, seeing as it was you who gave us some of the information needed to conduct that operation. Surely they have lost enough resources to prevent them from making a significant move tonight. Unless, perhaps, they have developed a new strategy?"

She shook her head, eyes wide with horror. "More than that. They are capable of things beyond anyone's imagination or comprehension, Your Grace."

He waited for a beat, but she did not elaborate. "I see," he said nevertheless. "And so those... things, involve your presence here."

"Oh no, not at all, Your Grace!" She stepped closer to the light, gazing down at him anxiously. "I have come to keep you safe from their filthy, underhanded stratagems! I will protect you all night. I will slit their throats if I must. They shall not lay a finger upon your magnificent head!"

"Is that so?" The Grand Duke's icy gaze went over Laurie's hand, which had curled around her knife again, halfway out of her sleeve. She could almost feel cool water on her skin.

"Then, Miss Kidde, I believe I should point out a detail of importance to you."

"Your Grace?"

"I can assure you that I would be much safer, were I free to use my limbs to defend myself." As if to illustrate his point, he shook one of his feet, which had been tightly bound to the corners of his bed, as had his wrists. He had not moved one inch during their conversation, because he couldn't.

"Your Grace is so valiant!" Laurie couldn't keep the fondness out of her tone. "Such a precious pillar of the kingdom. That is why I cannot let you out of my sight." She let out a nervous giggle, pacing around the bed. "I will not let you disappear, not like Kelcey, or like Daria, or Ciara, or Briar -"

"It is not within my habits to wander off into danger, Miss Kidde, rest assured."

She sighed contentedly. "Your Grace's wisdom is a pleasure for the ears. It is wonderful to know that you will stay right here where you are safe. Now, I shall prevent those sneaky miscreants from coming anywhere near you!" She patted the foot of the bed, next to one of the bindings that were very much staying in place.

The Grand Duke still wore his pleasant smile, though it seemed tinged by a hint of annoyance, no doubt directed at the Shadows' effrontery. "And how would these Shadows infiltrate my chambers, let alone sneak past the guards?"

"Why, the same way I did!"

He raised his eyebrows almost imperceptibly. "Of course. Am I then to understand that each of the Shadows would be equally capable of infiltrating the manor and reaching my apartments without being caught once? Pardon me, but that seems rather unlikely. This is not Marson Manor."

He did not seem to be enjoying the conversation very much. Laurie bit her lip. She must keep him entertained.

Even in this posture, he looked like the very picture of stability, with no room for doubt or absurdity in his regal head. This story was so far-fetched that he wouldn't believe it unless he saw it with his own two eyes. As Laurie realised that, she shuddered in anticipation, eager to use her new power again. The electrifying energy bubbled up through her, rattling her body's very substance until she disappeared altogether, leaving a blank stretch of smooth stone floor behind her.

In the same instant, a patch of shadow at the head of the bed, under the canopy, darkened and coalesced into a solid figure.

"I would not tell you stories without truth, Your Grace," she whispered, inches from the Grand Duke's ear.

He jerked his head away abruptly, though his face was composed when he looked at her again. Laurie couldn't resist inhaling his scent deeply, a smell of pure power that was spread all over the room, but concentrated around him - his hair in particular, for some reason. She saw him glance at the spot where she had been standing before.

"That does explain how you entered so quietly," he commented.

Laurie, now seated on the side of his bed, shifted her legs into a more comfortable posture and adjusted her skirt over her knees. "I was so glad not to have woken you up," she explained cheerfully, still feeling smug after her little demonstration. "It would not do for Your Grace to be deprived of precious sleep and energy to use in your next important missions."

"Can all of the Shadows move in the same way you just did, Miss Kidde?"

"Oh, not exactly, they can all do slightly different things, just as amusing as what I showed you. Well, all those who were around at the time this happened, at least. Their stealth knows no bounds. Just one moment of inattention on my part could be the key that lets them in."

"And how many people does that represent?"

"At least fifteen? I'm afraid it's hard to remember, because not everyone could come at the same time as Elin."

"The fugitive who was caught by House Jade? Elin Ryer?"

"Yes, that same Elin." The Grand Duke seemed so interested in what Laurie had to say. The polite curiosity in his piercing gaze felt as good as the adrenalin rush from the use of her new power.

"Elin has been developing some magical talents of hers," the maid continued, almost purring. "She did not explain all the details, but that last meeting was something special. Some kind of breakthrough. She found a new level of power, something never seen before - well, we call it 'Woo mode'. And it allowed her to... alter us, in a way. Make us do things that we wouldn't normally do."

The Grand Duke was about to ask another question when Laurie gave a start and sprang to her feet. A door had creaked open and slammed shut, several corridors away, but loudly enough for it to be heard in the bedroom. She darted to the window for another peek through the curtains, then to listen at the door, waiting like a coiled spring.

A few more doors were heard in the silence, as well as distant hoofbeats and wheels jumping on cobblestone.

"I believe that people are waking up, Miss Kidde. They tend to do that at the beginning of the day."

"Yes, they do..." She was clutching the side of the doorframe. "It's dark, though, and most are still asleep... They could still try something." She jumped again at the sound of a very distant set of footsteps.

"Then perhaps it would be wise for me to rise and start my day as well, eventually," the Grand Duke said, almost as an afterthought. "That way, should anyone find their way up here, I would be fully ready to meet them."

Laurie turned back to face him, marveling at his brilliant idea. Instead of walking across the distance that separated them, she melted into thin air again and materialised right next to his head. He didn't start this time.

"I understand," she whispered fervently, resting one hand on the nearest bedpost.

"You do?"

"Yes. I shall scout our surroundings, slay any intruders I find, and use that same trip to bring everything we might need. I shan't be more than an instant."

She zipped back to the door, cracked it open by an inch and was gone in a flash, leaving the Grand Duke just as tied up as before. The shadows wrapped smoothly around her as she darted from wall to wall, much too fast to be registered by anyone's eye. Almost every corridor of Stallion Manor was already mapped in her mind. The items she needed were exactly where she had predicted; there was even water being heated in the nearest kitchen.

When Laurie blinked back into the Grand Duke's room, she had checked all of her favourite hiding places in the surrounding corridors and was confident that the area was entirely rebel-free for the moment. True to her word, she had come back within less than a minute. The Grand Duke watched her arrival with mild interest, the picture of nonchalance; he did not seem to have moved an inch during her absence. She hurried over to the side of the bed and surveyed him from all angles, then leaned in to inhale the air near him.

"No sign of an intruder," she concluded after her inspection.

"Not a single intruder in my room? How fortunate I am."

With a metallic clang, the maid put down the large bag she was holding, as well as the basin, which had a wooden lid on it to prevent spills. "I have brought everything a barber might need, Your Grace!" She clapped her hands and smiled as cheerfully as if she was delivering his Woomas presents early.

"That will not be necessary. I most certainly had not arranged to see a barber today."

At that, Laurie put her hands on her hips, leaned in just a few inches from the Grand Duke and ran a finger over his jawline, checking the sides of the beard and moustache he kept. Just the idea of gliding over the well-sculpted angles of his face made her heart beat faster.

She shook her head. "Nothing short of perfection will do for Your Grace's appearance," came the verdict.

Within moments, the Stallion found his face washed and wrapped in hot towels scented with essential oils. More towels were spread to protect his shirt and bedsheets from splashes. The maid climbed on the bed, creasing the fine linen under her knees, and crouched over the Grand Duke to rub a rich shaving oil onto his skin. The water basin had a stone from the fire inside it to keep it warm. Finally, she applied an expensive soap with a badger hair brush.

"One would not guess this to be among the usual tasks of a maid," the Grand Duke commented, barely opening his mouth.

"We must be prepared for anything, Your Grace," said Laurie, now handling a leather strop. "I happen to have practiced on my brother, to teach him a lesson."

"Miss Kidde."

Rapid, regular swipes up and down the leather produced a sharp scraping sound.

"Your Grace?"

"You are aware, I presume, that this instrument must be wielded with a very steady hand." He said that as casually as if he was talking about the weather.

With a flourish, Laurie raised the large, gleaming straight razor to inspect its blade in the light. "I do have a steady hand! How else would I have opened your manor's excellent locks?"

She took position next to him, making sure that she wouldn't lose her balance. How thrilling it was to know that she would leave her mark on him. The Grand Duke calmly awaited the first brushes of the razor down his cheek. For a long moment, the only sounds were the quiet scraping of the blade and the light rumpling of cloth when Laurie wiped it. The maid's intense concentration was almost tangible in the air of the room. She moved with slow, almost solemn gestures, as if performing a sacred ritual. The Grand Duke's fine silver hair, so close to her fingers, threatened to distract her every time she moved his face to a different angle.

Once the sides of his beard had been carefully trimmed, she tilted back his chin to expose his throat. As she aimed the razor, Laurie heard his breath catch and felt him tense for a second. It must have been her imagination. So far there had been no loud noises in the vicinity that might startle the maid. The blade carressed his throat with unbearable slowness, closer and closer to the jugular, then right over it.

After what seemed like an eternity, Laurie removed her hands from his neck and released a breath she had been holding. It was like coming out of a trance. A few more sideway strokes of the razor, a rinse of warm water and a touch of lotion later, she finally tore her hands away from his face.

"Excellent," said the neatly trimmed Grand Duke. "When I grow up, maybe I can learn to do this by myself, like a big boy."

"Your Grace is so pleasant. While we're looking after the perfection of your face, I could pluck your eyebrows, just like I did Her Majesty's!" Laurie held a pair of tweezers above the Grand Duke's eyes, clicking them a few times.

He let out a brief laugh. "Her Majesty and I do not follow quite the same fashion when it comes to facial aesthetics, I'm afraid, and my eyebrows are an extremely important tool that I often need to raise."

Slightly disappointed, the maid removed the tweezers and rummaged in the bag again. She pulled out another instrument that resembled a pair of pliers, except that it was larger than her forearm. Its shadow fell upon the Grand Duke's face.

"Are you by any chance planning to torture me, Miss Kidde?"

She giggled. "You and your little joke. Why was this included in the set? Are Your Grace's teeth ailing you?" Brandishing the tooth extractor, Laurie leaned in and reached for the Grand Duke's mouth, but he swiftly moved his head away from the metal ends.

"Not in the slightest. This tool must have been meant for another person, or kept in case of an emergency."

"Are you absolutely certain?" She reached for him again and he twisted his head to the other side. "Rot that starts in the teeth may spread into the head, Your Grace's brilliant mind is far too precious to take such risks!"

"Then I will be sure to call you if I feel the slightest twinge of pain, Miss Kidde. For now, I would very much prefer to remain capable of chewing my breakfast."

"Yes, of course!" Laurie put the extractor down at last. "Your Grace's health is of the utmost importance. Which is why..."

The next items to come out of the bag were a lancet and tourniquet.

"... some of your wondrous blood should be let out now, as a preventive measure!" She was already rolling up one of his sleeves, gazing at the veins visible in the crease of his elbow.

Laurie had stopped believing that noble blood was literally blue when she had first seen the Ascension princesses scraping their knees, or sustaining other small injuries. That did not make the Grand Duke's pure Stallion blood any less fascinating to her. A thrumming essence of life, infused with the wisdom and strength of countless other great leaders before him.

"I'm afraid that my physician has strongly advised against bloodletting," he explained, enunciating every word clearly as if speaking to a child. "It could put my life in terrible danger, Miss Kidde."

Laurie gasped and practically threw the tourniquet back into the bag. "That is just unfortunate!" Her face lit up again. "Ah, fear not, we can do it with a gentler method!"

The Grand Duke found himself staring into a mass of limp, spongelike things that squirmed against the glass walls of their jar. He blinked with an air of polite interest, then firmly shook his head.

"Come now, surely a man of your rank would not refuse his medicine like a sick child?" She started to open the jar, crooning words of endearment to the leeches within.

"Far from it. Alas, just the merest touch from one of these creatures would give me a dreadful rash all over my skin. I would not be able to look Lord Jade in the face for days," he lamented. Laurie let out a shriek and dropped a leech on the bed. The Stallion then spent the next ten seconds watching contentedly as she scrambled to return the slimy thing to its containment.

"Your... Your Grace is quite a difficult client, are you not," panted the slightly dishevelled maid from the floor. The leech jar was gone. She kept rummaging, determined to find something suitable before his patience wore out. "How tricky it is to keep you healthy. I shall have to use... this treatment, to cleanse everything that cannot be done otherwise. Ah, here it is."

"I doubt that any more of those treatments would be of use, Miss Kidde. I am well-tended by Bernian physicians, whose methods are, I daresay, more advanced than any other in the country."

She emerged from the foot of the bed with a look of wild glee on her face and a large brass cylinder in her hands. It was about the size of a rolling pin, with the same type of handle, but a long, sleek nozzle at the other end. This time the Grand Duke frowned. She prowled around him, plotting her next attempt, biting her lip in anticipation.

"This will require a more adequate position!" She skipped over to his side table, where she had left a spare length of rope next to a decorative flower vase.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor right outside the bedroom.

Laurie jumped and reached for her knife without letting go of the rope; the vase swayed and toppled. She managed to catch it before it could fall. Breathing fast, she checked on the Grand Duke. Her mouth fell open in horror. Several flowers had spilled out of the vase and dared to hit him on the head. As if that wasn't enough, a spurt of water had landed on his hair and left a wet stain on his shirt that was at least an inch wide.

He smirked drily. "I do not grow when watered in the same fashion as plants, Miss Kidde."

"Your Grace," she whispered in panic, "your shirt! You'll catch cold, we must change it fast!" She immediately tugged his collar open and undid the first few buttons.

"I think I will survive this terrible ordeal."

The footsteps outside had come so close that it was obvious they were directed towards this room.

"Oh no, oh no, I will protect you with my life, I will," said Laurie, wide-eyed and shuddering, gripping her knife tightly. She hated that it had come to this, especially after she had spilled the vase so clumsily. Whoever was coming down that corridor would regret it so much.

"These are probably my people. Do not do anything rash. Stay away from them. Do as I say!" His gaze pierced her, as implacable as a glacier.

She stared at him for a second, speechless, then melted into thin air and reappeared against the wall right next to the doorframe.

The door swung open.

"Alain, I..."

Laurie heard the intruding man freeze on the other side of the door. The Grand Duke, wet-haired, his collar open, with flowers scattered around his pillow and an abandoned clyster still on his bed, greeted the newcomer with a pleasant smile.

"Good morning, Ambrose."

"I'm sorry to... to interrupt, brother. I didn't realise you'd be... busy."

"That's quite all right, Ambrose."

The younger Stallion seemed to shuffle awkwardly on the spot. "I'll just... talk to you another time, then."

"Oh, I shouldn't be much longer. I'll see you at the breakfast table."

"Alain?"

"Yes, Ambrose?"

"What exactly is happening?"

"Nothing I cannot handle."

Behind the door, Laurie bounced silently on her tiptoes, itching to peek at what was happening on the other side. She could have sworn that the Grand Duke's arm had tensed, as if he was moving his hand, but it was hidden by the door.

"Trust me, brother. There is no need for you to come in. Go!"

The door closed at last. Laurie, still breathing very fast, listened to Ambrose's retreating footsteps. Once they had faded into the silence, she slowly lowered her knife hand. That had been so close. On top of her previous blunders, it could have made her entire operation fail. She walked back towards the Grand Duke, taking in the peaceful, comforting sight of his supine body.

A hint of a smirk was playing on the corners of his mouth. He let the maid stare at him for a minute before speaking up.

"It would not do for me to be late for my duties, would it? People would come looking for me."

She bit her lip, glancing at the window. The sky was much lighter now. The Grand Duke would have to go off all by himself. She didn't want to let him go, didn't dare imagine the horrors that could happen to him out there - what if someone attempted to assassinate him, forced him to sign something immoral, or served him food that was the wrong temperature? What if she couldn't reach him in time?

Worrying would be pointless if he fell sick in that wet shirt, of course. Laurie vanished on the spot and blinked to the Grand Duke's wardrobe, stopping in front of every section. She returned to his bed with a pile of clothes forming a complete outfit for the day. Hopefully it would be bright and majestic enough for His Grace's august form. She spent a few moments clearing up all the leftover items and smoothing the creases in the bedsheets.

She had to make these final moments count, so she pulled out a comb, leaned over him and combed his hair reverently, breathing hard. The Grand Duke drummed his fingers on the bedpost while he waited, his eyes on the ceiling. There were more sounds of doors and footsteps echoing around the manor, as well as distant hoofbeats in the city streets.

"Good day to you then, Miss Kidde," he said when she stepped away at last.

She curtsied. "I will always watch over Your Grace. Always."

Laurie took a deep breath and, with rapid twists of her fingers, untied one of his feet. She disappeared, popped up on the other side of the bed and did the same, appearing at every corner until he was free; then she turned away and darted to the window. As she was cracking it open, she heard the Grand Duke roll out of bed with startling speed and grab something metallic. Then she was gone.

SPOILER: Click to show

Many thanks to Celestial for supporting this nonsense

[Liou]

Uuuh, will find title later
maybe

SPOILER: Click to show

A furious clatter of little hooves stormed up a dirt path and dived into the undergrowth. Two ears popped above the tops of the stalks and swivelled around to monitor every direction. The wind rummaged through the grass, combing through every tuft, until its rustling gathered behind a dense thicket. A head of soft blond hair surfaced in front of the ears.

"Gotcha," whispered the child, barely out of breath.

Immediately, a small goat burst out of the grass like a fish leaping above water, then sank back in and scampered in the opposite direction. Laurie followed at a moderate pace. He had managed to sneak around it and make it head home, at least.

He kept a close watch on the goatling as it hopped from one edge of the path to another, its fluffy white coat covered in dry mud. It inspected every shrub on the way and turned back from time to time, as if to check that Laurie was still following. Then it spotted something, stopped abruptly and trotted off to the left. Laurie hurried after it down a narrower path. He knew the place.

Here, the flat earth of the trail was almost completely hidden in grass, with nettles overflowing from each side. The view of the neighbouring farms was partially obscured by tousled greenery. The goat leapt on top of a fallen, blackened beam of wood to chew on the leaves of a blackberry bush. Laurie went a few yards further until he reached a weathered old fence. The child brushed bits of yellow grass off his head and pushed a few locks of wavy hair back under the kerchief he wore.

"Anybody home?" he called quietly.

Another head appeared behind the fence. The ends of the tall grass brushed against its cheeks, and its haze of pale, wispy hair was barely distinguishable under the muted silvery light that filtered through the clouds.

"You came back!" said the girl.

"Hello Cathy!"

"Did you bring anyone?"

"No, I'm alone." Finding nothing else to say, Laurie looked down and fiddled with a fraying patch on his long, loose tunic.

Cathy leaned closer, peering curiously over the fence. "Is that your goat?"

There was a thump as the animal hopped back to the ground with a little bleat of surprise.

"Oh, yeah." Laurie crouched below the fence and straightened up a few seconds later, carrying an armful of goatling with its legs neatly tucked under its body. "She's a doeling. Her name is Poppy."

"Hi Poppy! Can I pet her?"

"Sure!"

Laurie stepped on the first plank of the fence, which complained with a loud creak, to raise Poppy higher. The goat seemed to have exhausted some of her energy while gambolling. She sat placidly, munching on some leaves and gazing into the distance, barely noticing Cathy's hand brush over her head and rub her back.

"She's so soft! Like she's wearing a nice new dress," said Cathy. "Except that goats don't wear clothes." She looked back at Laurie with wide, questioning eyes. "Hey, can they dress up?"

Laurie had to think about that for a moment. "No... well, I've never seen one of our goats do that, anyway. The clothes would get dirty and Ma would tell it off."

"Well goats are way better than dolls, because dolls don't ever jump or eat stuff! And Poppy'd look so pretty with a red ribbon, right here," Cathy decided, pointing at the specific part of Poppy's head where she imagined the accessory. "Do you have a ribbon?"

Laurie shook his head. The end of his short braid was fastened with a bit of yarn, and even if he'd had a ribbon, it would be kept for special occasions and festival days only.

As if she had guessed Cathy's idea, the goat was beginning to stir. Laurie set her down and stretched his frail arms with relief. Cathy leaned against her side of the fence, wearing a deliberate pout designed for an optimal broadcast of her sullen mood.

"My parents said I could get a new doll and a ribbon for my birthday, but how'm I gonna wait for that?"

Laurie nodded with a sympathetic smile. It was terrible to have to wait for new things.

"It's stupid!" Cathy's eyes widened again, the idea that had popped into her mind almost visible inside them. "Is it your birthday yet, Laurie?"

He shook his head. "Sorry, it's not."

Cathy chewed her lip in frustration. Her eyes wandered over the ground until they fell upon a potential solution.

"And Poppy? Is it her birthday yet? We can ask for a present for her!"

"Sorry, she's too little to have a birthday."

Cathy let out a tragic, exasperated sigh and slumped against the fence. "I bet you don't have a doll either," she grumbled.

"I have a doll back home," Laurie suggested hopefully. "Sorta. My Ma used goat fur, and she braided some bits of yarn for the hair, and we can try fishtail braids next time. But Ma doesn't want us to take it out into the fields, and, um... it's not really for me. It's for my little sister."

"I used to have a doll," Cathy retorted, not to be outdone. "We can't play with her now because her head fell off and then I lost her, but she's the prettiest ever. I braided cornflowers for her hair."

Laurie glanced up the path behind him before turning back to Cathy. "If we find her a head, we can play with her. What's her name?"

"Her name is Daisy like the queen and if you play with her, you have to bow and say Your Majesty and say she's the queen of all the other dolls. You can bow, right?"

Laurie nodded, then whipped around to look behind him again. Distant bursts of laughter drifted up the path. Their source soon came into view: a group of children, walking side by side, shoving each other around boisterously.

"Willard kids an' friends," Laurie mumbled. "I better go."

Without waiting, he ducked back into the grass and crept along the fence as fast as he could while remaining silent. The children were definitely coming in his direction, showing no signs of turning back. Laurie had reached the corner of the fence when he realised that something would give away his presence - Poppy.

The goatling was still exploring an old tree stump overgrown with brambles. Laurie called her name in a furious whisper. She ignored him with an air of regal nonchalance, until an empty pea hull hit the back of her head and fell to the ground. She immediately gobbled it up and dashed over to the young peasant with renewed interest. A second hull, then half a broccoli stem from his pocketful of kitchen scraps guided her swiftly around the corner. As soon as they had reached the other side of Cathy's home, Laurie crouched in the bushes, holding the goat tightly against himself.

Were they looking for him at all? Were they better at seeking than he was at hiding? He was about to find out. Shrill voices sounded closer and closer, though not clear enough for Laurie to make out any words. The group seemed to have split up. Laurie strained to listen through the sound of his own heartbeat and the huffing of the goat, who was trying to climb on his shoulders, her warm muzzle tickling his ear.

The kids exchanged a few rapid, yelp-like sentences. A sound of grass trampled under heavy clogs warned him of someone's approach just around the corner. Laurie sat very still, praying that the goat would stay patient a little longer. He didn't dare lift his head from his hunched shoulders. The footsteps started up again, treading faster and faster. They were heading away from him.

Poppy jumped off Laurie like a coiled spring, sneezed and shook herself. The child waited until the voices had died down in the distance before unwrapping his arms from around his knees. Any day when he didn't have to run into the other kids was a good day. Carefully, he brushed dirt off his trouser legs - it wasn't laundry day yet - and stood on tiptoe to peek over the fence.

"Cathy?" he whispered as loudly as he dared.

The girl's head appeared above the grass again, just a foot to his left, floating in its cloud of gossamer hair.

"You're still here!" She sounded relieved. She gazed at Laurie with a kind of intense fascination, taking in his every feature as if to make sure that she remembered him properly.

"Yeah... it's lunch time soon, so I guess they had to go home quick, or else they'll get birched."

"You should come play with me!"

Laurie glanced behind her, hesitating. "I'm not supposed to come in... can you come over to my side?"

Cathy pointed at the top of the fence with a grimace of disgust. "No! There's an icky spider, I'm not going anywhere near it!"

There was indeed a spider sitting on the wood next to a patch of lichen, minding its own business, a fairly average spider that Laurie wouldn't even have noticed if she hadn't pointed it out.

"But it's not... doing anything. These ones don't even bite."

"It just looks so weird, and creepy!"

"Well they say I stand around looking weird too," Laurie mumbled. "So me and the spider can just go look weird together in the weird people corner."

He turned pointedly away from Cathy and, using a leaf, managed to coax the spider into his hand. He set it on the ground before it could skitter all the way up his arm - as spiders or insects are wont to do if they mysteriously find themselves riding someone's hand. When he straightened up again, Cathy was leaning over the spider-free fence.

"It's all right! Come in, let's play with my doll," she said, launching the words right into his face with an eager smile. "There was a loose plank over here, you could climb through!"

"Wait, I thought you had lost her? Can... can I really come in?"

Cathy had already sauntered away. Laurie quickly found the plank she had been talking about, pushed it down and squeezed through, ducking low so as not to get scratched by brambles. The spiders' and weird people's corner didn't have any dolls in it, after all. Intrigued by the loud creaking of the battered old wood, Poppy trotted over and climbed after him easily.

The other side of the fence was flooded by a sea of tall grass. After a few yards, it suddenly parted around an island of flat ground. Several large chunks of charred wood sat there, arranged as benches often were outside homes for the inhabitants and neighbours to enjoy the afternoon sun.

It was hard to distinguish anything beyond the grass and the fence that cut them off from the rest of the world. "Can anyone see us in here?" Laurie whispered.

"No," said Cathy, right next to him. "You're the only one who comes to see me anyway."

"Oh... right. So what about your doll?"

"She's pretty, isn't she?" The girl's arms were folded in a cradling position. Her tone grew more urgent. "Isn't she?" Try as he might, Laurie could not see any dolls. "Hey, you promised to play right," Cathy reminded him sharply. "Laurie you said you would!"

"Oh!" He bowed. "Hello Your Majesty."

Cathy smiled, pacified. "Pleasedtomeetyooou," she cooed in a high-pitched voice, waving her folded arms up and down. She then pointed at each of the black logs on the ground in turn. "And this is where her family sits for dinner. Her big sister here, her little brother here, and her mumma over there and then her pa. But she doesn't play with them anymore." Cathy stepped closer to Laurie, staring into his eyes. "I lost their heads. We have to find them!"

Laurie nodded, unsure what to do next. Poppy had decided to stay near the fence without venturing any closer. He shouldn't leave her alone for too long. Laurie crouched on his skinny legs to inspect the ground for any fallen doll heads. Cathy hovered around him like a moth around a lamp. The dirt here was dark, grainy and fine as sand; it clung to his shoes and seemed to fill the atmosphere, seeping into his clothes. A sudden gust of wind blew a whole cloud of it into the air. Laurie shuddered and stood up, trying to scrape the grit off his heels.

"I have to go home now, Cathy, they're gonna be mad if I'm too late."

"What? No, you have to stay here!"

"I have to bring Poppy back and help with the chores this afternoon..."

He took a few steps back towards the goat, but Cathy popped up in front of him, blocking the way.

"I have an idea," she said with a wide grin. "You don't have to leave. Let's trade places! I go home to Ma, and you stay here instead."

The wind kept blowing around them. Laurie remained speechless for a moment as he tried to process that idea, blinking in confusion and to protect his eyes from the coarse black dust.

"My Ma's gonna worry, though." Laurie smiled apologetically and dodged Cathy's insistent stare, walking past her again. He hoped that Poppy hadn't ventured too far, it had already been difficult enough to find her the first time.

"We are friends... right Laurie?" Cathy's voice called from behind him, almost lost in the wind.

He stopped in his tracks.

"Yeah..." he said, looking at the ground. "You're the only one who's nice."

Glancing back over his shoulder, he could see the entrance to Cathy's home behind her. It seemed nice in there, cozy and peaceful.

"Shouldn't you go inside?"

"I don't wanna."

Laurie hesitated a second longer, then picked up the pace and walked through the grass. "See you next time," he called. He could still feel Cathy's stare pricking his back.

Poppy had already slinked back through the fence and scampered down the dirt trail. When she spotted him, she bleated, stamped her hooves excitedly and headed straight for the main path. Laurie had to sprint and overtake her on one side to make her veer in the right direction, and they both began to trot home. The road was wider and straighter here, with two neat lines of hard earth flattened by all the wheels that had driven over it.

"Lawrence!"

A silhouette was hurrying towards them, growing larger and larger against the background of meadows and farmhouses. Laurie sped up as much as his little legs would let him. As soon as they were about to cross each other, he pushed Poppy sideways and forced her towards Ma, who scooped her easily into her arms.

"Look how filthy she is! Where were you lurking all this time, boy?"

"Poppy wandered way over there, Ma, I think she hid and fell asleep and woke up long after the others were gone."

They strode briskly side by side, their walk punctuated by the rhythmic rustling of Ma's patched blue skirt. Laurie could smell her apron from where he was, the unmistakable blend of herbs and wood smoke into which he had so often burrowed his head to hide in a small, crinkly linen world.

"What, and you fell asleep too on the way?" She slowed down for a few paces and reached over to seize the hem of his tunic, inspecting her boy with a keen eye. The goat tried to struggle out of her arms, but fell quiet at a sharp clack of Ma's tongue. She tucked a loose strand of wavy hair behind Laurie's ear. "Didn't run into those Willard brats now, did you?"

"No..."

Ma frowned. "Were you hanging around the Woodley house again?"

He averted his eyes, but nothing could divert his mother's intense scrutiny. "... Yes. Because Poppy went there."

"Laurie..." He didn't need to look up to know how cross and exasperated she was. "How many times will I have to tell you to stay away from ill-fortuned places? Will you ever get it into your airy head?"

"I'm sorry, Ma! It's lunch time, so nobody was there to see, really," he mumbled. He dragged his feet a little, staring at the ground as if hoping to hide under it.

"And what'll happen next time somebody spots you lurking somewhere? What d'you think they'll come and tell me at our doorstep if they see you around the Woodley place too?"

"Well, they'll say I'm a thing of the 'Pit that came to take your dead baby's place and to eat up your soul, and that you should beat it all out of me."

Laurie shuffled on ahead, but Ma stopped short. It had been a rhetorical question. The boy had overheard more than she was aware of.

"Oy," she barked at her son, "don't you spout such wicked things out of that mouth, child, or I'll scrub them out with laundry soap! And if I catch you eavesdropping again, you're going to catch two big earfuls of my hand!"

From behind the boy's hunched back, she heard a mumbled "M'sorry, Ma".

They had reached the paddock behind their house. Ma finally put the squirming goatling down and Poppy scampered towards her family without wasting another second. Ma rubbed the small of her back, catching her breath. Laurie seemed to be about to wander off, so she put a firm arm around his skinny shoulders.

"Those were also some very, very wicked things for big people to say, you know? Especially about kids who don't mean any harm. I nearly lost my head when they had the gall to talk about you like that, I did. Almost chased them out of the house with both sides of my broom."

He nodded feebly, his eyes on the ground.

"You don't believe any of that, do you?" When Ma heard no reply, she pulled him closer. "Lawrence." She took his chin and tilted it up. "Look at me when I speak."

He was forced to look up into her clear blue eyes that had always held his gaze so comfortably. He couldn't hide the worry betrayed by his tense, creased face and his trembling mouth.

"Don't you believe a word of their lies, child. All right? You're my own precious boy, remember that always."

He gave her a small smile and some of the fear in his eyes faded away. She wrapped her arms around him and brought him into a hug, nestling his head against her chest, letting him rest on her in the most natural of gestures. He let out a deep sigh of content. For a moment, his worries melted away, engulfed in the perfect warmth and safety of her embrace.

She released him, slightly flustered. "So, don't give them anything else to whisper about. Stay away from that place, will you?"

He gazed up at her with wide, pleading eyes. "But Ma, I said I'd go back and talk with Cathy!"

"I didn't know you were friends with the Woodley girl." The name was familiar to Ma, she dimly recalled a little brunette playing in the area with her siblings.

"Yes, and I'm the only one who ever talks to her now. I can't just stop, that would be mean!"

A chilling sense of unease crept over Ma as she processed her son's words; her throat clenched. She shrugged it off. "So... you're still friends with her today? Tell me, what did you do over there? What does she do?"

Laurie blinked slowly, uncertain. "We just... talk? Just next to her house. I don't even go inside the garden. And she wanted to play with a doll, but we didn't find it."

"Lawrence..." Ma gave a weary sigh, fiddling with the back of her headscarf. "No one can talk with the Woodleys anymore," she explained as gently as she could. "You remember what happened to them, right?"

"Yeah..." He lowered his eyes. "I remember. But she's there! And... she's the only kid who talks to me nicely. She... she said we're friends."

Ma bit her lip. In any other circumstances, she would have been delighted to hear that Laurie was finally getting along with other children. "But you're not supposed to be able to talk to her at all, Lawrence, or even see her anymore. No one can. I'm sorry. You know how that works. If anyone saw you talking to... to her..."

"Fine. D'you think I could go just once, tomorrow?" he asked without much hope. "Just to say bye."

She racked her brains to find a peaceful compromise. "Instead of playing, you could bring her something... You should bring her flowers. That way if anyone sees you, it'll look more... normal."

Laurie seemed to cheer up a little. "Cathy likes flowers! Like clover flowers and dandelions, there's plenty next to her garden."

"Not like that, no. You should find nicer, bigger flowers. We can't afford lilies... Look for white daffodils, or irises, and as many white flowers as you can find." She observed him carefully, hoping that he understood. "You know, a nice bunch of flowers. Like those we got for great-uncle Kellan. You can leave them where the house used to stand."

He pondered this for a moment, then nodded, with more certainty this time.

Ma gave a small sigh of relief. "Good. You do that tomorrow. Now skedaddle and grab some lunch, if your brother's left you any."

She gave him a quick pat on the head and he skipped off towards the house.

"Check on Briar," she called, on her way to the back garden. "And check whatever Kelcey's up to and tell him to stop immediately. I want one of you helping me in the vegetable patch soon!"

Laurie turned back to give her a nod before going in. He felt confident that, for at least one afternoon, he would be all right.

[Liou]

Co-starring Celestial, such an honour ;w;

Making Amends - Part One
(canon, 1314)

SPOILER: Click to show

Ambrose took a deep breath as he looked out over the fields, still not sure if this was a wise thing to do. It had been two weeks since Briar's release, or at least that was what he had been told. It was flying by both far too fast and far too slowly. Alain, Lucinda and Garrick had gone back to Destrier, leaving him alone with his duties. While he had recovered sufficiently from the Coronation, Ambrose was still spending his waking moments exhausted by his new job. Yes, Master Aines was there and he was shouldering much of the burden of clearing up the fallout of the Coronation and the establishment of King Galateo but that did not mean that Ambrose was not being kept busy. On the contrary, he was busier than he had ever been in his life, with tasks he had no experience of ever doing before.

If it had not been for Alain's wholehearted recommendation and Aldrich's acceptance of him, Ambrose would have believed he could not do the job at all. But he wanted to do good, to take his chance to, at last, be something besides a madman. It was not like it was ever going to be easy.

However, that was not why he was here. All this time, he had remembered that carriage ride, that descent into the basement and, most starkly, Briar's blank look as she was released. His memory of that day was fuzzy in places but that just made those moments stand out all the more. He was also sure that he had promised to do something for her, for all the Kiddes.

Finding out where they lived took some asking from the other Shadows, who had been suspicious of his motives at best, but eventually he found out. As soon as the Stallion had a scrap of free time, he decided it was time to honour that promise. So one fine summer morning, he set out towards the Kidde house. It would have been faster to take the carriage but Ambrose chose to walk. Not only did he prefer the walk after sitting for so long but he did not want to intimidate the Kiddes by arriving as a noble.

The state of the house, which was better described by the word 'hovel', stunned Ambrose at first, but upon further thought, he should really have not expected anything grander. It was clear by the state of all the Kidde sisters that they had been living in poverty for some time. He swallowed. All the more reason he wanted to help them.

Carefully, he approached the door, clutching the items he had been carrying. Small things, nothing to a nobleman but would probably mean the world to people like the Kiddes. Ambrose swallowed, hesitating as he lifted up his hand to knock. Would he even be welcome? He was a Stallion, one of the people who had imprisoned Briar. The reaction he was going to get was unlikely to be warm.

But it was alright. He was used to being unwelcome and he at least had to try to do something. That was what he had wanted to do after all, why he had agreed to meet the Shadows, why he accepted the position of advisor: he wanted to do something for once.

Ambrose gave the door a soft knock and stepped away, bowing his head and holding what he had brought with him tightly in his hands.

As Briar was out with Arthur, it was just Laurie at home for a change, catching up on chores and minding the house. These quiet days were restful now that he wasn't in a constant state of alarm. The Shadows were still busy after their takeover, weren't they? And surely Arthur wouldn't dare let anything happen to Briar.

The former thief still carried his dagger and shrank like a quivering rat everywhere he went. At least the thieving was over now, the Shadows would not ask anything else of him, and there would be no more guilt-laden items to get rid of. No one had come to arrest him for anything. There were no nobles to smile at, either; no need to curtsey, look pretty, simper or pretend that he appreciated their favours. He refrained from thinking about anything that had happened at the Raven's Keep, focusing instead on the people closest to him.

He had just gone back inside the house when he caught the knock on the front door. Laurie paused in his tracks. Perhaps an acquaintance was checking on them. Ignoring the prickling on the back of his neck, he went to crack the door open, and was greeted by the sight of the Stallion emblem. He froze. Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet Ambrose's gaze. His fingers had clenched around the side of the door. When he realised that he was staring, he immediately lowered his head.

"A-a good day to you, my lord," he breathed uncertainly, glancing behind Ambrose. Was the nobleman really alone? There were some bushes several yards away behind which someone could hide - well, one person could hide, if they curled up tight. Laurie opened the door wider and curtsied, having kept the reflex. He felt the weight of his dagger shift slightly as he moved.

"How may I serve you, my lord?"

Every muscle in Ambrose's body had tensed up when the door opened and he prayed silently that the visions would not choose this moment to manifest themselves. The visit did not have to be any more difficult than it already was. He glanced up at Laurie and allowed himself to be quietly examined, watching for any look of hatred or any sign that his presence was unwelcome or, worse, was going to be met with aggression. But Laurie mostly appeared startled by his presence here, which was perfectly understandable. A noble coming to visit unannounced like this would normally mean bad things, but Ambrose was no ordinary noble.

He shook his head when Laurie curtsied. "Just...just Ambrose, please. I'm not anybody's lord. And there's no need to bow to me either," he said quietly, giving Laurie a small smile. "I just came to ask how Briar is doing. And...I brought some gifts. It isn't much, just food and some medication, but I hope it will help."

The Stallion took off the bag he had slung over his shoulder and kept hidden with his cloak. There was not much in it, some cold meats, cheese, bread and a few picked things, including honey-pickled fruits he had included as a gift for the younger girls. For Briar, Ambrose had asked a physician for something to boost her strength as she recovered and he had given him a herbal concoction that now sat in a glass bottle at the very top marked with a picture label. At the very bottom, he had included a few precious jewels and one old coin, just to help with expenses.

It was very likely that the gifts were not going to be accepted and on some level, it felt like he was trying to buy their forgiveness where he knew there could be none, not after what Alain had done. But if he could make things a little bit easier for the Kiddes, that would be enough. Even if there could be no forgiveness, at least he could do something for them.

Laurie nearly jumped when he heard a few noises, thinking of horses and guards surrounding them, but it was only a shutter rattling in the breeze somewhere.

He gave a nod to acknowledge the permission to be informal with Ambrose, although that did not make him lower his guard.

His eyes widened at the sight of the bag full of food - even the bag itself was of a quality that he could only dream of owning. So after everything that had happened, House Stallion had decided to offer their charity. What a good thing that Briar was not around at that moment. Laurie did not dare imagine her reaction, and the last thing they needed was to give House Stallion an excuse to sanction them. Laurie would not let her disappear again.

What could they be planning? Possibilities flitted through his head at dizzying speed. Perhaps job offers that could not be refused, or some kind of set-up to arrest Briar or him in public. It would be so easy to claim that he had stolen the contents of the bag. He had stolen that tool kit, after all, and from Ambrose, the very person they had sent today. He went cold and numb, as if he was already shackled. He was at their mercy.

No matter how much this gift cost them in the future, to refuse it would be outright insulting.

"Your lord-... your generosity is boundless, Ambrose." He gave a polite nod instead of a bow. "And I beg your forgiveness for receiving you in my family's miserable home, which is so unbefitting of your noble presence."

He glanced back at the sordid room that was hopefully not too visible behind him. "May I have the honour of offering you... refreshments?" After that, maybe the real reason behind Ambrose's visit would be brought up. Briar didn't need to know whatever shameful thing Laurie would have to do in order to keep them safe.

"No, thank you, it's alright. I do not wish to impose, nor should I. I just came to ask how you were doing and offer those," Ambrose gave Laurie a small, kind smile, "It is very kind of you to offer, however. And please do not apologise for the state of your home. I'm in no position to mind."

He regarded Laurie again, taking in the person in front of him. Ambrose had expected he would be met with hostility or at least extreme formality but at the same time, his heart sank as he kept watching Laurie. The twitching at the slightest noise, constantly looking over Ambrose's shoulder and the silence between stiff, awkward words that came out as though they had been rehearsed. Laurie was afraid. Of him, of all people. It was not like Ambrose was not used to being the subject of fear but at the same time, that fear usually manifested as contempt, not this. This was the sort of fear that was reserved for Alain!

Why would Laurie be afraid though? The answer manifested itself in Ambrose's mind instantly; it was his House who imprisoned Briar after all. But Laurie had also arranged the Shadow meeting and no noble wrath had descended on them, far from it. Yet Ambrose knew that logic did not always factor into decisions. He had seen the effects of irrational emotion plenty of times.

The Stallion shook his head. "Laurie...please, don't be frightened of me. I just wanted to help you and your family, after all the pain and suffering that Briar had to go through at the hands of my House," he bowed his head. "It should never have happened and I am sorry I could not do more. Please, I pray that one day you will forgive us."

He looked up again, though he did not want to make eye contact. "Please don't worry about returning anything either. You need this a lot more than me or anybody in the Manor ever could."

Laurie lowered his eyes, hoping Ambrose wasn't too offended. The former maid had lost the habit of acting pleasantly around powerful people. Could this be a test of loyalty? He almost wished that the older man would act less nice; at least he would know where he stood.

While Ambrose was part of the House that had imprisoned Briar, he was also the one who had suddenly taken Laurie to free her, though several days too late. Laurie still didn’t know what to make of that. In any case, if it pleased him to act as a benefactor, then Laurie must humour him.

"Of course my family and I bear no ill thoughts towards your illustrious House. Nothing in the world would be enough to return this generous gift, for which we shall remain thankful."

At last, he slowly reached for the bag. He placed one hand underneath to support it, but was still surprised by its weight.

"I shall convey your lord-... your kind wishes to my sister, then, and ask for her forgiveness on your behalf." He would do no such thing, of course. Briar was well on her way to recovery and Laurie had no intention of bringing back her memories of Stallion Manor.

"I am sorry that she was not even here to greet you, after you took the time to travel all the way to our home to inquire after her. Briar... she was strong enough to go for a walk, today. With some of her friends." Briar was not alone, Laurie meant. She would be able to move further away from the city if necessary.

By itself, what Laurie was saying was as polite as could be but that was all it was: politeness. Ambrose felt a growing sense of despair. He had gotten far too used to hearing those strained tones his whole life to not recognise it as such. But it made sense that Laurie would act this way. No matter how old, mad or harmless Ambrose was, he was still a member of House Stallion and that brought with it certain expectations and a presence that he could never shake off, no matter how much his madness excluded him from truly fitting into it. Whether this air of politeness was being put on because he was a noble, because of his madness or because he was part of the House who had taken Briar, he could not tell.

Ambrose sighed deeply and looked back up at Laurie, a sad smile on his face. "You have every right to be mad at our House, you know. But...thank you for at least accepting this anyway," he gestured at the bag of gifts he had brought with him. "I'm just glad Briar is doing better, at least. It's small comfort."

Whatever it was, it made one thing clear: there was not going to be any progress today. As much as he wanted to do something, to extend out a helping hand and try to heal some of the damage that had been caused by his House to this family, he could not do it until the wound had healed a little more. Besides, Briar was not here anyway. It was her who had been damaged the most and her who he should try to help, even if it was futile.

"Speaking of your lor- travelling all the way here, was your trip comfortable enough? Do... do you require a carriage for the return? I could enquire..."

Ambrose shook his head and waved his hand dismissively at that. "No, it's quite alright. I came here on my own two feet and I can walk back. Besides, it's a nice day and after all the work the Keep has been piling on me, I prefer walking. But it's kind of you to offer, though I don't want you bothering on my part."

The Stallion bowed his head to Laurie. "And...thank you, for at least bothering to speak to me. I know it can't be easy after...what happened. I hope to maybe see you again, sometime?"

With that, Ambrose turned and started back along the road to Medieville, pondering the encounter. He had not been met with the hostility he had expected but neither had he had any opportunity to actually do what he wished. It could certainly have gone a lot better, but it could also have gone a lot worse. Perhaps later he could come back but for now, he just had to hope that the scant help he had provided was enough. Some more time had to pass before he had any hope of fixing the wounds on the Kidde family that had been inflicted by Stallion.

Laurie blinked slowly, confused. He was not accustomed to being thanked for receiving a gift. He quickly mumbled that Ambrose was welcome to the family's home as if it was his own.

For a moment, he wondered if there really were no strings attached, if Ambrose truly felt that sorry for them. He hadn't even brought any guards, after all. His sad smile made him seem almost vulnerable, so much that Laurie felt guilty for not acting warmer. As the Stallion walked away, humble and lonely, Laurie hesitantly took a few steps after him. He opened his mouth, but no words of comfort or reassurance came to him. He stopped with his arm held up in midair, halfway through reaching out.

His memories of following Ambrose into the cellar of Stallion Manor were still too fresh, the imprint they had left on his sister too vivid. He went back inside, put down the bag that he had been clutching, then slowly let himself slide onto the floor and curl up. This brief conversation had exhausted him more than anything else he had done that day.

Not a single guard appeared out of thin air to punish him for offending Ambrose.

[Celestial]

Guest-posting here for the second part of the collab with the lovely Liou. AKA: The Woobening.

Making Amends- Part Two
(canon, 1314)

SPOILER: Click to show

Days passed without any sign of Stallion guards; no one was arrested. Briar was still safe and sound. Laurie had added Ambrose's gifts to their stock without mentioning their origin. The herbal remedy and nutritious foods were saved specifically for Briar. Though Laurie still kept a tight watch on her and the house, he was starting to believe that they would survive.

Laurie was happier than ever to stay at home, preparing to welcome his little clan with a meal. He knew that their supplies were dwindling, though, and that he would have to steel himself and go out to town in search of a job. He couldn't risk being recognised as that thieving maid, so the first step would be to acquire some proper, masculine clothes. To brace himself, he had begun to wear a set of old clothes, after adjusting them to fit his frame. As long as he was home alone and focusing on housework, he was fine.

Ambrose, meanwhile, had continued on with his job. Things continued to settle into the new paradigm and he had begun to find some rhythm to the tasks he had been set. There had been no word, positive or negative, about his involvement with the Kiddes, which was fine as he was concerned. He did not need any gratitude for it, as long as it helped Briar. That was the least he could do for not managing to look after her while she was trapped in the wine cellar.

Some time passed since his last visit to Laurie before he decided perhaps it was worth checking in again to see how they were doing. Ambrose was still unsure about whether he wanted to meet Briar there, still fearing her hostile reaction, but the previous time he had gone to the Kidde home went without aggression or particular hatred. He had not been welcomed, yes, but it was not something he expected anyway. His offerings had been accepted at least. Maybe on the second time, he could do more to help.

Once again, when he had a free day, the Stallion had packed a few choice things and set off towards the Kidde house. His thoughts buzzed as Ambrose pondered what he was going to say to Laurie again, or what he would do if he encountered Briar at the house, but at the same time he knew there was no anticipating their reaction. As before, the most he could make was friendly overtures.

Though Ambrose retained the hope that Laurie would perhaps be more open with him than before. Some time had passed and time tended to heal, plus Ambrose had shown that he was absolutely no threat. But he also remember what he thought last time: sometimes, logic and reason did not factor into decisions.

Whatever was going to happen, it was going to happen. The Stallion took a deep breath once again as he approached the door and knocked on it before stepping back and waiting for an answer.

Laurie froze. He had heard steps outside, but hadn't registered them. The girls wouldn't knock if they came home early. If it was a neighbour or just someone asking for directions, maybe he could stay mostly hidden, or at least make up an excuse for his clothing.

He put his sewing down, tugged nervously at his collar and went to crack the door open by a few inches. The sight of the figure framed in sunlight struck him like a stone.

"My lord-" The words escaped him before he could stop them.

"Ah, hello," Ambrose said, blinking as she saw the unfamiliar figure who had opened the door. He did remember the girls mentioning a brother but that brother had been executed in Courdon, or at least that was what he had heard. He did not remember anybody ever mentioning a second brother either. So who was this person?

It only took a few more seconds of intense study for the realisation to hit him: Laurie! The maid who he was convinced before had been a girl. While Ambrose was no stranger to girls wearing a man's clothes, after all his niece did that often, but the person in front of him was clearly male. Feminine, perhaps, but male, yet he still behaved, acted, looked and sounded like Laurie.

The young man opened the door wider. What else was there to do? Ambrose knew that he had been a maid. After seeing him several times, there was no way he wouldn’t recognise him.

"How may I help you?" Laurie asked, his stomach already in knots.

The Stallion coughed and cleared his throat, deciding to put the question on his mind about Laurie away for the moment. "I...I thought I would visit again, just to see how you are...and I brought more things..."

Was it even polite to ask? Ambrose had seen stranger things, somebody cross-dressing was not shocking to him at all but he knew that not everyone shared that attitude. Would Laurie even mind if he brought it up? Or if he thought that Laurie was a boy when they were a girl or vice versa. If Laurie got annoyed with him over something like that, it could so easily undo all the progress he made last visit, or make things worse. But he could not just ignore it, it was impossible to ignore. At least he could ask and gauge the thoughts Laurie had by the latter’s reaction to the question.

Ambrose put a hand to his head. "This...this is going to be a very awkward question. But...Laurie, right? You are Laurie?"

Laurie immediately felt a twinge of guilt, as if his name itself was an accusation.

"I..." He tried to use his slightly deeper natural voice, but it felt too strange and unfamiliar in his throat. "My name is Lawrence, m-my lord." Dropping the formal title would be an admission that they had met before.

The world outside the door suddenly seemed huge, about to crush him. What part was he even supposed to play? He should use the sibling resemblance card. Make up a story, lie casually while staying as close to the truth as possible.

No words came to him. All the assurance he had displayed as a maid had disappeared with his dress, folded neatly in a chest that lay tauntingly out of his reach.

"My sisters and I are so grateful to your lordship for your generous help, and for you to visit a second time, it's... they would be..."

Even without looking directly at Ambrose's eyes, he could feel the Stallion’s gaze. His slightly oversized shirt felt too loose, too revealing around his collarbones and fragile neck. The familiar heat started to crawl under his skin again. He shrank back against the door, leaving Ambrose a wider opening in the process.

"I'm so sorry that Briar isn't home even though you took the trouble to come all the way here,” he stammered, his face and neck blushing visibly. “May I offer you some refreshments, tea?" When in doubt, it was all he could do to serve the lord.

A confused frown appeared on Ambrose's face. Was he really mistaken? Lawrence and Laurie...they were in theory two similar names and the mannerisms of the two people he had met were too similar to be a coincidence. But nevertheless, Laurie- or Lawrence- clearly did not want him to acknowledge the similarity, for whatever reason the Stallion could only guess at. No matter what it was, however, Lawrence deserved his decision respected. It was was best not to acknowledge it.

"Very well then, Lawrence," Ambrose bowed his head and gave him a weak smile. "You can still call me by name, if you wish."

He winced at the way Lawrence shrank against the door, not liking the still obvious fear that was still being shown towards him. The apologies too, made him feel far more important than he really was. It was also politeness, smeared on thickly, sometimes because of contempt but in this case, it was because Lawrence was afraid. Ambrose was not sure which was worse.

"Please don't be scared, or apologise to me. I came out here of my free will and I just got lucky that somebody was inside the house," he said, keeping his tone quiet and calm.

Despite the offer of refreshments, the Stallion stayed firmly rooted in place, not wanting to go in and impose on the hospitality being offered to him but reluctant to leave either. It would be a lie to say he was not a little disappointed at not seeing Briar again but even after all this time, he was still unsure of what he could do when he finally came face to face with her. Lawrence was here and the fear he was showing, plus the sudden change of identity, made Ambrose want to speak with him, to try to convince him that he really was no threat. But the young man clearly saw him as a noble first and whatever else he was second, even if Ambrose was a noble only by birth.

Maybe his thoughts would be clearer with a drink in hand. They usually were.

The Stallion smiled up at Laurie and took the bag off his shoulder, taking it in his hand. "If it's okay with you, tea would be-"

Oh Woo, no!

He barely had time to drop the bag and bring up his hand to cover his eyes before he froze in place, the vision stealing away his awareness of his surroundings. Through his fingers, his unseeing, blank eyes peered beyond the ground in front of him.

Laurie took a breath and tugged at his shirt collar. He needed to get a grip, or he'd end up sounding rude.

"Please come in, my l-"

He jumped when he heard the bag fall with a thud. He glanced all around, up and down the road, for anything that could have startled Ambrose. Then he noticed how the Stallion was covering his eyes as if he couldn't bear the sight before him. Something within Laurie hissed and recoiled, seething, and he automatically wrapped an arm around his chest, digging his nails into his flesh.

However, he quickly realised that something was off, that Ambrose's body was too stiff, that his breathing had changed. The older man seemed fairly sturdy, especially as he had walked all the way, but if anything happened to him here...

"Ambrose? Is something the matter?"

No response. Laurie stepped closer to get a better look at Ambrose's face, hoping that he wouldn't lose consciousness.

Ambrose, however, remained completely unaware of what Laurie was doing, instead staring ahead at the scene unfolding in front of him. A man about his age stands in front of a darkened altar, his hands over his heart and a whisper of a prayer coming out of his mouth. The mural in front of him that he faint candlelight illuminates depicts all sorts of animals and people, all centred around a large wheel and dice. The man himself is dressed in fine, warm clothes decorated with the richest patterns, though the large crown upon his head leaves no question about who he is. His face, however, is as miserable and worn as that of a beggar, something that caused an intense twinge of sympathy in Ambrose's heart.

The door of the temple suddenly opens. The man looks up as several other people, soldiers judging by their appearance and weapons, file in, cutting off his escape. The long feathers in their caps match the swords at their hips. They charge towards him and grab him, knocking him off his feet and on to the stone floor. He cries out in pain just as a young, dark-eyed man comes in. The minute the older man spots him, his eyes widen and his face twists into a mask of fear. But in his eyes, there is another emotion: betrayal.

"Федо-" the man does not finish what he wants to say before the soldier on top of him slits his throat. Blood pours into the cracks in the floor.

Only then did the vision let Ambrose go.

"No, why...don't kill him," he murmured to no-one. Ambrose stumbled as his muscles relaxed from the iron grip that his magic had on him and fought to regain his balance. It was a struggle he lost.

The Stallion collapsed on to the ground, only just managing to twist himself into a sitting position. He dug his fingers into his forehead, leaving half-moon marks in his skin where his fingernails made contact. The image of the man's eyes was frozen in his mind. Eyes that were so similar to that of the young man who watched him brutally be slaughtered. Ambrose shuddered.

He had to focus. Where was he, what was he doing before the vision came upon him? Ambrose removed his hand and blearily looked around. The countryside...the house...Briar's house...and Laurie.

Lawrence! Oh Woo, what was he going to think? Yes, he could explain it as time magic now but even so, Ambrose knew what it looked like. He was supposed to be putting the young man at ease, gaining his trust, helping him and his family! Laurie seemed to have slowly been growing more accepting of him. Now he might have to start from square one.



Laurie had sprung forward to catch Ambrose and cushion his fall as much as he could, watching out for stones on the hard ground.

Ambrose turned his head and slowly looked up at the young man, his distress apparent all over his face. "I am so sorry, Lawrence, please, forgive me. This happens to me. It's..." he rubbed his eyes. "It's normal and it's harmless. I'm harmless. Please, please don't be frightened of me."

"Good 'Woo- well, you did give us a fright! I'm just glad you're awake!" Laurie was still holding one of Ambrose's wrists, and peering attentively at his face for any worrying symptoms.

He wasn't sure what to make of Ambrose's stream of apologies; but somehow the use of his full, male name made the reality of it all sink in. He had seen elderly people having various kinds of fits before. He glanced at the faint marks on Ambrose's forehead.

"Are you in any pain, Ambrose? Is there something special you need when... when this happens? I should send for a physician - your House's physician, they'll know what to do, won't they?

Ambrose looked up at Laurie's words, but it was the tone of said words that caught his attention the most. There it was, the soft condescension that he had heard a thousand times before from so many different, well-meaning people asking if they should call somebody to come and look after the madman. Telling him that there was something wrong with him. In the past, he would have accepted it. He had never felt mad but what other explanations were there for his visions? None. So Ambrose had surrendered himself to being treated like that, no matter how much it hurt.

But now...he was not mad! He knew that for a fact. Alain would not have made up such an elaborate lie and even if he had, madmen could not stop time like he had done at the Bloody Coronation. The Stallion knew what he was and most people had accepted it. But to have somebody bring him back down, to treat him like a madman again despite all that happened, despite all he had gained and learned...it hurt. It hurt more than he cared to admit. To think that he would never get over the stigma of his visions. If not even becoming the king's advisor could help shake off the illusion of madness, what possibly could?

It was not Laurie's fault. However misguided, the young man was doing what he believed was right, like everyone else had done. But it Ambrose had said that his words and tone had not shaken his confidence even a little, he would have been lying.

At least now, he could explain.

"Thank you for your concern, Lawrence, but I am not in any pain," Ambrose said, keeping his voice neutral to avoid slipping in any notes of anger or sadness, which might make the skittish young man feel even worse. "Nor is there any need to call the physician. He would not know what to do. What happens to me is not an illness or anything natural. It's nothing I have not dealt with my whole life."

He shifted his weight on to his knees and propped himself up with one leg, using it to push himself back into a standing position. The Stallion then wiped some of the dust that clung to his clothes like a parasite and turned back to Laurie, bowing his head. "I am sorry you had to see that, really. I know how it looks. But I can tell you what it is and it is not madness," he winced slightly at the sudden harshness that snuck into his tone and sighed. "May I come inside? It might be better if we talked over tea," he gave Laurie a weak smile. "If you're alright with it, of course. It is your home."

Laurie, ready to help Ambrose back to his feet, was immensely relieved to see that the Stallion managed on his own.

Madness? He hadn't even had time to think about it. Ambrose's strong, almost reflexive denial struck a familiar chord within him, though.

"Of course, do come in, please make yourself at home!"

He still didn't really understand what had happened, but seeing as he didn't have a dying nobleman on his hands and in his family's house, things would probably go better from now on. Now all he had to do was smooth over this incident and survive for the rest of the visit.

Laurie picked up the fallen bag, closed the door behind Ambrose and rushed to draw out the only good chair - Pa's old chair, at the head of the family-sized table. It was battered, but clean, and hopefully not rickety. Laurie placed the bag by the chair, swept bits of fabric and thread off the dark wooden tabletop and into his sewing basket, then went to start the fire under the teapot. He found an unchipped mug at the back of the shelf and brought it to the table, with a little bowl of berries he'd been saving.

"Please forgive my slow reaction earlier," he said breathlessly while gathering herbs to infuse, "I may have... I couldn't help thinking that sometimes, if there's a tired heart, or... or an illness that strikes too fast for anyone to react... silly of me. In any case, I am really glad to see you in good health."

Ambrose had sat down in the chair that Laurie had pulled out for him and rested his hands on the table, casting a glance around the house. To call it run down was charitable and it occurred to him that it looked just as bad on the outside as it had on the inside before he brushed such thoughts away. It was rude to think them in the presence of his host, especially because it was hardly something he could help.

He smiled when Laurie placed the mug and the berries in front of him, grateful for that kindness. At the same time, the Stallion did feel a twinge of guilt at watching the young man run around getting the kettle done while he sat here and relaxed. Though judging by the way Laurie had acted previously, it was unlikely that any help he was going to offer would be accepted.

"It's quite alright, really," Ambrose turned and looked down, studying the grain of the table. "I understand, a sudden illness can strike when you least expect it. I've seen it...many times," he sighed. Sudden illness: that was something he had witnessed not just in the visions but in his own life too, even if it had been a long time ago. However, the Stallion shook his head, dismissing the thought. "You should not worry about me, however. Aside from..." he waved his hand in front of his eyes, "What you saw, I'm perfectly healthy. Surprisingly so, actually. The only thing I suffer from is fatigue but that is related to the visions."

Ambrose swallowed and glanced up at where Laurie was working. Despite his knowledge and his earlier assertion, it still made him uncomfortable to just sit here talking while the young man got everything together. He pushed his chair away from the table. "Are you sure you don't want me to help? I just...it doesn't feel right to have you working while I sit about talking."

Laurie froze, a second mug in hand.

"Oh it's fine, thank you, I shan't be much longer. Sorry for the wait! Are you comfortable there?"

He felt horribly exposed again, doing household chores in his ill-fitting clothes. Why had he picked today of all days to try them on? He kept tugging at his collar and brushing his fingers up and down his throat. It was tempting to undo his ponytail and let his hair fall like a curtain around his shoulders and upper chest, but that would defeat the purpose of his outfit.

He sat down on the edge of a low bench next to Ambrose. It was odd to see someone sitting in the one good chair that had always been reserved for Pa. Laurie had never been allowed to sit in it, or even allowed himself to use it after Pa's death. He still felt so tiny next to it.

"I... I haven't started on dinner yet, but I could fix a meal if you require something more filling… We still have a lot of work to improve the place." He couldn't shake off the feeling that he was a disappointing host, with so little to offer. The wait for the tea seemed far too long. "So... it's a problem related to your vision? I'm sorry to hear that. I hope there are ways of making it more tolerable."

Ambrose had been watching Laurie as the young man worked, unable to ignore his obvious discomfort he was displaying, discomfort clearly related to him. It made sense, most peasants would be uncomfortable with a noble intruding on their home, even if the noble had come with friendly intentions. It did not make the result any more pleasant for Ambrose. He of all people had no desire to intimidate anybody. After all, he was hardly a noble worth looking up to or treating like one.

Which is why he gave a tiny sigh of relief when Laurie had finally sat down on the tiny seat next to him. Combined with the height of his own chair, and with Ambrose's already considerable height, he felt like he loomed over the young man. The Stallion sighed, lowering his head and the stoop of his shoulders deepening as he leaned down on to the table. However, he still smiled at Laurie weakly and shook his head, finally taking the time to look up at him, his eyes open and honest.

"Really, it's fine. I appreciate any hospitality and I don't want to impose. It's already kind of you to do this for me and I can easily eat when I get back home. I'm not...I'm not going to take anything from you, when I already have plenty," Ambrose told him and cast another glance around the house. No, he had no right to take anything from here at all. The Kiddes already barely had anything while he was a noble. He had come to try to help, not rob them. His House had already done enough to hurt them. "I'd rather give you things. It's what people should do, when they have more."

The Stallion closed his eyes and gave a soft sigh when Laurie asked about his visions. "There's not really any way to make my visions better. Well, there is, but it's not something I can do consciously," he clasped his hands together, his mind working through the information Alain had given him. After all these years, the revelation of his powers and their cause was still one that was difficult to process.

"It's...what happens to me is a form of uncontrollable time magic. The only way to be able to live with it is to build up a resistance," he almost added 'like to an illness' but he did not want to give Laurie the wrong impression. Woo knew, Ambrose had lived long enough with people thinking it was an illness.

He gave a small, sad smile. "It used to be much worse when I was a child. What you see is nothing, really," Ambrose then shook his head and looked up at Laurie. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't talk about myself. It's not a good, or polite thing to do."

Laurie pondered these revelations over his steaming tea. He did not have much trouble believing them, after his own strange experiences. His sister’s captivity had left him with a bitter taste, and he did not consider Ambrose’s condition an extenuating circumstance, and yet he simply couldn’t help but sympathise.

"So it's like... like a powerful jinx, but you have built up the strength to withstand it?" A hint of admiration seeped into his voice.

"No need to be sorry, you are certainly worth talking about." He looked down again, feeling that he had been too bold. "But only if you wish to talk, naturally. Thank you for the explanation."

Ambrose shrunk a little at the very obvious awe in Laurie's voice. He had been used to many reactions when he explained what happened to him; confusion, fear, distance. More recently, now that he could openly give them a more socially agreeable reason than mere insanity, he had also started to get acceptance. But admiration, especially admiration over his powers, was still something he needed to get used to. Yet he could not deny it, it felt...nice. To not be pushed away or jeered at but instead be looked up to. The Stallion could not help but smile a little.

"You are...very kind, Lawrence, thank you," he murmured, "After making you witness that, and making you worry, I owed you an explanation. And I suppose you could call it that. Though I will never be strong enough to completely suppress it. It still...well, you saw what it does."

Laurie stood up again to check on the water. "For a child to have to deal with magic," he continued quietly, "that's... well, it changes everything."

Ambrose looked up when Laurie got up, blinking a little at his ambiguous statement. "But...what did you mean it changes everything? Do you..." he trailed off, wondering if this was too personal a question to ask. "Do you know something about having to deal with magic at an early age?"

Laurie paused, about to pour the water over the leaves.

"No, I don't. I am not a witch!" He bit his lip. "Or any kind of magic user. In case it seemed that way," he mumbled. The denial had come to him like a reflex, even though his tone remained level.

Ambrose flinched and stared up at Laurie, startled by sudden rebuttal that had come from the young man. It was a reaction he knew far too well. He had heard it many times before, except the words were usually 'I'm not mad'. Inwardly, he could not help but wince in sympathy. The Stallion had no desire to pry to find out what could have triggered such a reaction but he knew all too well that it must be deep-rooted, for Laurie to have such a knee-jerk response. As much as he wanted to extend his kindness out and help, these sorts of things could not just be brought out into the open without a lot of coaxing, on top of all the coaxing he was already doing.

Laurie brought the pot to the table, moving with unnecessary caution.

"I was just thinking that it would be difficult for a child. Especially considering how people and children can react or misunderstand. Like... like I did earlier. The looks they give you, year after year, the rumours that start over nothing. And... I should have known about this, actually." He rubbed his forehead, brushing a few strands of hair away as fuzzy memories came into focus: Ambrose freezing, staring and collapsing, but in a dark cellar. "That explains what happened to you on the day of the coronation..."

Laurie realised what he had said and paused, still playing with his hair. "Not... not that I was there to see it, I just heard it from... my sister -" no, Briar had been unconscious. "From the friends who went to fetch my sister," he mumbled.

He lifted the lid off the pot to check the color and scent of the infusion, then set to pouring some into Ambrose's mug.

The Stallion smiled at Laurie and took the mug with the infusion, bringing it to his lips and taking a sniff before he accepted a sip. It was good. Definitely not the fancy foreign teas he had back in Destrier, or Stallion Manor for that matter, but the hot liquid had a pleasant, earthy taste.

"Thank you, this is very nice," Ambrose lowered the mug and gazed down at the table again. "You are correct, that is what happened to me on the day of the coronation. Although that day I did something...something different," he shook his head. There was no need to explain how he could stop time. That would raise more questions than he was comfortable answering. "I remember you being there, you know, and it's okay. I don't mind you knowing. I've accepted what happens to me, and now...well, I still feel ashamed of what happens to me but I can deal with it. At least now, I know it isn't madness. So don't feel bad for seeing what you saw. I can assure you, other people have seen worse."

The smile on his face acquired a melancholy tinge. "You...you're completely right though, about how people react. They misunderstand all too often and they never give you a chance to explain. They know best about what is wrong with you," he sighed and flickered his eyes upward. "It seems like you know quite a bit about things like this. About the jeering, the judgement...I feel like I should not even ask how. I understand how painful it is to talk about it, even to somebody sympathetic."

Ambrose gestured at the pot, which still contained quite a bit of the herby infusion. "Please, sit down, pour yourself some too, if you wish. You are a good host, Lawrence, but I am not going to make you feel like a servant in your own home. I am just your guest, you don't have to treat me with the kindness you've extended out to me."

Laurie removed his fingers from the table, where they had been drumming lightly while he gazed at Ambrose. He mumbled a quick apology, sat down again and poured himself half a mug.

"Thank you for your indulgence. Ma - our mother wouldn't have had it any other way with guests in her house."

Ambrose had smiled when Laurie finally sat down, relief replacing the guilt that had been weighing on his heart at the young man busily working while he relaxed. Now they were on a more equal footing and he did not have to be uncomfortable at being the guest who was making his host run around unnecessarily. Even if the latter's mother had instructed it. The Stallion could not help but smile a little at that. It almost sounded like something his and Alain's own mother would say.

Laurie wrapped one arm around his chest again. Something about Ambrose's explanation bothered him: the Stallion had just confirmed that he remembered Laurie as the maid from the cellar, yet he had used Laurie's male name without asking a single question about it. Ambrose had described his condition honestly, even though it was not an easy topic to expose to a stranger. Surely he deserved to be treated with the same regard.

Laurie's stomach was already clenching, his self-preservation instinct begging him to backtrack immediately.

"About our past meetings, in... other circumstances..." Even now, Ambrose might be picturing him in a dress, lurking around the princesses. Laurie gripped his mug tighter. "I just wanted to mention, if I may, that it was never my intention to... deceive anyone. I always did... what was expected of me, took the positions that were most convenient for me. And I grew up caring for my little sisters, so it's... it's natural for me, it's the sort of thing I do." His voice dropped to a whisper in the last sentence and he glanced at Ambrose again with wide, almost imploring eyes.

The Stallion had taken another sip of tea and nodded slightly. Once he had drank some more of the brew, he cupped the mug in his hands, letting the comforting warmth spread through his fingers. However, he continued listening and watching Laurie, unable to help but notice the discomfort on his face and all over his body. Ambrose winced internally, thinking back over their conversation for anything that he might have said that was off. But surely he had tried to put Laurie at ease? He had done everything he could.

Which is why when Laurie spoke up again, the first time Ambrose did was blink in confusion. Was him being male in male clothing was what the young man was really uncomfortable about? Though, the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. Of course, after all he had seen, a man wearing a woman's clothes and working as a maid would not seem strange, indeed most of his confusion had come from simply not recognising Laurie, but other people, they would have easily found issue with it. Especially with his access to the princesses. The Stallion sighed, feeling like a fool. Added to the fact that he was nobility, and a royal advisor now too, wonder Laurie had been so nervous around him.

He glanced down at the woodwork of the table again and stroked the cup of tea. "I see. Thank you for telling me this. If this was what you were thinking all this time...no wonder you were so nervous of me. By now, though, you should realise I am no stranger to silent judgement. To people assuming the worst."

Ambrose looked up and gave him a warm smile. "But I never thought you did, Lawrence, and it's alright. I am not going to think badly of you, especially since you say you did this for your sisters. That's a very brave and noble thing to do, caring for one's siblings. I will not condemn you for it, or anything you did really," he unwrapped the fingers of his left hand from his mug and rested it palm upwards in Laurie's direction. "Despite everything, Lawrence, I do not believe you are a bad person. Nobody is. And if they are, they can start over if they wish to."

Laurie's heart was still beating fast. It took him a moment to process what Ambrose was saying, and the simple fact that the Stallion was not disgusted by him. A weight was lifted from his chest and he gave a small smile. But through that relief, he felt a pang of guilt. It was almost too much in one go. He felt as if he had cheated the Stallion somehow.

The smile had been the most encouraging thing to Ambrose and he had found himself returning it. Seeing Laurie opening up, even a little, and feeling that he was slowly being trusted and made more welcome filled the Stallion with joy and hope that perhaps, somehow, he could earn some forgiveness over what happened to Briar.

The next confession came quickly, riding on the wave of his previous one. Laurie did not try to silence it, fearing that he would not get another opportunity to say this. He lowered his mug onto the table so that he would not be tempted to hold it in front of his face.

"Your tool kit. It was so neat and finely-crafted, I realised it must be something special, something I never should have touched. I went back to look for it, afterwards. Someone must have found it but I hoped, foolishly... And I only went after I'd realised that your house could protect us against the Shadows if necessary. There was nothing brave about anything I did, Ambrose, I was just... scared. The whole time. I even got my sisters in danger. Nothing can erase all that. And... while I am beyond thankful for your compassion, I'd rather you knew the truth." He swallowed, his throat tighter now.

Laurie's confession, however, left Ambrose speechless for a few moments. He blinked as the words sunk in and thought back to the night he had discovered his toolkit had been stolen. It would be a lie to say it had not hurt. His toolkit had been a gift, assembled together over the years from various tools and picks and wrenches he had found himself needing for whatever project he had been working on, all of which Alain had been happy to supply him with. Losing all those painstakingly gathered odds and ends had been like losing an arm. It had been returned to him, Alain had seen to it personally, but that one day, the day he thought he was robbed of his ability to invent, had been agonising.

And yet, he felt no anger at Laurie at all for the act. Perhaps it was the genuine remorse in his words or perhaps simply that Ambrose was not the sort of man to ever feel enraged, especially at somebody who he had been trying to gain the trust of and befriend. All he could was shake his head.

"Thank you for telling me, Lawrence. I really do appreciate the truth, and it's okay," he draw his hand back towards himself, realising Laurie was not going to respond to the gesture. However, Ambrose's voice did not shift from the soft tone he normally adopted, "You did what you had to do. Desperate times drive even the best of people to do bad things, that doesn't lessen their worth as people. You made a mistake but everyone makes those. What matters is what you do with the result. And it takes a brave person to realise it and admit it."

He gave the young man opposite him an earnest, kind smile. "I do not think any less of you because of your past or what you did. And I never will. I know what it is like and it is not in my nature to ever inflict that on another."

Laurie released a breath he'd been holding. It finally sank in that he was safe, he wasn't being accused. He was speaking openly with a victim of his crimes, and that person did not hate him all the way to the 'Pit. The relief was nearly as overwhelming as his fear had been earlier.

"I... that's really... thank you, for... everything."

He was taking deep, controlled breaths and blinking rapidly, with his eyebrows slightly creased in a way that preceded tears for most people.

Ambrose watched as Laurie had run through the gamut of emotions, and while he could not recognise them all, he could read enough to know that his words had had a powerful effect on the young man. His eyes widened, however, as he saw Laurie on the verge of tears. Coupled with his words, they were probably tears of joy, or relief, or even the kinds of tears that one cries when one doesn't know how else to react to unexpected kindness. He could recognise all of those reaction by now.

Or, Ambrose thought to himself, it could have been all three at the same time. That also, was possible.

The smile that had spread across Ambrose's face grew wider and warmer. After all Laurie had told him, after his initial defensiveness and the deference that he had been shown, those words and his expression felt so open and so honest. Perhaps finally, he had gotten through.

The Stallion unwrapped his hands from his mug again and reached out carefully to Laurie, tentatively touching his shoulder with his left hand, feeling for any stiffness or tenseness to indicate the young man did not welcome the gesture. But he hoped in his heart that he would not shy away from this simple display of support.

"You are welcome, Lawrence," Ambrose said quietly. "And thank you for not turning me away."

Laurie's body froze for a second, seized by memories of all sorts of gestures that had meant bad news. Then he leaned into Ambrose's gentle touch with a soft sigh, like a plant seeking sunlight, craving it.

"What if... there really is something... evil, inside me," he blurted out all of a sudden. Everything was flowing out like water from behind a dam. "I've seen very nice, respected people change suddenly, turn bad, and try to do bad things... only around me. I... I don't want the evil to spread... especially not to all the really good people I've met lately, I don't want to... to taint them. But I... I don't know how to stop it!"

Ambrose's heart clenched as he listened to Laurie's story, a story which seemed all too familiar. Seeing that his touch was not rejected, he moved closer, practically perching on the edge of his chair, and put his other hand on the young man's shoulder.

“People are good at hiding things and they show the worst of their natures to those who cannot fight back. I've also seen good, respected people turn very ugly very quickly when they had the chance. Some of my father's and then brother's most trusted and respected vassals, when confronted with me, spat nothing but venom and condescension. I thought it was my fault but it was not. It was their fault and their actions, not mine. Truly good people do not attack those who are weaker than they are," the Stallion said, his voice quiet and calming. He continued to smile at Laurie. "Even if there is evil inside you, there is good too. Nobody is truly evil, just as nobody is truly good. But you should not discount the good too. Nor should you push yourself away from others because of your own fears over that evil, because those who really care for you see more in you than just that."

A muffled sob escaped Laurie's throat and he slumped forward, one hand clenched over his eyes. They remained stubbornly dry, but were beginning to sting.

Ambrose's heart clenched with the sudden surge of paternal love for Laurie on the verge of tears before him. Letting go of him, he put his arms around the young man leaning towards him and drew him into a hug, resting Laurie's head on his shoulder.

"You can cry if it helps, don't hold back. I won't mind," he murmured as though to a skittish animal he was trying to coax out of hiding.

As tiny and vulnerable as he felt, Laurie sank into the comforting shelter of Ambrose's hug. It gave him an inevitable jolt of tension at first, but he adjusted like he would when bathing in a cold river. It was not an invasive embrace; it was there, stable, ready to support him, and that was all he needed. He wondered if this was the way his father had hugged his brother.

"I... I don't need to cry though, thank you," he whispered. He was still not actually weeping. "'Woo, if my sisters saw me... I haven't cried in years, not since I was a child." He said in the same way someone might tell their physician that they had not had a relapse in years.

"Pa always said that crying was for girls anyway," he muttered, more to remind himself than anything else.

"If it is, I wonder what that makes me. I've cried so much during all my years. I never saw the point in repressing it, everyone already thought I was mad anyway," Ambrose sighed. "It...helps, to let it out. But you don't have to if you don't want to."

He wrapped his arms tighter around Laurie, holding the young man in a protective embrace. "Whatever will make you feel better, Laurie. Just don't hold things in. It makes it worse."

"D-does it?" Laurie struggled for another moment, but he could not hold back any longer. Before he knew it, two small teardrops escaped from the corners of his eyes. He wept quietly, clinging to Ambrose without realising it. The older man's hug seemed to prevent him from falling to pieces.

Ambrose gave a deep sigh but otherwise, he remained quiet while Laurie wept into his shoulder. Though on some level, he could not help but wince at the pain that the tears betrayed, at least he longer had to hide it. Judging by his desperate clinging, it had been a long time coming. And that was fine. This was good. It meant Laurie trusted him enough with the secret of his weakness.

"It's alright, it's alright," he whispered, still keeping his arms firmly around Laurie, letting him know that he was loved and supported as long as he needed to be.

Only when Laurie's sobs began to fade did the Stallion smile down at the young man in his grip. "Do you feel better?" he asked in a soothing, gentle tone.

Laurie's arms loosened and fell away. His mind was as numb as if he was emerging from a deep sleep. He dabbed at his eyes with the back of his sleeve, giving up on manners at this point.

"... I do, thank you." It was a surprise to him, but he did feel better somehow. A knot seemed to have been untied somewhere within him. "I'm so sorry you had to see that, I don't know what came over me, it's just... it's so good to be able to touch someone without anything bad happening. Even like... this." He gestured vaguely at his chest, then diverted the motion by brushing a strand of hair away from his face.

Ambrose let his arms drop away and leaned back into his chair from Laurie as he watched the young man come to from his tears. He shook his head at Laurie's apology, giving him a gentle smile.

"It's alright. I'm glad you feel better, Lawrence," the Stallion held out his hand to him. "You're safe with me. I promise, I would never hurt you. Whatever you want from me, now or in the future, I would be glad to help you with."

His smile grew a little bit wider. "If I can, will I be welcome to come by again?"

Laurie gazed blankly at Ambrose's hand. He had completely lost track of time during their conversation, he might have spent several days huddling against Ambrose for all he knew. It was fortunate that Briar hadn’t returned in the meantime.

"I'm not sure what my sisters will..." He bit his lip.

Of course, Ambrose thought, Laurie's sisters. In the process of talking to the young man and listening to him spill out his troubles, the Kidde girls had completely slipped the Stallion’s mind. He wondered, given his luck so far, if he would ever get the chance to encounter them, especially Briar. Hopefully, he would. They all still deserved an apology from him, especially the oldest, for what House Stallion had put them through.

Ambrose’s connection to the events of the cellar still made him uneasy, but Laurie couldn’t bring himself to bear a grudge after the Stallion had been willing to put the past behind them and forgive his misdeeds. What they had just shared emotionally was too important.

His hand moved as if drawn by a string and he laid his palm gently on Ambrose's. "You will always be welcome as my guest, Ambrose."

However, it seemed that the trip had not been a wasted one, far from it. Ambrose smiled warmly at Laurie as the young man touched his hand and carefully gripped it with his fingers, though he kept his hold loose, in part to allow Laurie to recoil should he wished and in part due to his own lack of strength.

"Likewise, Lawrence. As I said, should there be anything you want or need, even if it's just conversation, come to the Manor and you will be my guest," the Stallion told him, his tone kind and earnest. He did not need to tell Laurie where the Manor was, after all, Laurie had demonstrated that he knew that well enough already, but Ambrose thought it would be best to keep that comment to himself.

With that, the older man withdrew his hand and carefully pushed himself up from the table in order to not break the fragile chair he was sitting on. "I should probably go now. But thank you for the tea, and for talking to me. I truly hope you feel better now," Ambrose nodded, still smiling down at Laurie.

Laurie stood up immediately after Ambrose and headed towards the door to show him out. He moved a lot more slowly than usual, his legs betraying his reluctance to seeing the Stallion leave.

"I hope to see you again soon. Until then, take care." He gave a slight bow, standing by the door.

This had been a very strange experience, yet he wouldn't have exchanged it for anything else.

"Thank you, Ambrose. For everything."

"You don't have to bow to me, Lawrence. I would not expect such formality from a friend," Ambrose smiled at him, the smile only growing wider at the young man's next words. "But you are welcome. I am glad I could help you, even a little."

The Stallion stepped out of the door, glancing behind him at the person he was leaving behind. Even if Laurie had not been the one he set out to help, nevertheless, seeing him be just a little bit happier, and knowing that he had managed to do something for him filled his heart with joy. If he could help even one person, it meant he was not as helpless as he thought.

He gave Laurie a wave and set off down the road, back towards Medieville and Stallion Manor.

[Liou]

Not a fic, just a stack of headcanons, pell-mell!

About Veresia

SPOILER: Click to show

Crest: Gold spider and waves topped by three diamonds on a midnight blue field
Motto: "Fair to All"
Currency: (all of them) (ALL THE MONEY)
Industries: textiles (including silk), manufacture (luxury items, cosmetics), spice trade, agriculture (flax, poppy, sunflower, local dyes and herbs), ink, cork
Climate: temperate to Mediterranean

Veresia is an eastern province of Kyth, bordered by Albion to the north, Elacs to the south and the Stormwatch Sea to the east. This rather flat, temperate region is best known for its rich textiles, its flourishing trade of luxury goods, and its local religion that worships the Spyder. Its ruling major noble house, House Arach, resides in the seaside capital of Aran.

The only relief in Veresia comes in the form of low rising, densely forested hills by the Elacsian border, and slightly taller grassy hills and low mountains climbing towards Albion and Rindfell. The former are tricky to navigate without a guide, which is just what the local population prefers, due to the proximity of their neighbours; the latter have been found to contain marble, which lead to the construction of a city near the quarries. Apart from those, the region is entirely flat, crossed by several rivers and a multitude of canals that make for convenient trade routes to and from the sea, towards the capital, and all neighbouring provinces.

The central plains, fertile and scarcely forested, get quite wet during the rainy season. The climate varies faintly from top to bottom but is mostly temperate and mild, a meeting point between the northern and southern halves of Kyth. The southeastern coast is warmed by currents from the southern sea, allowing for slightly drier landscapes in that area.

***

At the time of the formation of Kyth, the land that would become Veresia was already a blend of two cultures. Merchants from the islands of Dormor had settled in trading posts along the coastline and gradually extended their influence further inwards. While they brought economic wealth and began to mix with the local population, many saw them as intruders due to cultural differences, namely their system of slavery. The newly united Kythian forces that purged the land of foreigners were welcome, and the Dormorian lords, being no match for their advance, had to retreat without much resistance.

Only one revolution was more violent, as the city of Hasarius, isolated in the northern mountains, resisted. Their heavy reliance on slaves made them averse to the new Wooist nation and the abolition of slavery. The local government was eventually overthrown by an uprising of slaves from the marble quarries. Hasarius remained somewhat cut off from the rest of Veresia, its population descended from a jumble of Kythian and Dormorian slaves and convicts, strongly united by solidarity. One of its notable differences is the presence of a temple dedicated to the pantheon of Dormorian deities.

Some families descended from Dormorians remained, including the Arachs who were the most powerful traders at the time, with a monopoly over silk production and control over most of the defensive fleet. They had helped to secure the land for Kyth, providing all of their available troops and resources. Their allegiance to the Kythian crown sealed their selection as major ruling house. However, the Veresian population was not entirely loyal to them, especially the western half. Some believed that House di Fustiano, in particular, would have been better suited to rule over the province, being an economic powerhouse free from foreign influence.

What united Veresia was still the local religion of Spyderism. In many areas, the Spyderist clergy was still considered to be the main authority. While House Arach endorsed Wooism in its support for the Kythian crown, encouraging Wooist cathedrals to be built and traditions to be observed, they knew better than to ban one of their people's main traditions. A compromise was reached, and the son of the first lord of the province was wedded to the daughter of one of the high priestesses of Spyderism, in a union that was celebrated by the entire region. The Spyderist clergy were also allowed to keep their land, as their activities were beneficial to the local population.

***

Veresia adopted the same hierarchy of noble houses as other Kythian provinces. Houses di Fustiano, di Lantana and di Sciamito are the oldest. Although Gramenca is an economic powerhouse, no house could measure up to the Arachs' diplomatic influence and relations with other lands.

Cities:
Aran - the capital and largest sea port of the region, seat of House Arach
Margaromma - second largest sea port and immigration hub (House Dupion)
Gramenca - rich trading hub and river port, center of the textile industry, famous fashions and tapestries (House di Fustiano)
Segestria - smaller river port, home to many artisan guilds, a good place to learn crafts (House Pasmenteri)
Bianor - the last river port before Medieville, lots of poppy is grown in the area, along with flax and sunflower (House Veyle)
Lampona - southern river port, main link with Elacs, renowned for its special lace (House di Lantana)
Argiope - old town near the southern forest, lives off the wood and venison, quite isolated, has its own dialect (House di Sciamito)
Hasarius - mining town isolated in the low mountains up north (House Emiane)

***

Veresians are said to keep their hearts very close to their money pouches. The region is relatively wealthy, its trade reaching far and wide, including extravagant luxury merchandise. As that wealth depends on favourable relations with potential customers, it is no secret that Veresians will be hospitable to any visitors provided they have enough money. They have earned a reputation as cold, if pleasant diplomats, who will curry favour with you just as well as your rivals.

What outsiders might not see is that the famous wealth of the region is distributed by the nobility and merchants, as they see fit. While the luxury trade helps to sustain the region as a whole, its downside is that the peasants who toil to produce the raw materials are taxed strictly to meet their areas' quotas. The nobility may force them to grow their sub-region's local specialty. Maintenance of the roads and canals also takes a high priority, and extra workers sometimes have to be summoned from the countryside, for compensation.

Trade and stereotypes aside, Veresians tend to be a courteous, laid back people, due in part to the principles of Spyderism. An average family will always have an empty seat ready at their table, should an unforeseen guest arrive. Veresians are proud and fond of their women, who have always had the important task of working on cloth and transmitting that craft, while men stereotypically perform more physically straining tasks on the fields or canals. The mother is the anchor of the family, expected to manage her entire household efficiently. Insulting someone's mother is considered to be the pinnacle of effrontery. ("Yo mama" jokes are most definitely a no-no in Veresia.)

Women who do not fit into that mould, however, can have a more difficult time. The respect associated with motherhood does not apply to unmarried women or women who wish to do anything else with their lives. Matriarchs themselves are granted little influence outside the sphere of their home. The best way to escape that stereotype is to join the Spyderist clergy, which is mostly made of priestesses, including an entire branch of trained warriors. As it is a traditionally feminine occupation, few men join, though they are welcome to.

***

The honour of having the busiest sea trade goes to the province of Albion, and Veresia chooses not to rival its neighbour for that title, focusing on the quality of its own merchandise instead. In order to keep a wide variety of goods to trade, it must foster positive diplomatic relations with as many nations and provinces as it can, becoming the middleman for exchanges between more remote locations. This is why the Veresian nobility and merchant class have put a lot of focus on developing the art of welcoming visitors from all lands and keeping up with all cultures.

While the region is most famous for its silk, the silk produced in Veresia itself only represents a small part of everything they export. It is made in the east, wherever the climate is favourable, but mainly around Aran. The secrets of the craft are an important status symbol, rarely and reluctantly transmitted. It was originally introduced by Dormorians and settled easily, for the entire region already had a long tradition of weaving. The rest of the silk comes from abroad along with other exotic textiles.

The rest of the region produces as many textiles as its local resources allow. Flax is the most important crop by far. It is worked and woven differently everywhere, each town producing its own special brand of cloth, lace, tapestries and carpets. Dyes are produced as the natural complement to the cloth industry, the more common ones from local plants (woad, saffron, weld, walnut, onion, lichens), as well as some insects, and molluscs (for very expensive purple). The more exotic dyes (such as indigo) have to be imported. New clothing fashions tend to be developed in Veresia, reinforcing the high society's reputation for extravagant dress. Long, sweeping robes of silk and tall headdresses never go completely out of fashion.

The large concentration of artisans in Veresia has mastered the art of producing the finest possible goods out of raw materials from different regions, including metals and fine exotic woods. The aim is to produce items for people of good taste that cannot be obtained anywhere else, from typical pottery to grooming utensils and fine cosmetics made from exotic ingredients.

All these goods must be transported somehow. The largest shipments are loaded onto barges that travel down the rivers and canals of Veresia. A considerable part of the population earns its living by maintaining the canals, towpaths, dams and gates. For lighter travels, caravans can take several roads that go through the major cities as well as some smaller towns. As all those expensive wares are magnets for robbers, the various orders of knights in Veresia train warriors to travel with merchants and protect them on the roads. This role, however, is commonly associated with none other than the priestesses of the Spyder, who protected textile workers and their prized tapestries long before the formation of Kyth.

The other crops found in Veresia also tend to complement its imports. The agriculture focuses on all herbs and spices that can be grown in the region's climate, with basil, marjoram, rosemary, but also lavender in the southeast, to name a few. Various oils are produced, from sunflower, walnut, colza and linseed oils in the west, to olive oil and some aromatic essential oils in the east. Other regional specialties include poppy, which makes for beautiful fields of flowers in areas already full of sunflower, and cork oak in the south.

As most of the land is used for crops rather than pastures, cattle is less common than in some other regions and most farming families make do with poultry. Sheep and goats are bred for wool, mainly around the northern hills. Pigs and donkeys are common in the south and southeast.

In an average peasant family's pottage, one might find peas, rutabagas, turnips, beets and sprouts. Tomatoes, olives and aubergines are more common in the east, as well as citrus fruits, pomegranates and figs, though none of these crops are produced in quantities large enough to be exported. Neither is the seafood, but some dishes, calamari-based for instance, make the local gastronomy more interesting to outsiders.

The landscapes of the southeastern coastline are said to provide inspiration to artists. The influence of Dormor is still visible in the architecture of some buildings, and columns are not an uncommon sight. This is especially true in the city of Margaromma, the second largest port after Aran. Most immigrants settle there, and the city is full of foreign languages, of the smells of foreign cuisine, different clothes, taverns, beauty parlors and other businesses. A visitor from another Kythian province might believe that they had suddenly set foot in a different country.

About Spyderism

SPOILER: Click to show

Though its exact date of origin is not known, the religion of Spyderism was well established in Veresia before the formation of Kyth. It worships a deity known as the Spyder, or as Grandmother Spyder in reference to its feminine avatar as an humble-looking elderly lady. It includes other minor figures such as Grandmother Spyder's daughters.
It does not explicitly validate or invalidate the existence of other deities, but acknowledges other religions and those who practice them as a integral part of the world that the Spyder created.

The core belief of the religion is that the Spyder weaves the world, planning the fates of all its grandchildren in its heavenly web dotted with stars. Every event in a person's life holds some kind of purpose and some kind of message from the Spyder. Spyderists are taught not to fear when things get tough, for the Spyder is mapping their progress, and only it can see their true destination. (Oh holy GPS...)

The oldest representations of the Spyder are found on milestones and above the gates of shrines, as crude eight-branched carvings that resemble simple stars more than arachnids. The animals themselves are not worshipped or bred, but considered sacred to some extent, as heavenly messengers. While Spyderists have no problem cleaning up old cobwebs, an accidental squish is seen as a bad omen, and to purposefully harm a spider would be sacrilege.

The persona of Grandmother Spyder is thought to be more recent, perhaps influenced by folk tales, or by the development of larger shrines in cities which would have included more impressive art and effigies. Grandmother Spyder is said to have taught her children the art of weaving, much like Veresian mothers and grandmothers who keep on transmitting the craft. The legends associated with her are depicted in sacred tapestries, the originals kept as prized relics in the largest shrines, while smaller shrines possess copies.

Other religious objects include embroidered scarves made by worshippers for ceremonies like weddings, in which the embroidery is meant to depict important events in their lives, and intricate knots, which are used for a form of magic. It is sometimes hard to tell whether the knots contain actual magic or are used as symbols. The clergy practices a type of divination that interprets the shapes, positions and general states of natural cobwebs. They also study the positions of the stars, as the skies are likened to a giant web. This type of divination is popular near the coast, where it spread more easily thanks to sailors' knowledge of astronomy.

Dew, often seen as glistening droplets caught on cobwebs, symbolises the substance of stars. A legend tells how Grandmother Spyder's youngest daughter playfully stole Grandmother's bucket of starwater so as to sprinkle some on earth, while everyone was still asleep. The eldest daughter, who was in charge of guarding the bucket, chased after her, lighting up the sky with her colorful lantern and quickly wiping the dew so that Grandmother wouldn't notice her mistake. Mortals may have time to harvest some of the starwater before it disappears. Thus, dew is used as Spyderism's holy water.

Spyderist families pray at home every day and meet at the nearest shrine for more important occasions like festivals. Spyderist shrines are found in every large city as single buildings, but in the countryside, they can be self-sufficient estates that double as convents. Charity and hospitality are very important in Spyderism and especially observed in shrines, which are always ready to welcome and protect travellers in need or people with nowhere else to go.

As the vast majority of the clergy is made of priestesses, their tasks are organised to vary over the course of a month so as to match their bodies' cycles. Weapons training may be replaced with gentler activities at certain times. The clerics are also divided into several branches, each specialising in a different type of task - weaving and crafting, conducting prayer, fighting and teaching.

The Spyderist clergy began to develop martial arts so as to protect the population. Cloth is valuable enough to be targeted by robbers when it travels on the roads, and many families' income depends on it. Spyderist warriors are known for travelling with caravans to protect them from bandits, in return for a very small donation - the amount depending on the merchant's charity. Their fighting style focuses on defense and on taking down multiple opponents, including those on horseback, without letting them get too close. Their most commonly used weapons are staves and glaives with slicing blades. They may be backed up by mages, in which case they can be surprisingly efficient when outnumbered.

However, Spyderist charity extends to all, including those desperate enough to turn to crime. The clergy is aware that fighting crime does nothing to tackle the source of the problem. It has even earned them some backlash, as some accused them of helping the merchants to keep their hold on all the money in the land. To make up for inequalities, the larger shrines take in the most destitute people and allow them to work on their fields before helping them to settle somewhere else. They may not be able to help everyone in need, but their activities are beneficial on a local scale, which is why the nobility of Veresia has always let the clergy keep its land and a certain amount of financial support. They are in a delicate position, protecting the poor while staying on good terms with the rich.

[Liou]

Avery now my roleplay wife and I did a thing!

Of Spyders and Ravens
(Canon, 1290)

Part 1:

SPOILER: Click to show

The echo of the servants' footsteps resounded in a way that was strangely unfamiliar to Batiste's ears. He had been taking in the new sights and sounds during the entire length of his walk up the floors of the Raven's Keep, before stopping to wait in this plain but tastefully furnished antechamber. Though the Keep was well lit and by no means austere, it seemed so much darker than the architecture he was used to, and so tall and domineering up on its cliff, almost oppressive.

He was not the one who would have to get used to a new castle, however. The sixteen-year-old heir of House Arach straightened up as he heard the footman returning. Lord Sylk, standing slightly behind his son, laid a hand on Batiste's shoulder. The young man had grown nearly taller than him in the past year, his broader frame highlighted by his new tailored doublet. They looked remarkably similar with their olive complexions and their sleek dark hair and eyes, though Sylk’s hairline was visibly receding and the lines of his face seemed harsher.

"Remember, Batiste. Focus on the king," Lord Sylk said in a barely audible murmur, with the adamant tone of one whose orders are followed without question. "He will persuade her if necessary. You need only convince him."

Batiste did remember all of their preparations very clearly. He gave a small nod to acknowledge his father.

A light throat clearing was heard. "His Majesty and Her Highness will see you now, my lords."

The servant bowed and gestured towards the now open door of the King of Kyth's study. Batiste and Sylk stepped forward at the same time, walking calmly without a hint of hesitation. From the teenager’s demeanour, one would hardly have believed that he was about to meet his future bride. The two entered the room and bowed together.

"Your Majesty," they said, keeping their heads low. “We are most honoured to be your guests,” Sylk continued.

The man standing on the other side of the doors, half-shielded by an ornate wooden desk, regarded Batiste and Silk as if they were but uninteresting specks of dirt he’d found on the bottom of his shoes. He let them stand with their heads in repose for a good, long while, his face drawn tight and posture rigid. The air in the room was so thick as to nearly feel stifled, as if someone had siphoned out a good deal of the oxygen; and as the Arach lords stood quiet and bowing, the young girl standing to the left of the king shifted anxiously in place, as if she would much rather be anyplace else but here.

“Lord Sylk,” the king said finally. “Lord Batiste. I hope your journey to the capital was uneventful.” Then, glancing to the fidgeting child at his side, he added sternly, “Ought you not greet our visitors, Halo? You’d hardly wish to be rude to them, after they’ve traveled all this way.”

“Hello,” the girl murmured, her eyes dancing between her father and the strange lords at the other side of the room. She couldn’t have been much more than twelve or thirteen, still all knock-knees and awkward angles, her light, curly hair hanging to her midback in an intricate plait that was threaded throughout with alternating purple and grey ribbons. Gaze finally settling on the Arachs rather than the king, she swallowed hard and went on, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sirs.”

Satisfied with his daughter’s greeting, the king beckoned Sylk and Batiste forward. “Come,” he said, indicating toward two straight-backed chairs that butted up against his desk. “Sit. We have much to discuss.”

The young man's impassive eyes trailed over Halo, taking her in from head to toe. If he was silently judging her appearance, his expression betrayed none of his first opinions. He gave her another bow, though not as deep or as long as the one he had given the king. When he straightened up, his face was relaxed, a pleasant smile playing about his mouth.

"It is a greater pleasure to meet you, Your Highness," he replied before sitting next to his father, who spared him a glance out of the corner of his eye.

"Our journey was quite comfortable, my liege, thanks in no small part to the diligent maintenance of the roads between our cities. However, no amount of trouble could have prevented us from answering your Majesty's summons," said Sylk, seated like a statue.

“I am pleased to hear of easy travels,” Falcon said coolly, taking a seat at the opposite side of the desk. He gestured for Halo to sit beside him, and reluctantly she did, her posture regal-- trained-- but the way she let her eyes fall at once to her lap betraying her anxiety.

If her father, however, noticed his child’s unease, he commented nothing of it. Instead, he forced a serene though shallow smile as he leaned back in his chair, his clasped hands draped upon the desktop before him.

“Batiste,” he said, looking toward the younger lord. “Do you understand why your father has brought you here today?”

Being so directly addressed by the monarch made Batiste's heart leap, but he immediately suppressed the feeling.

"I do, Your Majesty." Though his voice was measured, it was a little too quiet; so he spoke louder, with all the confidence he could muster. "Her Highness, your daughter, and I are to be married several years from now. My House is greatly honoured by this opportunity you have offered us. We hope that this union will be a joyful one and strengthen the bonds between our families in the future, to benefit us all."

As he spoke, he glanced at Halo again, not wanting to ignore her, then he looked back at Falcon, focusing on a point below the king's face.

“That’s very... “ Falcon paused for an uncomfortably long time before finishing, “... diplomatic. And not wholly untrue, I suppose. Yet such an answer is incorrect all the same.” His face still as placid as ever, he went on, “You’ve come to the capital because of the marriage and all it entails. But here, right now, in my office?” Falcon shook his head. “You’ve been brought here because I would like for you to become acquainted with Halo. She is to be your wife, after all. And so imagine how horribly disappointing it is to me, that thus far you’ve said not a single word to her.”

“It’s not even been a few minutes, Father,” Halo said softly, her eyes still planted on her lap. “It isn’t like he’s sat here for hours ignoring my presence.”

“Halo.” Falcon’s tone was a threat. A warning. Leaning in close to his daughter, he hissed into her ear, “I believe we had a very long discussion about your behaviour before this meeting, did we not?”

“We did,” she whispered, not looking at him.

“Then behave.” His jaw clenched, he looked back toward Batiste, all the good humour now gone from his face. “At least you’re both going about this all wrong, hm?” he said far too lightly.

It was when the king's voice fell like an axe that Batiste was struck by the full implications of what was coming for him, and he realised that he had been bound to the child in front of him for the rest of his life. He suddenly felt an urge to leap to his feet and leave, go far away from here, head back to the sea, to insult his father if necessary, anything strong enough to show his aversion.

The girl couldn't be any older than his own younger sister, his precious brat. The rational side of him knew that she would grow up, like every woman, but in his thoughts he could not separate her from his memories of the snivelling, sulking little girl that he had comforted and entertained. How could he ever see this tiny doll of a princess as a wife?

And how, he wondered, could she be ready to imagine him as a husband? She seemed at least as uncomfortable as he felt. The king's temperament was no surprise to Batiste, though he hadn't expected the meeting to turn sour so fast. The young man could only imagine what a pleasant conversation they must have had before Falcon dragged the poor girl into this charming office.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Have you gone shy, lad?" Sylk said almost casually, with a mocking smirk. He would not stoop to comforting his son in front of the monarch.

Increasingly rebellious suggestions appeared in Batiste's mind. He swept them away. He knew many pleasant things that he might say to a young lady, but he did not dare imagine King Falcon's reaction to them.

He gave Halo a reassuring smile. "We will have to learn this together, Your Highness. It is a pity that we have so little time together for the moment, and I do not wish to bore our fathers with the idle chatter of young people." He glanced briefly at the two older men, still smiling.

"But please know that even though I may be a little older than you, I too am discovering marriage for the first time. We both have much to learn over the next few years. You are taking lessons with royal tutors, I trust?"

Halo nodded reluctantly, gnawing on her lip as if it were a piece of candy. “Yes,” she said. “I take lessons in a lot of subjects. I…” She faltered, visibly trembling, before she whispered, “I’m not good at this. I-- I--” She turned sharply toward Falcon. “May I have permission to step out, please? Just for a moment, I just--”

“You may not,” Falcon said flatly. “Continue telling Lord Batiste about your studies.”

Halo inhaled jaggedly, the panic rising within her so patently obvious to those in the room but seeming to bother her father beside her not at all. His gaze remained pure ice as he watched her stammer, “I study l-languages and… scripture and-- and--” She swallowed hard as her voice cut off in a strangled croak.

Batiste was growing more and more nervous in this atmosphere, the room was far too stifling, like a storm brewing. Something would have to release that pressure, or they would all burst. Lord Sylk said nothing to help the girl, but gave a hiss of annoyance and frowned impatiently at his son, as if this was all his fault. Batiste refrained from rolling his eyes - was he the only person in the room trying to make this work? The king had not prepared for this meeting as well as he claimed.

"That... sounds like a good start," he told Halo, keeping his voice as calm as he could. "I also study several languages. Dormorian is my favourite - though that's further from here..." He needed to find something positive to appease the kid, immediately. "And what do you most enjoy, Your Highness?" he asked vaguely, in desperation.

“Dormorian?” Still Halo’s voice was nothing more than a pathetic squeak. “I… that’s a neat language. M-maybe you could teach me.” She spared another pleading look toward her father, as if silently begging him to release her from the strained exchange, but Falcon only shook his head, his expression still hard as iron. “I like to… to sew,” she said unevenly. “M-my mother-- she’s good at it, and so she taught me, and…”

As his daughter continue to warble like a desperate bird, Falcon sat stiffly in his chair with his jaw clenched in silent, though apparent, aggravation. This meeting was clearly not going as he’d envisioned it, and he seemed to be quickly losing his patience for Halo’s blathering. As if it at once infuriated and mortified him, that his daughter couldn’t even make small talk with her betrothed.

Batiste kept smiling at Halo, almost defiantly, ignoring the form of the king.

"That is a most valuable pastime. A lady who sews keeps the whole family stitched together, as they say in our region. If you still enjoy it in a few years, perhaps you will be interested in using Veresian fabrics and threads where they abound." From the corner of his eye, he saw his father shift slightly. "Not that there can be any shortage of cloth in this city, if we have anything to do with it."

Batiste stole a glance at Falcon and the way he was glaring at Halo, then it was his turn to lose patience. "If that is not too... frivolous, may I suggest continuing this conversation elsewhere, Your Majesty? Outdoors, perhaps?"

Sylk frowned. "The room His Majesty has provided for us is more than adequate, Batiste."

"Of course, of course. But it is a fine day for a stroll. I find that walking clears minds and loosen tongues."

“What a bold suggestion,” Falcon said evenly, with what was either a smile or sneer tugging at the corners of his lips. Reaching out to place a conspicuously firm hand on Halo’s shoulder, he prompted the girl, “Would you like to go outside, Halo, and continue this conversation outdoors in the beating sun?”

The king’s tone was so pointed as to fringe the line of sarcastic, as if he well expected-- and wanted-- his daughter to decline. Instead, starkly contrastive to the way her throat still quavered, and her hands trembled, the girl forced herself to meet her father’s sharp gaze and returned to him, “Sure. That sounds… that sounds lovely.”

Falcon balked, his grip over his daughter tightening. “It is very warm out, Halo.”

“A fine summer’s day,” she agreed. “I’m sure, being from the coast, Lord B-Batiste and his father like the outdoors.” Her voice hitched, as she spared an almost pleading look toward her intended. “R-right?”

"You are right, Princess. It's impossible not to like it where we live," said Batiste, reassured to see her perk up a little. "And I'm sure I would like it here in Medieville, too."

"My son is partial to athletic, outdoor activities whenever he has a little time to spare," Sylk cut through grudgingly. "That is no reason to drag others outside, Batiste."

"We are here to share a pleasant moment, father, don't let's deprive Her Highness of something she might enjoy."

“Of course,” Falcon drawled, “we wouldn’t want to deprive Halo of something she might enjoy.” Sharply the king stood, pulling his daughter up with him. “Come, then,” he said, stepping back from the desk. “The knights shall accompany us. We can all go bake in the sun together. It will be sure to be very pleasurable for us all.”

"Thank you for this indulgence, Your Majesty," said Batiste, giving no hint that he could hear the disdain in the monarch's tone.

"You are making a fool of yourself," Sylk hissed into his ear as they walked down the corridors of the Keep behind the king. "Stop pushing your luck!" He couldn't risk a louder scolding, though, as it would be indecorous.

A few guards joined the group, impassive as statues. Though they had only come for protection, something about their presence and the joyless atmosphere made the future spouses look like they were being marched off to their execution.

As they finally stepped out into the sun and onto a scenic path that snaked along the cliffside, Batiste couldn't help but feel comforted by his tiny victory. His chest seemed to expand, and he breathed the outside air contentedly, enjoying the view.

"There are so many parts of Medieville that I have yet to discover..." He glanced at Halo, hoping she was feeling better. "Are there any that you favour for your outings, Princess?"

Halo paused on the narrow pathway, gazing down over the cliff’s edge at the city that stretched below. “I… well…” She toed hesitantly forward, as if to get a better look, but before she could make it more than half a step, Falcon had lashed out a quick arm and tugged her back with a reproving scowl.

“We can look from afar, Halo,” he chided, pulling her in close to him; she wilted beneath his grip but did not attempt to shimmy out from it.

Batiste wondered if the path was more dangerous than he'd thought, and also took a step away from the edge, so that Halo could speak to him without leaning towards the precipice.

“Right,” she murmured. “Of course.” Turning her head back to Batiste, she went on, “I… don’t leave the Keep much, unfortunately.” Falcon squeezed her arm, and she quickly backtracked, “I mean-- not unfortunately. Everything I could need is here. So it’s not bad, it’s… um…” A pause. “Do you go out into the city much? In Aran?”

"That... sounds fair, the Keep seems perfectly comfortable." So what was Batiste supposed to ask her about? He couldn't keep up a conversation about the rooms of the Raven's Keep, and he was starting to get the impression that the girl was as brittle as glass, judging from the king's behaviour. He hadn't been told about any health problems she might have - and they wouldn’t leave out something so important.

"I go out whenever I find the time. Some of my duties already lead me into Aran. Festivals and events where our presence is required, for one. I enjoy sailing the most, or anything that brings me near the sea."

"For educational purposes, of course," Sylk specified, visibly exasperated by Batiste's light tone.

"Of course. I can't work with our traders if I haven't seen their working conditions myself."

“Sailing?” At this, Halo perked up. “I love the water. Sometimes in summer we go down to our cottage on Lake Plume, and I’m allowed to swim, and I’ve always wished I could go out on a boat.” She finally pulled free from Falcon’s grip, as he stared down at her with a very pointed look that indicated he’d grab right onto her again if she tried anything he perceived as dangerous or inappropriate. “Do you… think I could come with you sometime?” Halo went on. “Once we’re married?”

“You’d hardly want to bother him as he works, Halo,” Falcon said stiffly.

His daughter frowned. “But… if he’s to be lord of the province, and I’m to be his wife, then wouldn’t it be good for me to understand his people? His traders?” She took a step closer to Batiste. “I… wouldn’t want to impose, of course, if you didn’t want me there. But if you were okay with it…”

Batiste glanced between Halo and Falcon. "Perhaps," he answered after a brief hesitation. "Depending on the circumstances, I would be happy to have your help. In Aran, I'm sure that you won't have to wait too long for an opportunity to sail." He gave her a smile. "And I happen to be quite fond of the water, myself."

“That would be lovely.” Halo smiled-- perhaps the first genuine smile she’d given since the meeting’s start. “I bet it’s so pretty out over the open water. The sunsets must be gorgeous.”

“I’m sure Lord Batiste has more important things to do than take you to see pretty sunsets,” Falcon leered, turning sharply back toward the Keep. “Well. This was nice, but perhaps we ought go back inside before we all bake beneath this awful sun?”

"Yes, that is quite enough fresh air," said Sylk, who was keeping a tight watch on the two teenagers but also on the king's expression. "You do know when to stop idling and get back to business, Batiste."

"Certainly." Batiste obediently turned to follow Falcon. "Thank you again for allowing us to enjoy this view of your city, Your Majesty, it is a sight not to miss."

“Indeed,” Falcon drawled, and with that, he started swiftly back toward the palace, clearly expecting his daughter, the Arachs, and the guards to fall into step at his heel.

They did, with Halo falling into step not beside her father, but Batiste. She shot him sidelong glances at they walked but said nothing, as if she had much more she wanted to say to him but reservations in voicing them.

Batiste, who usually walked at a brisk pace and with long strides, slowed down to stay near Halo.

"I'm afraid I will be quite a busy man, and must make the most of brief outings like this one. I do hope we have not been boring you, Your Highness."

“You’ve not bored me at all,” Halo said, her voice low as so to escape the critical filter of her father’s ear. “I’m the one who’s gone about this all wrong. Stammering and stuttering as if I’m a vapid little doll… You probably think I’m a fool.” She glanced darkly at her father. “He certainly does.”

Batiste nearly let out a loud sigh of relief. He'd been waiting for an opportunity to have a word with the princess without Falcon looming over her, and now he had confirmation that she did sound like a normal girl after all.

"Well, I did not expect you to sound like a high lord. Everyone has to start somewhere. I stammered a little too, at your age." Though not as much as she had. "You will definitely need to speak with more assurance in the future, but at least you still have time to learn. I'm sure you will improve."

“Oh, yes, my father will make well sure I improve.” To the discerning eye, Halo might have winced.

“I can hear you, Halo,” Falcon said icily, before pausing as the group reached the covered passageway that led back into the palace proper. Turning on his heel back toward the Arach lords and his daughter, the king said, “Halo and I ought take our leave here. If you would like to head back to your chambers, my lords, then we shall see you again at the banquet tonight?”

Batiste frowned faintly for a second, wondering if he had imagined the implied threat beneath Falcon's tone when he addressed his daughter.

Before he could ask anything, Sylk set a firm hand on his son's shoulder. "Indeed, we shall head back too. Thank you for your time, Your Majesty, Your Highness."

He gave each of them another bow, and Batiste followed suit. "It has been a pleasure. I look forward to seeing you again tonight."

They would have a lot to say to each other before the banquet in question. Sylk was bursting to comment on his son's boldness in front of the king, while Batiste was preparing to retaliate with more comments on the behaviour of the king himself as soon as they were out of earshot.

Part 2:

SPOILER: Click to show

The two Arachs had both cooled down and were quite serene once again by evening. Batiste had resigned himself to the task of handling a girl like his little sister, while doing his best to seem pleased by the prospect of being her husband. To resist would be utterly futile at this point.

As they strode into the Keep’s main hall, flanked by their escort of knights, their names were announced to the guests already seated. These were members of the upper crust of Medieville, from the richest merchants to minor nobility, permanent residents and visitors alike, all rising from their benches to greet the guests of honour. For this occasion, the walls had been hung with banners in Arach colours as well as Ascension. Sylk and Batiste were ushered to the high table, which stood on a raised dais, and which hosted House Ascension.

Falcon was already seated, the king’s posture so rigid as to verge the line of predatory, as if he were but a lion staring down its approaching meal. To his left sat his wife, Maia, clad in a striking dress of rich Ascension purple, and to his right perched Halo, the girl’s fine though simple attire from earlier replaced by full court garb: a silk-trimmed number in stormy grey, with a matching headpiece and gloves, her cheeks rouged and hair hanging to her shoulders in loose, glossy curls. She rather looked a painted doll, her lips flattening into a tight, anxious line as she watched her betrothed and his father approach.

“Lord Sylk,” Falcon greeted. “Lord Batiste. Sit.” He gestured to the two empty chairs at the table-- one beside Maia and, on the queen’s other side, the eldest Ascension princess, Aurora; the other between Halo and her little sister, Sunney.

Batiste's eyes lingered for a second on the queen, whom he was seeing up close for the first time, but Sylk brushed past him on the way to his seat, giving him a slight push towards Halo. After they had performed the usual bows and let the servants arrange the cushions, they were seated. Batiste glanced sideways at Halo while waiting for their finger bowls to be filled. He felt slightly cheered by the thought that she might grow up to look more like her mother. Her youth was painfully obvious under her more mature attire, but at least he had her younger sister for comparison, and wine was on the way.

“Hello,” Halo murmured to him, her voice so soft it might have been but a summer mist. “D-did you enjoy the rest of your afternoon?” Her father’s stare was eating into her back, but Halo looked only toward Batiste, biting down on her lip to keep it from trembling as she awaited his reply.

Batiste forced out a smile. His afternoon had been a remarkably boring one, with only his father's lectures to listen to. He had not been able to bring any of his friends or even his favourite servants from Aran, and was in desperate need of entertainment.

"It was restful," he said simply. "I was looking forward to this feast. And I am not disappointed - how elegant you look tonight, Princess! I hope your afternoon was pleasant too." She must have spent quite some time getting ready, he assumed. Surely that part at least had been enjoyable.

The expression on Halo’s voice remained level, but the dark look that burst in her eyes like the crack of a fist against glass was unmissable. “Of course, it was pleasant,” she said, but her words were hollow as bone, the girl turning quickly back to the petite bowl beneath her as she suddenly became very interested in consuming the dish that filled it.

What little enthusiasm Batiste had mustered immediately wilted. No, of course she had not enjoyed herself with that father of hers; how foolish of him to hope otherwise. Even the girl's grey gown seemed dreary on her. He would have liked to see her in a vivid purple, like what the queen was wearing, but that would probably have been deemed too extravagant for the little princess.

Batiste focused on the wine and the courses, struggling to keep smiling and make nice, neutral comments about the feast. The songs and poems of the minstrels allowed for a welcome pause in the conversation. At least the food was interesting. There was an obvious Aran theme, with seafood alongside the venison and poultry, and a sudden abundance of olives and tomatoes. Everything was slightly different from what he had at home, though, if only in the seasoning. The wine was a little stronger, too, and he considered having more than necessary, but a sharp glare from his father dissuaded him.

Sylk was not the only parent leveling pointed looks at his offspring; throughout the meal, the king of Kyth kept his conversation spread evenly about the table, but his eyes focused squarely on Halo. In turn, she stubbornly ignored him-- and just about everyone else, her attention instead settled on the food before her. As if she’d decided it was safest to merely stay quiet and pick at her meal, since at least that way she couldn’t say anything wrong.

But by the first of the dessert courses-- still deliberately Veresian in theme, with a healthy dose of spun sugar gauzed over the sweet dishes as though to imitate a spider’s web-- Falcon had seemingly had enough of his child’s coyness. And so the king stood, the stem of his wine goblet clutched in his hand, and waited for the rest of the guests to notice. Once they did, the banquet hall plunged into an anticipatory silence, all eyes in the room hooking on the king much as his eyes had been previously hooked on Halo-- and just as her gaze was now pointed at him, horror creeping across her face as it dawned on what, precisely, her father meant to do.

Batiste looked up from his bowl of custard and blueberry jelly - which represented his house colours with little subtlety - and met his father's eyes for a second. He then quietly proceeded to check that his mouth was clear of food and that he was ready to stand up and speak, if called. Falcon didn't seem to be paying any attention to him at the moment, however. Fresh exasperation filled the young man as he sensed what was coming.

Subtly, and hoping that no one else would discern the movement, Halo gave her father a short shake of her head. Asking him. Begging him. But it was to no avail. If he saw her plea at all, he gave it no heed, only loudly clearing his throat as he turned out toward the room of his subjects.

“It is with great joy that we gather here today,” the king projected, “to celebrate the betrothal of my daughter, Princess Halo, and the heir to Veresia province, Lord Batiste Arach. Tonight in the halls of the Raven’s Keep, we dine on the foods of Aran, to symbolize the unity of our two Houses. It is with great pride that House Ascension sends Halo to House Arach, and so it is with pride now that I request my daughter to stand and speak, and address those who have come to honour her future union.” He gestured for Halo to stand, as attention in the room shifted conspicuously in her direction.

Halo, however, did not stand. On the contrary, the young princess appeared as if she wished she could melt into the floor. She was not the only one put off: at Falcon’s other side, Queen Maia looked like she wished she could smack her coolly beaming husband. She clearly knew why he’d done what he’d done-- that his command (a fool would know his words were no meager request) was not borne of diplomacy, but petty punishment. A very public way of calling out Halo for her sullen meekness throughout the meal, and showing to her that such a thing would neither suffice nor be tolerated.

“Halo?” Falcon prompted, his face all smiles but his voice caustic.

Batiste was suddenly reminded of the first time he had been required to speak in public. It had been necessary, if not pleasant; it had given him a push forward, forcing him to dive in and learn from his mistakes. He had also been older than Halo, had his father's support, and been in front of a much smaller audience. Batiste tried to catch Halo's eye, in vain. If only he had a way, any way to make this experience less painful in her memory.

He rose to his feet, unbidden, and held out his arm for Halo.

"Would you grant me the honour of standing by my side, Your Highness?"

She nodded mutely, her throat trembling as she gripped his arm and stood. Facing toward the onlookers, she couldn’t bring herself to meet their stares, instead selecting to gaze down at her half-finished dessert plate on the table beneath.

“I… I’d like to…” Her voice hardly more than a whisper, Falcon reached over and set a firm hand on his daughter’s shoulder, his fingers squeezing in a silent message; Halo grimaced and took a deep breath, forcing a bit more volume into her words as she continued, “I’d like to thank everybody for coming today. It was very… very thoughtful and… I’m grateful and… um…”

Out in the depths of the watching crowd, someone snickered. To Halo’s ears, the sound was like a lance, and her voice froze in her throat. She moved her lips again, as if searching for the stuck words, but could produce no meaningful sound; still clutching to her shoulder, Falcon’s hand locked tighter like a vise. The girl flinched, panic coursing through her, and like a spooked deer, wrenched to her side to free herself from her father’s grasp. This, of course, only caused more tittering from amongst the guests, and Halo realized it instantly.

“I… I’m sorry,” she breathed, half to Falcon, half to the crowd.

“Sit down, Halo,” he hissed, so low that no one away from the high table could hear him.

“Okay,” Halo said.

But she didn’t sit. Instead, rashly, she stepped back from the table and turned on her heel, Falcon’s shocked stare digging into her back as she practically flung herself toward the banquet halls’ grand double doors, her skirts dragging beneath her as she fled.

A heavy silence fell over the hall. Batiste's blood went cold. Was all of his anticipation and preparation going to be wasted on a ridiculous quarrel between father and daughter? This was about him, about his engagement, his future, and he was going to make the most of it in spite of the king's histrionics.

Batiste straightened up to his full height and shifted closer to where Halo had stood, taking her place. He then spoke loudly and clearly, projecting his voice to the far corners of the hall.

"What my intended meant to say, before the rush of emotion made her feel faint, is that the presence of so many esteemed members of the Medievillian gentry means a lot to us. All of you, from most illustrious families and honoured trades, have come to celebrate our union. We are not ungrateful, and this gesture of welcome will be remembered." Smiling calmly, he let his gaze trail over those who had sneered at Halo, before continuing.

"Though the wedding may seem a long way ahead, here we build our future. To us Veresians, no bond is quite as powerful as those of the family. This time we come to Medieville not only as allies, but also as kin, and it is with all the devotion of kin that we will support you." At this, he gave the entire hall a bow, before turning to Falcon and giving him a deeper one.

"With Your Majesty's permission," he said quietly, only for the king's ears, "I wish to go after Princess Halo and make sure that she is all right."

Off to the side, Sylk, who had been half-ready to rise and intervene, leaned back in his seat with obvious relief.

Falcon nodded shortly. “I am sure she is fine, Lord Batiste,” he said, his voice laced with something near disgust. “But that is very chivalrous of you. You may go.”

And with that, the king sat heavily down again. As he did, Maia leaned in toward him and whispered something unheard into his ear, but Falcon merely brushed her away, his face still sketched with a cool, terrifying fury.

Batiste marched out of the hall slowly and deliberately, still standing very straight, much unlike Halo’s exit. The chattering of the guests grew fainter and fainter behind him. Once he was far enough from the guards at the entrance, he finally paused to stretch his shoulders and loosen his collar, groaning quietly. He wanted nothing better than to sprint all the way down from the Keep to release the tension in his legs.

If only he could have stopped Halo, by simply putting an arm behind her when she was still right next to him. There was no going back now. Everyone would remember their first public appearance as the time his betrothed had fled from him. All the girl had to do was grit her teeth and say a few words! It was hardly pleasant, but they couldn't afford such humiliation in front of everyone. If Batiste had ever acted like that...

Being angry at her would not improve anything, though, far from it. If he was going to spend the rest of his life with that girl, he had to make sure they got a good start. And it seemed that he already had a lot of work to do now. Cracking his neck, Batiste strolled further down the corridors, hoping to stumble upon Halo. His instinct led him away from the main hallways and into more secluded passageways.

Rounding a corner, he nearly tripped over his future bride, as the girl stood with her back pressed flat against the stone wall, her hands held against her forehead. When she saw him, she let out a small squeak of surprise, and panic flashed over her face for a moment before she seemed to realize who he was-- and once she did, complete and utter embarrassment eclipsed any emotion else. Batiste was quite startled himself and hastily took a step back.

“You probably hate me,” she said, unable to meet his eyes. “Or you think I’m pathetic.” She paused, her throat trembling. “I’m sorry, Lord Batiste. I’ve made fools out of us both. I just… my father… he…” She shook her head before finishing softly, “He terrifies me. Dear Woo, he terrifies me. Especially after, well…” As the realized that perhaps she might be saying too much, the young princess let her voice trail off.

Batiste studied the girl's reaction with concern, wishing that she wouldn't be so uncomfortable - he wasn't that menacing, was he? He dug through his tired mind for some comforting words.

"I noticed that," he said in a neutral tone. "But you are forgiven, Princess. I concluded the speech. You will have other opportunities to prove yourself in the future. For now, it seems that you could do with a break." And so could he.

He slumped against the wall opposite Halo, allowing himself to slouch for the first time in the evening, feigning relaxation despite his unease. It was so different when they were alone, away from their respective families. He could try to be charming. Or he could take advantage of this rare moment of privacy to speak his mind.

"I'm sorry that our fathers dragged you into this."

“Our fathers?” She smiled grimly, her eyes focused on him sidelong. “No, I’m sorry that my father dragged both of us into this. Woo, he probably dragged your father into it, too.” Reluctantly, she took a step toward him, so that her elbow grazed against his. “I’m going to be in so much trouble,” she went on. “I wish I could just… disappear and never have to face him again. After what he did this afternoon when I ruined our first meeting… I… don’t even want to think about how he’ll react to this.”

Batiste gave a slight start when he felt Halo's touch, as it was the last thing he had been expecting from her. He slowly slid his hand under hers, giving gentle support.

"If you don't mind my asking... what happened this afternoon? I may have tested his temper too and for that I apologise, I certainly did not want you to suffer the consequences."

“It was nothing you did,” she assured him. “He just… I wasn’t poised enough, I challenged him, I made myself look like a fool and not-- as he snapped at me-- a proper princess.” She sighed miserably before continuing, “I had a project. A sewing project. A head covering I’d been working on for months; it was nearly done, just a few more days of work needed on it. He cut it up in front of me. And warned me that if I didn’t act better tonight at supper, I’d only wish I had another project for him to destroy.”

Batiste cringed internally and wished he hadn't asked; this was far too intimate for him to meddle in. This was the king's dirty linen - and in just a few years, it would also be his dirty linen. He racked his brains at top speed for something comforting to say - without taking sides.

"Your grief is understandable. It's truly a pity, I'm sure your head covering would have looked lovely after all your efforts. His Majesty seems... quite intent on redirecting your energy towards social skills. And it's probably too late to appease him with your behaviour at the feast. I'm sorry for... whatever will happen tonight."

He shuffled his feet and ran a hand over the back of his neck, allowing himself to look like a proper awkward teenager for a moment.

"I'm at a bit of a loss, Princess. I must confess that I did not expect such a situation. It is no easy task to make a good first impression on two people who are at each other's throats. But… as your future husband, I do care about your happiness. I may not have much power to influence it, for now... but if there is anything I could do for you, I would be happy to help."

“It’s okay.” Halo shrugged. “I know you can’t do anything. Even if we were married already, you hardly have the power to stop my father from doing whatever he wants to do.” She sighed. “To be honest, I didn’t know what to expect. That’s part of what’s made me so flustered, I think. Everything is so new and I just… I was so worried about messing up, and then once I did, it all just…” She shook her head. “It spiraled, I guess.”

“Timing, setting and unforeseen events can change everything, no matter how much you have practiced.” Batiste glanced over at Halo’s face, wondering if he was pushing it. “If it was just in front of me, right now, could you pull off a small speech?”

“Give you a speech?” She cocked her head. “I… I… what sort? I wouldn’t know what to talk about and…” Her eyes fell to the floor. “It’s not that I don’t know how,” she said. “I can practice in my mirror, or with my tutor, and it goes fine. But when strangers are staring at me, listening-- when my father is listening-- it’s like I forget how to string any syllables together. Starmey… he could talk in front of the entire kingdom, I swear, and wouldn’t break a sweat. But I’m just… I’m just… useless.” Her voice fell to nothing more than a bitter whisper as she finished, “That’s what my father always says.”

Batiste looked at the floor too, his brow furrowed. He squeezed her hand gently and stroked it with his thumb. "Princess, you are still so young... please, don't let those words cling to you."

Batiste knew that she was definitely useful to him, in a political sense, but somehow he did not think that would be of much comfort to her.

"Everyone has their own strengths, and the ones we happen to possess are not always the ones that are expected from us. You are full of potential. Like... like a flower that has yet to bloom." He almost wished he had pinched an actual flower on the way, to distract her with romantic symbolism.

As Batiste massaged Halo’s hand, the girl considered for a moment before hesitantly leaning her head against her future husband’s sleeve. “That’s a nice thing for you to say,” she whispered. “When I’ve done nothing but blubber and stammer like a drunken fool since the moment we met.”

"It's only my duty to my future wife," said Batiste, relaxing with her. He stayed there for a moment, glad that she felt bold enough to come this close.

"Unfortunately, I only have a very short window of time to fulfill that duty, and I will be powerless to help you over the next few years." Batiste rummaged in an inside pocket, praying that he had not left an important item in the coat that the servants had taken from him at the entrance. His fingers found a corner of soft fabric and fished it out.

"I beg of you to forgive me for that absence, and to accept this token of my affection. May it give you courage in my stead," he said, holding a square of folded midnight blue silk before Halo. It glimmered under the light of a distant torch like the sea reflecting the lanterns of a boat at night, its surface barely disturbed by faint ripples.


Halo took the scarf gingerly, running her fingers over the fine, soft silk. “T-thank you,” she murmured. “It’s beautiful.” Sighing, she finally straightened and glanced back down the hall. “We should probably go back, shouldn’t we? My father’s already furious enough with me. If I don’t return…”

Batiste pushed himself away from the wall and stretched, pleased that Halo had accepted the gift. He had been unsure of his choice, so it was fortunate for him that she happened to like water, which the scarf was designed to resemble. He wasn't too bad at this after all, it could have gone worse.

"If you feel ready, then by all means let us go and reassure our guests." He stood straight, threw his shoulders back and offered Halo his arm. He would proudly accompany her into the hall, daring anyone to look down on his future bride.

[Liou]

Collab with Rosalie Dylas (Maddy)!

Little Victory for Love

(Canon, late 1314)

SPOILER: Click to show

Laurie had gradually become more comfortable while walking home in the streets of Medieville after his days of work at the tailors’ guild. He didn’t have to worry about starving anymore, he was getting used to his clothes, and the looks he received didn’t shake him as much. His shoulders felt lighter, he carried himself with more assurance. The walk itself seemed shorter now that he had a special someone to meet him. And on days like this one, when Rosie could come and fetch him to walk back together, the rest of the town might as well not have existed at all.

As he passed familiar streets, he thought of some of the people who had helped him - Lydia and Kelcey who had taken care of his sisters, before settling down at Ilsa Wright’s. Especially Lydia.

Rosalie’s hand was lightly grasping Lawrence's. Barely touching, but the light brush of skin every now and then was enough for her. She had been chatting happily about her day. She had made another masterpiece of a key and was very excited about it. She loved how she could endlessly babble while Lawrence listened. After she finished her story, bright eyed, she let the silence settle.

"Rosalie," he asked, "would you mind if I stopped quickly at the King's Arms Inn, to say hello?" The sun was already low, but they still had some time before the sky would grow dark.

"Hm?" Rosie said, glancing at him. He was so cute. "Of course not! Let’s go!"

Laurie wrapped his hand more snugly around Rosie’s and gave her a smile.

"That will be nice, it’s been a while! I hope Lydia and my brother are doing well. We might run into more people we know, actually."

He started to turn into a street that would lead them close to the inn.

Rosie stopped dead in her tracks. She felt her stomach start to churn. Brother. Kelcey. Or Joram, who wasn’t really Joram, who had tried to seduce her. Who had died, who had been beheaded. And she had screamed for him to be, and he was. She felt sick. She didn’t want to see him. The ghost of a man who died and it was all her fault. He was dead, dead, dead. She felt faint, and clung onto Lawrence. How was she supposed to tell him she could never face his brother?

"I think I’ve…. I’ve changed my mind." she said, trying to hide the tears already falling down her cheeks.

Laurie gave a start at the sudden warmth of her touch and stopped walking abruptly. "Are you all right?" he asked, alarmed by the expression on the usually cheerful girl's face.

"I’m fine!" she said quickly, lying, "I just, I’m very tired!" Tired, that was it. "So, I’d like to go home now." She couldn’t hold back a sob. She couldn’t lie to him. Not to Lawrence, never to Lawrence. "I just… I just don’t want to see your brother."

"Oh! That's... understandable, he can be quite exhausting," Laurie admitted with a tinge of relief. But the sound of Rosie's sobbing seemed to tug at something inside him. "Is it... is it that bad, did he do something to you while I wasn't there? He should know not to, or I’ll have to teach him again! Or... could it be what happened at the Keep, back then..."

She saw a get out of jail free card. Yes, that was why she was upset, because of the feast, not because…. not because.

"It’s ok, he didn’t hurt me then," Rosie said, attempting to dry her tears, "Just scared me. I’m tough!" She flexed her free arm to demonstrate how tough she was. "I just… don’t want to see him that’s all!"

Laurie hesitated for a second, then brushed a finger over Rosie's cheek, wiping a few streaks of her tears. "You are tough... it's all right not to be, sometimes. What he did to you was unacceptable and I wish he would apologise to you. Maybe he's improving, now that he has Lydia. But let's not visit, then. I'm sorry I brought it up."

The feast was full of bad memories for Laurie, too. It would have been tempting to bring his girlfriend in front of his brother, to show off for once. But that wouldn’t have been fair on Rosie, and Kelcey had already proven to be incorrigible.

She felt her cheeks get red at Lawrence's touch. Her Lawrence, her hero in shining armour, always rescuing her. The first words the sprung to her mind was ‘He should apologize!’ but she didn’t say them. Last time she had said what was on her mind, it had happened. She didn’t want to demand an apology, she wanted to take all her words back. She wanted to apologize. "He doesn’t have to," she said quickly.

"You’re too kind," Laurie said - and he really meant it, especially as it was his brother that she was being kind to. "It’s just that… well, it’s my family, and I was hoping that you could be friendly with them, and have a good start for um, the future." He stopped himself, trying not to think of the implications or get his hopes too high. "But there will be time for that later! If you want to, one day, perhaps."

The future. Despite her current emotions, her face broke out in a wide smile. He wanted her to be in his future. Oh, how she wanted him to be in her future. She wanted him to be with her forever! But could she face Kelcey? Then a thought creeped into her mind. What if Lawrence didn’t want to be with her after he found out about Kelcey? What if he hated her? She unhooked her arm from around him and stood in front of him. She had to do this.

"Lawrence…. I killed Kelcey!"

Laurie froze and stared at her for a moment, trying to process what she had just said, oblivious to the glances they got from other pedestrians who had to walk around them. "K... kil-...?" He ran a hand over the back of his neck, with a nervous, choked little laugh. "That... I'm not sure what you're implying by that... Kelcey has always had a habit of running right into trouble, no matter what we did... but he always came back and got better, right?"

"Lawrence…" Did he, did he not know?

"Lawrence, Kelcey is dead… you- you know that right?" Of course he did! He had seen Kelcey before, right? He had to know Kelcey was a ghost now. As if to haunt her for the rest of her life, to remind her of her mistakes. She hated it! She wanted to hate Kelcey but that was what had gotten her into this situation in the first place. She never wanted him to die.

Laurie shuffled from side to side, trying to get his thoughts together. He took a step back under a shop’s awning, so as not to be in the middle of the way. "I do know that… something terrible happened to him, yes. But he’s back now, and he’s very happy at the inn with Lydia! I’d rather treat everyone the same, even if they’re not always… living in the same way. I wouldn’t want to... offend them, if you see what I mean." He certainly didn’t want to explain what he knew of the dead.

"And there’s no reason to blame yourself for anything," he added hurriedly, looking up again with a tentative smile. "It’s not like you could ever have done anything bad to Kelcey!"

"I’m-" she choked back a sob, "I’m so glad he’s happy. I’m so, so glad." She tried to wipe her tear stained eyes but she just ended up sobbing harder. Her nose was running down, she was really a wreck. Lawrence probably thought she looked awful, she didn’t blame him, this wasn’t her finest moment.

"I-I I wanted him to be beheaded! And then he was! It’s all my fault….I killed your brother!"

Laurie's quick fingers produced a handkerchief before he even thought of it, as if to perform a magic trick. Although he was still confused by Rosie's words, the sight of her tears was more important. Nothing should be allowed to make her cry. He dabbed at the tear streaks on her cheeks, as gently as he would arrange delicate flowers in a vase, then he pressed the cloth into her hand, squeezing her fingers for a moment.

"Rosalie, I'm not sure I understand, I don't even know exactly what happened to my brother," he whispered, glancing around at the sidewalk to check that no one would bump into them. "But what I do know is that... you are a truly good person! You have no evil in you. And even if you did..." Hesitantly, he lay a hand on the side of her cheek and tilted her face up. "I would accept it with the rest of you, Princess."

Rosalie let her prince wipe her tears. She was a shaky mess. If she wasn’t she would have noticed the little magic trick and been amazed, but her eyes were blurred with tears. She felt his touch and it made her heart warm. She leaned into his touch, gently, carefully. At the word princess a quivery smile formed on her face

Tears streamed down, but they were born from a different emotion, "You- you forgive me?" she said, voice shaky, "I-if you forgive me maybe, maybe I can forgive me too."

"I forgive you, Rosalie," Laurie said softly. "After everything you've forgiven me for, it's only natural." Despite the pang he felt from seeing her so sad, he was quite happy to be able to return her forgiveness and to say what she needed to hear.

"Well, of course I’d forgive you," she smiled through the happy tears rolling down her face, "There’s nothing you could do that would make me stop loving you."

A warm smile appeared on Laurie's face and he lowered his eyes. Rosie's loving words always lightened and relieved his heart, no matter how many times she said them. He leaned a little closer to her, before stopping and glancing to the side.

"Rosalie," he whispered uneasily, "there are people looking." Indeed, a few giggles and fond cooing could be heard nearby from a group of women who had stopped on their way. Laurie was reluctant to admit defeat, but after what they had just shared, he didn’t have the energy to face other people anymore. "Shall we go straight home?"

Rosalie wasn’t the type to be bashful at publics display of affection, but she knew Lawrence was a more private person.

"Let’s go home," She agreed, whispering back, a small smile on her face. The tears had stopped completely.

[Liou]

Poor old things

Ablutions
(Canon, ~1308?)
(Warning: dysphoria - I think?)

SPOILER: Click to show

The two old ladies' raspy voices filled the house with wheezing, grunts and cackles. The wrinkled skin that hung from their chins wobbled as they spoke, making them look like curious turkeys.

"A she-demon, I keep tellin you! Gives the wicked eye and gnaws at everyone in the winter. Makes the milk curdle when she sneaks past the barn. Aiming to trick the lads more and more, no doubt."

Laurie glanced up from his sewing, distracted by the sounds. He could not tell which of the twins was speaking. Though they insisted that they were not identical, he could spot no difference between them, except maybe that one was even more wrinkled than the other.

"Your eyes are already going mushy as pea soup," croaked the other. "There's no Pit-spawn in here. What's a Pit-creature got to earn by taking what's already the Pit's?"

Laurie brought his attention back to the work in his hands, making sure that the two parts were well aligned. They looked not unlike a pair of lips, he thought as he sewed them shut.

"Eh, that's her kid all right. Only the she-Pit inside is stopping him from growing right."

Still back and forth the needle went, to mend a ragged sleeve, the edges of the fabric pursing like an old hag's mouth.

"This kid don't need any she-Pits for that, you old bat! He was marked from the first day. Keep your eyes peeled, we tell 'em, but first time parents never listen, do they. Never bothered to fix him after the evil took root, and look what they've got now."

Weave the thread across her trap, loop it thrice around her throat, draw it tight and snap it.

"Are you finished, Lawrence?" Ma Kidde called, coming back from the other side of the house with a basket of rags and spare scraps of fabric. She leaned down to inspect his work.

"Good work. Your stitches are neater than mine," she said, praising him much louder than necessary.

The old twins turned in unison towards the corner where the child was seated, squinting at him with their four beady eyes as if noticing his presence for the first time.

"Go and check on your sisters while we do our swap," Ma urged him, as a younger woman arrived behind her and sat with the two crones.

Laurie rose from his stool, carefully folded up his work and replaced it in their sewing basket. As he stood, the skirt of his patched dress stretched all the way to his ankles, in full view. He had not stopped wearing the garment in months. He tugged on its folds and slunk out through the back door.

The garden was immediately quieter, its silence disturbed only by the occasional bleat of a goat in the distance. The women's muffled chattering sounded like the crowing of contented birds from inside a henhouse. Laurie went down the path towards where his sisters would be minding the goats, because he knew that Ma would peek out of the open window to check that he really was gone.

As soon as he had reached the garden fence, he ducked behind the hedge and crept back up to the house, taking a more roundabout path between Ma's vegetables. He crouched directly under the window, careful not to disturb the jumble of buckets and gardening tools that were waiting to tumble with a loud clatter.

Along with the crones' voices, he could hear Ethel Willard prattle on - the wife of a friend of Pa's, and daughter-in-law of one of the twins.

"Oh, someone was bound to say it out loud some day, Abbie. Everyone's already been whispering it."

"They've been whispering a mouldy old pile of horse manure, then," Ma said in the calm tone that she used when she felt a tremendous urge to slap someone.

The other women might have sensed it too, as they steered the conversation towards the various bits of fabric and old pieces of clothing that were piled up on the table in front of them. Part of Laurie wanted to feel relieved that the topic had been dropped, but he knew that the crones had not spewed all of their bile yet. He remained curled up in his hiding place, waiting for what he would inevitably hear next.

It came when Ma mentioned the need to lengthen a skirt.

"'Bit too big for your eldest daughter, innit," croaked one of the twins.

"It'll fit Laurie just fine," Ma snapped.

"So he can play more tricks on the lads, aye? You oughta have put a stop to that long ago instead of caving in to his whims. Good birching always sets them right."

"Why don't you listen to the gossip on the swines you call your grandkids, for a change?"

There was a scraping of chairs on the gritty beaten-earth floor and something bounced against the wooden tabletop with a thump. Laurie curled up tighter against the wall and hugged his legs. Peering between his knees, he caught sight of a snail near his right foot. He traced the smooth spiral of its shell lightly with the tip of his finger, over and over again.

"Keep on turning a blind eye to the witchery under your own roof, you'll be sorry when we're all jinxed!"

"It's you who oughta be sorry for slinging mud at a poor kid without a bit of proof to back it up!"

"The kid who talks to things no one ever sees and has a hissy fit before every misfortune that happens!" The old woman cleared her throat with a loud hack. "Screamed like a banshee on the day right before me old husband kicked the bucket, he did - I know it when he stares at me, he's saying I'll be next to go!"

"That day the Sommer boy went missing," added the other twin - Laurie assumed it was the second one because she was wheezing a lot less. "It was all so odd, wasn't it, how they found your Laurie hiding near the search party?"

"Now you're going round the bend," said Ma, on the verge of breaking into bitter laughter, "it's none of my kid's fault, if some brat is daft enough to get lost while hiding from his parents."

"Now, now, Grandmama. Remember the physician. Let's take a break, all right? There's your cup," said Ethel Willard's breezy voice. The legs of a chair were pushed back into place and creaked as something heavy settled. Laurie could have sworn he heard the old woman deflate like a pigskin.

A pair of footsteps headed straight for the window above Laurie, and he heard a cloth being dipped into water and wrung out. Another chair scraped against the floor, then a second set of footsteps joined the first. Laurie slowly slid his hand away from the snail shell and back into his lap.

"Oh, don't get yourself in a tizzy now, Abbie," said Ethel, right above him. "They're only saying this for your own good, you know."

"So thoughtful! Me and the kid really hadn't heard enough of this hogwash lately." The cloth was shaken roughly out of the window. Tiny drops of water sprayed the top of Laurie's head. He remained still as a statue.

"None of it is your fault, Abbie. You've been nothing but a good mother. It's always harder to see something wrong in your own kid."

Ma grunted in response. Laurie thought her temper was cooling down, but he still wouldn't dare come too close at that point.

"A lot of people can see something wicked over your house," Ethel continued, while the two crones chattered to each other in the background. "Your family's well liked around here, you know. No one would want any harm to come to your little ones."

"Then you've got one funny way of showing it."

"Why don't you just bring him to a holy man?"

"No more of that," Ma snapped. "Was bad enough that time some old fool talked me into it. I won't have some puffed-up vicar bullying my child to look better in front of the old parishioners."

"I'm sure that was some sort of misunderstanding. And Father Brogan's not puffed-up!" Ethel gave an uncharacteristically high-pitched giggle. "Unless he's hiding a paunch somewhere under that robe of his. You've never heard of him, Abbie? He seems a little bit... wild at first glance, like a wandering hermit, but he's like a miracle worker. He's saved marriages - not giving any names - and brought whole families back together. I'm taking the kids to see him in the woods tomorrow, might be our last chance before he sets off again. Not that they need it. But someone in the family's got to nurture their piety."

Laurie pricked his ears to listen for Ma's reaction, waiting for her to burst out laughing, or into a tongue-lashing. He only heard a ponderous sigh.

"He always stays outside the cities," Ethel continued in a chipper voice. "Best to commune with the Woo away from all the hustle and bustle, he says. Come, let's finish up with the clothes and I'll tell you where to find him." Her voice faded into the background, and two stools were dragged back to the table.

Laurie heard nothing more of their conversation. The three guests sounded pacified when they stood up and left, and they definitely did not sound like they were being chased out by either end of Ma's broom. Silence crept back into the house and settled around Ma while she pottered about, clearing clothes and mugs from the table. The words Laurie had caught swirled round and round his thoughts like an insistent swarm of mosquitoes.

"Laurie."

The soft call broke through his musings and made his stomach sink. Ma had not raised her voice one bit. She knew perfectly well that he was within earshot. Curling up and pretending not to be there would simply lead to more shame when she would march out of the house with her hands on her hips, ready to drag him in by his collar.

He shifted his weight onto his knees and rose fluidly back to his feet, keeping his hands free, out of habit. He then made his way to the back door without haste. He had been at the bottom of the garden, of course, and happened to hear Ma's call from a distance, by a stroke of luck. On the doorstep, he faltered. Would he be as welcome in his home, after what the guests had said?

"'Lo," he mumbled as he strolled in.

Ma straightened up and gestured towards the folded clothing she had just placed in their plain wooden chest. "We got some decent things for the girls. Better get ready for more sewing." Her expression was placid, her features unreadable. Laurie almost wished that she could be angry instead.

An elderly smell of dusty clothes, stale sweat and cold meat lingered after the guests. "They gave you all that?" Laurie busied himself with brushing a few crumbs off the table. "Ma, are you... are these people really your friends?"

She snorted. "Good Woo, no, not friends. We like to pawn junk on each other. And your Pa likes to work with Ethel's husband, so we have to stay in their good books."

A small weight was lifted from Laurie's chest. If those women were not Ma's dear friends, she would not take their words to heart. Laurie went to toss the crumbs out of the window. When he turned back, Ma was eyeing him with a calculating air, one corner of her mouth pursed.

"If I hurry, I might be able to fix you an old pair of trousers to wear tomorrow," she said.

His hands clenched in the folds of his skirt. Now that he was used to the garment, it felt more comfortable, more right than anything he'd worn before. It gave him an image to project to other people, a character that they readily accepted. He could not even consider switching back to another outfit. "Why, Ma? Everybody likes me better in this. Well, not those who knew me before, but everyone new I've met."

"You know where we're going tomorrow, don't you." He lowered his eyes. "You shouldn't have to hide anymore, Lawrence. I want this to be a new beginning for us. The woman could have been telling me a load of rubbish, and that miracle man could be a fraud for all I know, but we have to try something."

He nodded, his throat tight. Before he could walk away, Ma's hand caught him firmly by the ear.

"Not so fast, eavesdropper!" She dropped a bucket full of pea pods into his arms. "If you can drop eaves, you can shell peas. I want to get the cooking done, so jump at it. And you're mucking out the goat pen and the henhouse this afternoon."

They set off early the next day, each laden with a wicker basket to hold any berries or plants they might pick on the way. Ma had left a pot of porridge to simmer in the house and a long list of instructions drilled into Briar's barely-awake head. They did not hold hands as they walked, but Laurie matched his footsteps to Ma's, following the back-and-forth rippling of her skirts. They had spared some water for a quick bath the previous evening, and he still felt half-raw from the vigorous scrubbing. He tugged on his slightly oversized trousers every now and then. The way the coarse fabric slid up and down at every movement of his legs was distracting.

The morning was still crisp as a fresh walnut, the grey sky being slowly suffused by a clear pink tint. Hoof beats sounded here and there as the first animals were brought out of their stables. It would not be much longer before most of the local peasants emerged from their homes to begin their working day. Laurie kept his head low and his eyes on the ground. With any luck, they would leave the outskirts without stumbling into any acquaintances of Ma's.

Their path brought them close to a tiny Wooist chapel nestled between the area's small fields. Most of the families from the outskirts and some from outside town gathered there for Wooist sacraments, unless an exceptionally festive occasion brought the worshippers to a larger church in the city. The humble construction held the memories of all their births, lives, and deaths.

Laurie quietly asked Ma if they could take a different path. She gave a sigh, but she did not argue. Too many uncomfortable memories lurked there, for both of them. Nothing good had ever come out of bringing Laurie near a church yard. This would hopefully be the last time that she had to avoid a place for him, Ma thought, praying in anticipation.

They marched at a brisk pace to make up for the detour and to warm their limbs in the chilly air. The sun crept higher inch by inch, spreading scraps of heat over the cold earth and the frail shoots of winter-sown crops. From time to time a skylark would follow them for a while, fluttering over a few fence posts. They were gradually leaving the farmland behind and nearing the woods beyond the city's outskirts.

Ma only allowed their pace to slacken after they'd crossed the first trees at the edge of the woods. Dappled sunlight filtered through the tender young leaves of the canopy. Ma strayed off the path in search of mushrooms. Laurie foraged for garlic mustard and wild leek, then found himself crouched in front of a patch of violets, gazing idly into the cool specks of colour. He felt very much like a parcel being smuggled out of the city. The evidence of some shameful deed, furtively wiped from records and cleared from consciences.

A chill pervaded him and he shrank closer to the ground. Those bedtime stories about witches, ogres and vanishing children always began with a trip into the woods, did they not. Laurie had not brought a pocketful of pebbles or bread crumbs to mark their path. At least this part of the woods did not seem sinister. The tales never began with the witch being left in the woods. Laurie was not afraid of ogres or wolves. If he stayed out of trouble, found mushrooms and herbs and berries to eat, he could make it. Perhaps it would be better for everyone.

The sound of his name reached him from what seemed like miles away. Ma stood further down the path, beckoning. His legs had grown cold and numb under his weight. His head felt dizzy, disconnected, as if it was floating unsupported. His gaze focused on his mother's face. He sprang back to his feet, rushed headlong down the path like a rockslide and practically threw himself at Ma's apron, his heart pounding. She patted his head wordlessly.

It was past mid-morning when they reached the first clearing in a lilting chorus of wren song. A narrow river flowed through a gently sloping dell just a few yards lower.

"Ethel said to wait here before he fetches us," Ma muttered, craning her neck to see through the last copse of trees.

"Ma?" Laurie asked quietly from behind her. He was pressing his knees together to stop them from trembling. "What if he tries to banish me?"

"Then I'll banish my fist into his teeth."

A weary voice sounded from beyond the trees. "The Woo's blessing be with you."

Ma's head snapped towards the speaker. "And with you, Father."

Slow, heavy footsteps neared them. "What brings you here this morning?"

"I'm Abbie Kidde - it's for my son, Lawrence." She suddenly sounded flustered and polite, not nearly as gruff as when she addressed her family.

Ma stepped aside and Laurie found himself looking into a pair of piercing dark eyes, their lids creased and wrinkled by frequent squinting. They were set into a weather-beaten brown face which, despite its sharp lines, could not have been much older than twenty.

Upon seeing the said son, the man gave such a tiny raise of his eyebrows that Laurie thought he'd imagined it. "Hello, Lawrence. I'm Father Brogan."

Laurie bowed, but could not for the life of him remember what to say.

"How can I help you, Lawrence?" Father Brogan asked after a moment.

As Ma told the priest a little more, Laurie peered curiously at the wooden Woocifix that hung from his neck, at the coarse, faded grey robe, at the dust-coated leather sandals so worn that they seemed hard as hooves. They were strolling towards the river while talking. Father Brogan kept a constant gap of a few paces between the peasants and himself, never stepping across this boundary. When Ma skirted around a pair of trees that stood in her way, the priest drifted further to the same side, following a path parallel to hers and keeping his distance. Laurie, who had been bracing himself for a new intruder in his personal space, was pleasantly surprised by this.

"That's not much to go by," the priest was saying. "But if there is anything in you that the Woo's magic can heal, we shall find it." Father Brogan drew out his wand and, without warning, cast a spell. Laurie froze and shut his eyes. Ma gave a start, but there were no streaks of light or wraiths being blasted out of the child's body. Laurie opened an eye tentatively. He was caught in the grip of something invisible, huge and far more powerful than himself, utterly inescapable. He was not frightened. It felt safe, somehow.

The priest's eyes seemed unfocused. His wand drifted slowly up and down, scanning Laurie's body from a distance. Ma began to fidget, but did not dare interfere. Eventually, Father Brogan lowered his wand. Nothing seemed to have happened. Wren song filled the clearing, uninterrupted; the sun still played through the foliage, and the brook still gurgled peacefully.

"Watch out for that sensitive stomach," the priest said in his deep, even voice. "That was a big bruise on your left flank, but it's almost gone, and the ribs are fine. Your right knee is still recovering, don't strain it too much. Otherwise, your body is healthy. Lord Woo makes no mistakes."

Laurie glanced at Ma, perplexed. Was it supposed to be a good sign that the priest had not fixed him?

"You mean that... you're not healing him?" Ma asked, a shrill edge of anxiety in her voice.

"We do not mend what is not broken."

"But we need this! I'm sorry, Father - to be honest, it's to appease our neighbours," said Ma, wringing her hands. "I don't know what else to try. If you find any evil, anything you can heal in him... please heal it."

"Heal you to appease your neighbours?" The priest frowned in what seemed like polite confusion.

"I'm not really sick," Laurie, his throat tight. "They think I'm a..."

"It's all a just a big mix-up," Ma snapped. Father Brogan's keen gaze pierced her. With a glance at Laurie, she continued reluctantly, as fast as she could. "Look, back when I had him... things didn't go well. He was not healthy at all, and I was in no good shape either. Almost everyone was away for the summer festival. I think they'd all given up hope. Even his father," she hissed. "But I held on. We held on. I was not about to lose a second one. And he made it. It was a bloody miracle, but we made it. There were a few people who babbled about how he was a blessed child, but that didn't last long. Of course there were some who said otherwise. Busybodies - I guess you know the type. He was sickly and sensitive, having night terrors and seeing things we didn't understand. The older he grew, the worse it got. They spouted the most ridiculous drivel about him. That he was possessed, or some kind of... creature. Not my own child, they said!"

She glared at Father Brogan, her nostrils flared in indignation, daring him to say the same. The priest waited for her to finish, imperturbable.

"So, what I beg of you, Father, is to check if there's something wrong with him, so that we can be sure once and for all, please."

The priest gave her a nod and turned back to Laurie. "And what is it that you want, child?"

Laurie, whose mind had drifted off during Ma's tirade, lowered his head. "Please make me normal."

There was a pause, as if Father Brogan was waiting for him to rant like his mother. The man stepped towards the water. "Let's walk and talk, Lawrence."

Ma, excluded from the invitation, cleared her throat and shuffled back to the row of trees that overlooked the glade. "I'll be waiting here," she said to no one in particular, brushing dirt off a tree stump before settling down.

Father Brogan had already stridden off. Suddenly left alone, Laurie glanced between the two of them, then hurried after the priest. They strolled leisurely down the river bank. Laurie was more than content to stay a few paces away, as Father Brogan seemed to prefer.

"What does 'normal' mean to you, Lawrence?"

The child frowned, picking his steps carefully over the knobbly roots of an alder tree. "Being like everybody else?"

"Have you ever met anybody who was like everybody else? The Lord Woo never makes the same person twice."

Laurie felt himself flush. He should have given the question more thought instead of blurting out the wrong answer in front of the priest. "I mean, more like... someone who's not wicked. And that no one hates."

"Are there people who hate you? And who call themselves followers of the Woo?"

Laurie nodded emphatically. "Almost everyone who lives near us. And some who've just visited. And some I don't know but who saw me from a distance one day." He listed them. No one was around to hear, after all. It was almost too easy to talk in the murmur of the river, with Father Brogan ambling placidly in his peripheral vision, as sure and steady as an ox pulling a plough. By tacit agreement, they sat down at the same time, choosing two gritty rocks with a wide stretch of sand and pebbles between them.

"They can't tell what I am because of the way I look, and they say it's 'cause half of me must be from the Pit. And Pa hates me because I'm sometimes like a girl. Well, I hate Pa because he's always a..." Laurie broke off and glanced behind him. "Ma said never to repeat that word again. Doesn't stop him from being one."

He shot the priest a bold, accusing look. "Maybe you hate me too."

Father Brogan was watching him impassively. "Do you think you're a bad person, Lawrence?"

"Yes."

"What makes you think that?"

Laurie shrugged, his arms wrapped around his knees. "Bad things come to me."

Father Brogan asked what Ma had meant about seeing things. Laurie told him about the ancestors, their complaints that fell into deaf ears, and how they visited right before death, always eager and welcoming. He talked about the cold, twisted things that wailed in corners and that no one else could hear. The incessant noise in the church yards. The threatening whispers and chilling laughter in the night. The creatures that sometimes appeared in the underbrush, and who left you alone if you returned the favour. The great-great-grandmother to whom he must not speak anymore.

The spectres always scared him because if he saw them, it meant that they could see him too, and no one else could help. He was all alone against them. He described them as he would any other part of his life, not even attempting to persuade the priest that it was all real. He even mentioned the things that he had done on his own - possessions ruined or stolen from his bullies, who were then blamed by their parents. Laurie was never caught or punished for those misdeeds, unlike for the rest.

"Do the voices ever tell you to do bad things, Lawrence?"

"Not really. Nothing I could actually do." His tone was matter-of-fact, simply asking for confirmation. "So... are you going to make a Pit-creature come out of me?"

Laurie almost winced and regretted asking the question when the priest's eyes pierced him again. It was even worse than being stared down by Ma after coming home late. He felt an irrational urge to confess more of his crimes, no matter what they were, just so that the scrutiny would end.

Father Brogan abruptly swung his arm and threw something at him. Before Laurie could even think, his hand had darted up and snatched it out of the air. His heart beating fast, he opened his fist to reveal the object within: a metallic Woocifix.

"I have travelled, Lawrence. To Kine. To Bern. I have been called by many who thought themselves plagued by the Pit. Most were only plagued by fear. However, I did come across a few creatures. People here may claim to see Pit-creatures in their fields, but what I saw was far beyond their imagination. Even now, I do not know what they were, or whether they even came from the Pit." The priest tapped the handle of his wand absently. "What I do know is that they were not of the Woo. And more importantly, Lawrence, I know that you are nothing like them."

The child let out a breath he'd been holding and threw the Woocifix back at the priest, who caught it just as easily. "So... you don't think I'm bad?"

Father Brogan ran a hand over the back of his close-cropped hair, gazing at the sun-flecked ribbon of the river. "I think that you are a child of the Woo, like the rest of us. The Woo never makes mistakes, but his children sometimes do. Even when transmitting his words. The only words you truly need to listen to are those of Lord Woo."

"The Woo probably hates me too," Laurie snapped. "Otherwise he wouldn't have made me... all different." He gestured vaguely at his body.

Father Brogan sighed. "I can't pretend to know any of the reasons behind the Lord Woo's deeds. So I can't tell you why he made you the way you are, Lawrence. That's between you and him. I can tell you that he is full of love, and only love. I'm sometimes an idiot, but he still loves me." He let the child ponder those words sullenly for a moment. "Prayer is what lets us commune with the Woo and stay in touch with his love. Do know the Books, Lawrence?"

Laurie did recall a few snippets and the most commonly used prayers, since he'd helped his younger siblings follow the sermons they attended. Then Father Brogan reviewed them all with him, and the hollow words he'd once parroted suddenly took on new meanings. The priest's deep voice was not sing-song, his intonation did not rise; he did not seem to be speaking up to the heavens like the other people Laurie had heard praying. He spoke as if a third person had joined them, sitting on another rock between them, perhaps. A friend.

Distant echoes of voices reached them from the entrance of the glade. Several people had arrived near the spot where Ma waited, her knitting project spilling out of her basket. The priest kept an eye on the new arrivals. Laurie thought he recognised the Willards, but paid them no mind. Father Brogan's safe space enclosed them like a private little bubble.

"I find that water always feels pure and cleansing. Why don't you say all of those again in the river, Lawrence? Contemplate them on your own for a moment. Wash any doubts away."

The child tugged at his fresh new shirt, his throat tightening - it was a priceless item to them, and Ma would not have it anywhere near the mud. Behind him, the water was smooth as glass and full of light under the noon sun. A copse of alders stood between the main part of the dell and a dent in the river bank that formed a tiny cove. There was no one unfriendly nearby. The third, benevolent presence would watch over him.

"I think I will." Laurie stood up, walked towards the water - in a wide arch around Father Brogan -, then turned away and slowly slid off his shirt. He left it on the cleanest, driest patch of pebbles he could find, along with his clogs. It was comforting to know that Father Brogan would not step any closer to him.

"The bruise on your left," Father Brogan said tentatively.

"It was from a stone." Laurie rolled up his trouser legs and waded into the stream. The cold water seemed to whip life back into him.

Father Brogan sprinkled him with blessed water of his own - "After this, no one will be able to say that you're tainted" - before going to greet his visitors.

For a few blissful moments, Laurie was on his own. It was nothing like being alone near his home, where he had to stay quiet and invisible in case someone thought he was up to no good. Here he was alone with the river, the birds, the light, Father Brogan's trust, and the Woo's prayers. He was allowed to be himself. He sang out a little. He even splashed some water over his face and arms, watching the droplets catch the sunlight as they flew.

Through the gaps in the trees, he saw Father Brogan strive to keep his distance from the group of children and their mother. The grey-robed silhouette of the priest meandered back and forth in a strangely graceful dance, stepping away every time they bounded towards him in their enthusiasm. After a while, he returned to where he had left Lawrence, pausing on his way to grab a towel from his travelling gear.

Laurie, dripping wet, waded back towards the bank to meet him with a smile. "I said them all again."

"Welcome back." Father Brogan stepped on the rocks nearest the water to hold the towel at arm's length for Laurie. It was the closest he had come.

"It was a good idea, thank you." Laurie reached for the towel, slipped on a smooth rock in the riverbed and lost his balance. His hands automatically clenched around the fabric and pulled hard to keep him upright. Stumbling and about to topple into the water himself, Father Brogan abruptly yanked them both backwards.

Laurie found himself pressed flat against the front of the man's robe, the water on his skin already soaking into the grey fabric. They stared at each other for a heartbeat, startled by the sudden explosion of touch, breath and body heat. Then Father Brogan let out a yelp much too shrill for his voice. His body gave a violent lurch and his hand shoved Laurie, who fell back into the riverbed with a loud splash.

Laurie sat there on the rocks that dug sharply into the back of his legs, drenched and too stunned to move. Up on the bank, Father Brogan was taking deep breaths, one hand covering his mouth and the other raised in front of him. Laurie could not tell whether he was beckoning or trying to shield himself.

"Don't move," breathed the man, "please, just let me..."

Father Brogan was cut off by a strident voice calling his name. Out of nowhere, he was surrounded by a cluster of children large and small pushing past each other for a better look at him, bickering and stumbling and bumping into him. Mrs Willard's hands closed around the priest's arm.

"- heard a shout and a splash, are you all right Father, what happened, is everything -"

He lowered his head and writhed out of her grip. He marched straight through the human wall in his way. "Leave me be," he said, his even tone only wavering a little. "I must pray."

Mrs Willard stared aghast at the placid man's retreating back. She looked all around, somewhat disoriented. Her eyes fell on the thin child sprawled in the water.

"You," she snarled. "What have you done to this holy man?"

Her words stung like a birch rod and her accusing glare seemed to burn right through him. He shuddered and curled up, wrapping his arms tight around his chest.

"Even this priest," she kept repeating in disbelief. She barked a few orders to her children and their voices slowly grew more distant. The shrill anger in her tone was not enough to conceal a quaver of fear.

Sand and river grit drifted above the riverbed, gathering in the folds of his trousers. Water droplets crawled down his shivering torso. His teeth had begun to chatter, the warmth of the sun long forgotten.

"Lawrence?"

His head snapped up from its resting place on his knees.

Ma was reaching out to him from the river bank, where the priest had stood. "Come."

Her hand was open and inviting and he shrank away from it, hunching his shoulders, because his touch had just done harm to someone pure and holy. He should not move. He should not touch anything. He should stay in the middle of the water. It would protect the rest of the world against him.

"Are you trying to catch cold? Don't make me ruin my skirt. Come, now." He saw the shadow of doubt trail across her face. "Let's go home."

His chest rose and fell rapidly. He opened his mouth to say something, to call out a warning, but his teeth were chattering too violently. He heaved himself up and staggered up to her, each heavy step splashing more water around him. His trembling hand met hers in midair, slipped away; then she caught him by the wrist and yanked him sharply into her arms. He sank limply over her, whimpering from dry sobs.

Ma found his shirt and gave him her apron as a makeshift towel. She then let him keep the apron to wear over his sodden trousers. It felt more like a skirt.

"Unbelievable," she was muttering while he wiped himself dry, "I don't know what came over that man but we will get some answers out of him -"

Laurie clutched her sleeve. "N-no. I've... he's been bothered enough already. D-don't hurt him, Ma."

Deaf to his protests, the woman marched them closer to the isolated spot where the travelling priest had made his camp. Ma stopped short when she saw Ethel Willard and her brood waiting anxiously by the tent, jabbering at each other and calling for the man to come out.

Ma rolled up her sleeves. "I am going to rip that meddling tart's skin right off her saggy -"

"Ma. Let's just go home, please. It's too late. Don't make her angrier."

Ma sighed, exhausted, and gave in to her child's meek tugging. "Are you going to be sick?" she asked, eyeing him cautiously while they turned away. He shook his head.

They found themselves back on the path that led towards their home, their earlier apprehension replaced by weariness. Laurie still trailed behind Ma, squeezing her hand, his head low.

"Come on now," Ma said bitterly, patting the top of his head. "We've still got a long way ahead."

Omens
(Canon, ~1309-1310?)
(Warning: death, mainly mentioned)

SPOILER: Click to show

The first sign came mid-morning, as the maids were hurrying up to the guest quarters they needed to prepare, laden with baskets of fresh bed linen. Laurie saw a faint shadow move from the corner of her eye. She immediately whirled round, just in time to spot a blur in the shape of a human head vanish beyond the edge of the nearest window.

"Something the matter, Laurie?" the girl next to her asked breathlessly, bracing her heavy basket against her hip.

"No..."

"Well, let's keep moving, we haven't got all day!"

So they did, though Laurie remained a little shaken. She could not decide whether to be reassured or worried by the fact that this was one of the highest rooms of the Raven's Keep. There was nothing but a patch of sky to be seen on the other side of those impenetrable stone walls.

She must have imagined it. She had not seen anything like this in so many years, there was no reason for it to return now. It was easy for her to stop thinking about it in the cold stone corridors, where the drafts seemed to chase everything from her mind like the dried rushes that were being swept vigorously from the floors.

Later on, as she and the other maid were beating a carpet that they had hung from a balcony, Laurie leaned as low as she could to chance a glance at what lay directly beneath these windows. Through the cloud of dust and lint, she caught sight of the cemetary of the Keep.

Nothing out of the ordinary. The gravestones and sculptures rested unperturbed under the bleak grey sky. What had she expected, a dance performance by the living dead? Before her partner could notice that she was staring, she straightened up, dismissed those troubling thoughts and went back to work.

It was only after they had finished, as Laurie was on her way out of the bedchambers, that the second sign popped up abruptly in the corner on her left. This time the maid gave a start and raised one hand to the side of her eye, blocking the fleeting shadow from her sight. A heartbeat later, it had already vanished. She could still see the imprint of its shape inside her eyelids, though. It was a mere reddish flicker against the dark grey stone, a lump hovering near the ceiling like a skeletal infant curled up on itself.

Shudders slid up Laurie's spine, like the scuttling fingers of cold, slippery hands. A dim echo rang out of the recesses of her memory, mimicking the voice that she might have heard from the apparition several years ago - a weak, pitiful whine, begging for warmth and company. But that was all over now. Even Laurie's own pet demons had been unusually quiet in the past few days. This was nothing more than a pale wisp of the past reaching out to taunt her, to reel her back in, and she had no intention of letting it.

"What are you still doing here, taking a nap?" Another serving girl stood in the doorway with her arms crossed impatiently. "You're slowing us all down!"

In a few brisk strides Laurie had caught up to her and seized the top of her arm, squeezing it tight. "Why don't you be a wise girl and keep your nose out of others' business?" she hissed into the girl's ear. "Or you'll wish I could slow down once I come for you."

Laurie released her without another look, hurried back to the rest of the servants before anyone could notice her absence and focused on their work again, determined not to let any other oddities faze her. If any more whispers about her strange behaviour arose behind her back, she would have to resort to unpleasant measures.

Laurie was so concentrated that she almost missed the third sign in the afternoon. It was not very conspicuous, really. Anyone else might have overlooked it.

As she rose to fetch a fresh rag and more furniture polish, a row of maids hurried through the parlour that Laurie's group was cleaning, carrying piles of gleaming crockery into the next room. Laurie paused to let them through. One woman passed her, then two more, and then a cold chill came over her as a majestic lady swept past, a bouquet of dried flowers clutched in her hands. Time seemed to stop under her footsteps.

The maid let out a tiny whimper. The final silhouette stood out like a knife protruding from a wound. She was not meant to be there or to be at all, and Laurie would have known so even without seeing the dark puce stains that blossomed on the front of her bodice, or the way her livid skin clung to her skull, sagging around her fixed, sunken eyes. The lady glided behind the rest of the group, her long hair and gown trailing behind her like wisps of smoke. Not a single sound followed in her wake - not one faint echo of a footstep or a whisper of fabric. Not even a sigh. By the time Laurie dared to look in their direction, the intruder had vanished into thin air. That was it.

Laurie spent the rest of the afternoon jumping at small noises, to the increasing dismay of her fellow servants. She gave wide berths to fireplaces and large, heavy pieces of furniture, pulled her coworkers away when they leaned out of windows, anxiously watched the carts that drove into the main courtyards and kept an eye on the guards' weapons whenever they happened to be within her sight. The wait was intolerable, yet she never wanted it to end. In her vague, fear-addled memories, visions like these had always preceded disasters.

She slept little that night, wandering through brief dreams of moonlight-flecked forests in which she chased patches of shadow that leapt from tree to tree. When morning came, she listened to all the echoes and gossip that reached the kitchens as the servants grabbed their breakfast. What if someone had gone missing overnight, or been discovered lying spread-eagled somewhere, cold and stiff? However, nothing of great importance seemed to have happened - unless, of course, it had been hushed up.

This day already seemed warmer than the previous; the sky was clearer, filled with the merry, oblivious chirping of a chorus of birds. Perhaps there had been no reason to worry after all, thought Laurie while getting a start on her chores. It was nothing but a silly childhood fear that had popped up again.

She went to pull open the heavy wooden blinds of a window. The moment her hand met the latch, something fell to the floor behind her with a crash. A cold blast of air blew past her, then rushed out through the window, throwing the blinds against the outer walls with a resounding slam. Its lingering chill seeped through her skin until she was frozen to the bone. The stone-framed patch of sky seemed to spin in her numb head. Laurie's legs buckled beneath her.

She was still kneeling on the floor when the senior maid arrived a few minutes later, fetched by one of Laurie's younger coworkers. Together they hoisted the maid back to her feet.

"Have you brought us an illness, Kidde?" the senior maid barked. Her words struck strangely close to the truth. "Can't have everyone collapsing now! When did you last go home?"

"Over two months ago, Ma'am," Laurie answered meekly. "Couldn't make it last time because of those banquets."

"Hm. You should be due for a visit at this week's end, then. I want you back in full health, and today's work done without a fault before you leave. You hear?" Though she sounded angry on the surface, her tone also held a hint of concern.

Laurie nodded, smoothed down her skirt, braced herself and resumed her work. The other servants checked on her every now and then as if they expected her to collapse. She was no longer jittery, just pale and resigned.

Nothing tragic happened at the Keep that day. Laurie almost wished that it had. It was now painfully obvious to her that her old forebodings could only have been triggered by something much worse. Something that hit closer to home.

The next dawn found her perched like a carrion bird on the back of a cart. The coachman, who was driving down from the Keep after making a delivery, had accepted to give her a lift for most of the way. They rode in a grim silence punctuated only by hoofbeats and the rhythmic rattling of the wheels. Laurie stared blankly ahead, bathed in the dim pinkish light of daybreak. A haze of fog was filtering it into an odd fleshy hue.

"Won't you give us a smile, lass," the coachman joked tentatively, "people will think I'm carting you off to your funeral!"

He might as well have spoken to a statue. He shook his head and gave up, ignoring the shadow of the gloomy girl behind his back until he dropped her off at a crossroads not far from her neighbourhood.

Laurie did not start walking for a while, gazing instead in the general direction of her family's home. Her stomach felt as though it were teetering on the brink of a precipice. How she was loath to move forth. She could stay right there instead, rooted to this humble little place, near the edge of a dew-sprinkled meadow where the morning breeze riffled peacefully through the tall grass.

Ever so slowly, as if she were pushing a boulder up a slope rather than strolling on flat ground, Laurie made her way down the path. Modest farmhouses trailed past her at a snail's pace, still swathed in shadows. The rustling of leaves caused by small birds, the occasional sleepy bleats or stomping of hooves that drifted from barns sounded almost deafening in the silence.

A farmer's wife, draped in many layers of shawls, was already bringing out a few crates of produce. Laurie spotted a small stack of white flowers, possibly the last of the season. Inspired, she fished a coin out of her pocket, purchased a bunch and moved on, dragging one leaden leg after the other. She held the flowers at arm's length as if they were contagious.

Much too soon, her family home's humble silhouette emerged from the morning fog. The crooked hut that stood before her looked the same as always, except for a few new repairs here and there, in places where the daub had crumbled. Laurie halted again. Perhaps there was still some hope that she had been wrong, that her imagination had played tricks on her yet again. The crushing, visceral emptiness that loomed even from outside the house told her otherwise.

The front door swung open and Daria came out, pale and haggard, carrying a pail to fill at the nearest well. She stopped in her tracks when she saw her sister. Wordlessly, Laurie stumbled forth and pulled her into a hug. Daria's limbs felt limp with exhaustion as she clung to her. Laurie wanted to squeeze and comfort the younger girl and whisper words of reassurance, but she barely had enough will to stop herself from turning away and fleeing.

The thick, stale air inside the house weighed down upon them, the silence pressing against their ears like wool. Ciara seemed utterly lost, Briar as stony as a guardian statue. Two more stiff hugs, then Laurie's arms slid slowly down and the girls stepped aside. There was nothing more to separate Laurie from the lifeless form of her mother.

In the stillness of their former home, she sank to her knees to pay her final goodbyes to her anchor, her pillar, her shelter, who had left her life forever just one day earlier.

Gone, the sharp, slightly husky voice that called children and goats alike to order. Gone, the dry, bony arms that grew softer and softer towards the shoulder, and the perfect, inimitable shape they formed when they wrapped around someone. Gone, the subtle strength of the chest that supported sad or tired heads like a velvet-draped cliff. Gone, the crinkly warmth and the lingering rosemary scent of the patched old apron.

Laurie was fortunate enough to be on time for the burial. Her grief remained neatly stored behind a dam, so that none of it would leak in front of the little ones. She was not the only one to hold back. The entire household's tacit emotions seemed to seethe above their heads like storm clouds.

At some point, someone thought to ask Laurie how she had known to bring flowers in advance. She replied that she had heard the news before arriving, and no more questions were asked.

However, not a living soul had told her.

[Liou]

Celestial and I did stuff.

Off the Wagon - Part 1/2
(Canon, spring 1316)

SPOILER: Click to show

For an idea as insane as fire-shooting dragon automatons, it had taken Ambrose an absurd amount of time to convince Clarissa that it was a bad one. It probably did not help that she was absolutely drunk out of her mind. That was unusual by itself; Clarissa had never struck him as the sort to ever lose her mind drinking, let alone drink enough to get crazy ideas such as those. But she was hardly the only one. As he had walked to her workshop, it seemed like all of Medieville had gone mad. People were falling over themselves drunk, laughing at things which were hardly funny, such as shop signs and said people who had fallen over, and generally making complete fools of themselves.

And as he walked back, it seemed like it had only gotten worse.

Ambrose barely ducked out the way as a cart ran past him, just barely missing clipping him. He panted, his eyes wide and terrified. Oh Woo. Medieville festivals usually involved some drunkenness but not on this kind of scale. Usually there were some sober people around but this time, the entire town was drunk. If only he had not been in such a hurry to get to Clarissa, he would have had some sense to bring a knight with him.

He wanted to go home, and as quickly as possible. Stallion Manor was not far from here, if he hurried, he could make it without incident. Probably.

Please don’t let me have any visions, please, Ambrose quietly prayed. If he did, while all of Medieville was in such a state, there was no telling what could happen, and he wanted to avoid that.

As fast as he could manage, he set off down the street, keeping close to the walls and away from any drunks that seemed to be coming his way.

A sound remarkably like Ambrose's name floated over the cacophony of festival music, drunkards, and the various accidents they caused. It seemed to be coming from the vicinity of a tree festooned with garlands - now torn and lopsided. However, there was no one standing around the trunk. The call came again, louder and unmistakable this time, not from the tree but rather from a thin blonde person perched precariously on one of its branches.

"Ambrose what are you doing down here?" Laurie shouted, bewildered. Though his limbs were wrapped tightly around the branch, he was leaning dangerously, his hair hanging low and the collar of his rumpled shirt gaping open.

"Ambrose - can you please tell the stupid tree to- to stop moving?"

The Stallion stopped in his tracks, staring at the familiar face just above him. A thousand questions erupted in his mind but there was not going to be enough time to ask them all. Instead, they all boiled down into one word:

“Lawrence?” he gasped, slowly and carefully approaching the tree until he was just below Laurie. “The tree isn’t moving at all, it’s perfectly still. Have you..?”

Oh no, not him too. First Clarissa and now Laurie. Ambrose could at least cope with perfect strangers being drunk, he could at least avoid them, but not people he knew and cared about. Who else could be affected? Xavier? Leif? Elin? Morgaine? Woo only knew.

He pushed the thoughts of his other friends out of his mind. Right now, he had to focus on Laurie. “Lawrence, please, come down,” he called up to the young man. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

"Down? But..." Laurie crept a bit further along the branch, causing the leaves to rustle as it swayed under his weight. He bent over to peer suspiciously at the ground. His knees slipped and he only caught himself by sheer reflex.

"There were rude men down there, Ambrose, really rude and mean! Oh, but if you're here, it's fine. It’s safe now, right?"

Laurie abruptly loosened his limbs enough to slide down the branch, then braced his feet against the trunk just in time to stop. He wrapped his arms around the very base of the branch and lowered his body inch by inch, so that his legs were dangling as close to the ground as possible.

He seemed to have trouble aiming, as he squinted while swaying to and fro. Suddenly, he let go and half-slid, half-ran down the trunk, to land on his feet with just a minimal amount of wobbling, looking very much like a disgruntled cat.

Ambrose watched this display with growing horror. At times he stepped forward and threw his arms out when it seemed like Laurie was going to fall but luckily the young man was still far too nimble for that. Though, the Stallion thought, perhaps that should be expected of a former thief. He might have reformed but his skills would never go away.

As soon as Laurie had come down, however, Ambrose rushed towards him, grabbing him by the shoulders. His blue eyes were wide, projecting the worry and fear that he felt. “Lawrence, what happened to you?” he gasped, looking over the young man. As he did, several things stuck out like black birds against white clouds: Laurie’s unfocused gaze, the way he swayed to and fro, his odd behaviour, not to mention the behaviour of everyone else in town...it only confirmed his earlier suspicions.

“You really are drunk, aren’t you?”

The mere sight of Ambrose brought a contented smile to Laurie's face. "'Course not Ambrose, you know I don't drink," he answered calmly. "Well, I drink water, and tea, and tasty juice, but I don't drink the, the drink that makes people drunk. Erryone else is compl-e-te-ly drunk, though." He gestured vaguely at the crowd around them with a dramatic roll of his eyes, that ended up with his head wobbling a little more than intended.

"I was with Rosalie - you know Rosalie, Ambrose? you'd love her, who wouldn't - and we were walkin' round this festival of something-I-forget, but then I couldn't find her! So I went looking for her! And there were those drunk fellas who took me for a girl - can you believe it? And they wouldn't stop following me and calling me stuff, so in the end I went up this tree."

Having concluded serenely as if this was the most logical ending, Laurie leaned against Ambrose, seeming to take the Stallion's grip on his shoulders as a cue for a hug. "It's way better seeing you than them, Ambrose. Really good to see you. You're the best. How did you get here, again?"

“Umm...I was walking back from Clarissa’s. She’s drunk and I had to stop her from doing some...very stupid things,” Ambrose’s hands slipped from Laurie’s shoulders, giving him the hug he seemed to want. Part of it was for protection and part of it was to stop the young man running off again. If Ambrose lost track of him, Woo only knew what could happen.

Even if he did not, however, they had problems. Laurie claimed he did not drink and Ambrose fully believed that. However,if he had imbibed the same stuff that Clarissa had, he probably did not even realise that he was drinking alcohol.

The Stallion shuddered at the thought. That “juice” as it was called...it was a mercy that he had decided not to go to this festival anyway. If he had drunk some of that alcohol and not even realised what it was like so many people in Medieville clearly had...he shivered. It might have been worse than even at Alain’s wedding.

Thankfully, that had not happened. He still had his wits about him, wits that he needed right now more than ever. Carefully, Ambrose pulled Laurie away from him slightly so he could look him in the eye. “Laurie, do you know where Rosalie went? Or Morgaine, have you seen Morgaine? We need to get you to someplace safe.” Unless of course, they’ve also been tricked into drinking that stuff.

Laurie finally managed to stifle the fit of quiet giggling that had overcome him at the thought of a drunk Clarissa. "And Rissa she'd... she'd polish the falcons and throw meat strips at the swords," he wheezed.

"Ah, Morgie stayed at the shop! With the locks! In case people get locked out of their houses and she has to let them in - ha, maybe that's why erryone's hanging around here. So Rosie and I came here just the two of us and Rosie said that was better because Morgie wouldn't scold her on the way or... or 'cramp her style'." The giggling started again. "You know when she's all firm and dignified but she has that adorable pout, and then she's so pleased to get what she wants that her eyes are all twinkly and her cheeks just a liiittle bit pink -"

At this point, Laurie finally became aware of their surroundings again and began to crane his neck to look over the heads of the crowd. "Rosie! Have you seen her actually, Ambrose? She was wearing a pink dress! And she wanted to throw a key but there were too many people jostling us! And then I couldn't see her anymore and there were guys instead - I hope she just went home!"

Ambrose winced visibly. “I haven’t seen her, at least not around here. Woo, I hope she did go home instead of wandering away and getting herself in even more trouble,” he murmured, his eyes dashing around to catch any flash of pink in case he was mistaken. He was still a little bit afraid of Rosalie and her sheer...enthusiasm, but right now, any help with Laurie would have been welcome.

However, his search proved fruitless. With a sigh, the Stallion resigned himself to the situation. “We should probably get you home, Laurie,” he said, turning to him. “Rosalie will manage, I’m sure, but you…I’ll get you to the shop, back to Morgaine.”

"Yeah, she’ll manage! If someone says bad stuff to her, she will throw a key in their face! And make them pay! For real!" Laurie squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, almost dizzy from looking around so much. "I wanna go home too... Thirsty. Ambrose are you thirsty?" He searched his pockets with fumbling fingers, then let out an indignant gasp.

"Hey! Now who took my juice and put a coin purse instead?" He waved the intruding item around as if someone had played a prank on him. "I wanted juice! I can't drink this thing, it's not quenchy at all!"

Ambrose grabbed Laurie’s hand holding the coin purse and lowered it down so it would not be so easily grasped by any passer-by. “Lawrence, maybe you shouldn’t wave it around. You don’t want to attract the attention of pick-”

Laurie's eyes widened and he hunched conspiratorially over the coin purse. He glared at everyone who walked past them, even stepping behind Ambrose for a moment to dissuade any potential muggers from sneaking up behind him.

The Stallion, however, was too deep in thought to notice. When it came to other people’s tastes, he tried to not make assumptions and he would not have judged Laurie for having a finely embroidered coin purse. That by itself he would quite happily dismiss as being insignificant. It was the fact that the embroidery was done in silk thread upon fine satin cloth that rang alarm bells in his mind. He knew that both he and Rosalie had been working a good trade and Rosalie especially liked the finer things but this looked like it belonged to a noblewoman or somebody rich, not a simple merchant. There was no way either of them could afford something this fine.

Ambrose turned to Laurie, his eyes full of alarm. “Lawrence, where did you get this?”

"My pocket," Laurie answered, still squinting at the purse. His juice-addled head was working hard to reach a conclusion. "I don’t remember this thing!" He gave a faint shudder, wrapping one arm around his torso. “Ambrose did you put it in my pocket? Did you see any… anybody touching me?”

“No, I didn’t, and why would I put anything in your pocket?” the Stallion replied, still trying to fully comprehend what was happening. He really hoped that it was not what he thought he was but there was no other way to explain how a stranger’s purse ended up in Laurie’s pocket. Woo, Ambrose had thought he had left it all behind him…

“Lawrence, do not be insulted by me asking you this,” he put a hand on Laurie’s shoulder. “But did you...did you steal that?”

Laurie flinched and immediately dropped the purse as if it had burned his fingers. "N-no, I can't! I promised Rosie!" His hand went up to the key that rested under his shirt. He turned pitiful, pleading brown eyes to Ambrose. "I can't have taken it, I just can't," he stammered. "I don't even want it!"

He crouched to pick it up from the ground - his wavering hand closed on empty air several times, and he almost lost his balance when he stood up again. "Do you want it, Ambrose? You can have it! Or I'll... I'll call the person who lost it!" He took a few shaky steps away, holding the purse at arm’s length and narrowly avoiding more stumbling festival-goers.

“No, Lawrence, stop,” Ambrose put a hand on his shoulder, trying to arrest the younger man’s movement. “You won’t find the owner by just calling to them, everyone will claim it belongs to them and then what will we do?”

“Oh right, people want money, yeah. Sorry Ambrose.” Laurie rubbed his face, trying to collect his thoughts through the haze induced by the juice. “Could find the owner if it weren’t for those stupid stupid liars and thieves - I hate thieves so much!” He shouted out his frustration for any potential thieves in the vicinity to hear.

Oh Woo, Ambrose thought, rubbing his eyes with his fingers, this was getting worse and worse by the minute. Now on top of a drunken Laurie, they also had to deal with his thieving coming to the forefront and try to fix that. This day would never end.

He dug his hand into Laurie’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Lawrence, stay calm. We’ll find the owner of the purse and apologise to them, I doubt they’ll care as long as it is returned, and Rosalie doesn’t have to know about this either,” his eyes dashed around the crowd, trying to scan it. This was all far easier said than done. He tried to suppress the wave of panic that was rising up inside him, especially as the crowd showed no signs of easing up either in numbers or in drunkenness.

“Look, why don’t we try to find the city guard or somebody? Or…” Ambrose paused, wondering if this was a good idea. Woo, he badly wished he could go home, away from this accursed festival and its inebriated partygoers but he could not leave this matter unsolved. It was a shot in the dark but… “Why don’t we try to walk around, see if we can find anybody?”

He could only pray that he had no visions during this. At least he was not going to be alone, even if Laurie was hardly ideal company.

“All right, that sounds great, thank you Ambrose - you’re so clever, Ambrose, and nice - did you know you’re clever? And you’re really - r-really nice too.” Calmer now, Laurie nodded emphatically as he spoke, as if to show how much he agreed with his own words. He had to stop when it made his head spin again.

“I’ll find them real quick for you, Ambrose, promise.” He started walking again - with the coin purse clutched tightly against his chest, at last - and wove his way between waves of the drunken swarm, avoiding collisions despite his wobbly legs. He retraced his steps back to the tree, walked two full circles around it, then found another familiar direction which was hopefully where he had come from earlier.

“The embrara- embo- emboroidyry on this thing looks like flowers,” he muttered to himself, while ducking away from a stray hand that was making a grab for his hair. “Ambrose, you like flowers? You have a flower in your name, Aaam-buh-rose. You like that one? I should call you ‘Rose, if you like, because roses are nice and you’re nice too…”

Despite the stress of the situation and the rowdy, drunken crowd that had closed in around them like the bars of a prison, this simple remark caused a fond smile to spread across Ambrose’s face. “If you like, Lawrence...and if you even remember when this is over,” he winced as a man bumped roughly into him and stumbled away, too drunk to even be aware of what had happened. The Stallion rubbed his arm, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand.

“Let’s just try to find the purse owner, and if we don’t, we should hand it over to the city guard,” he said, heading after Laurie and keeping his hand on the young man’s shoulder to stop him wandering too far. It occurred to him that given the state of Medieville, the city guard might have other, bigger problems to deal with. That was why they had to try to find it themselves. Woo, if they even could amongst all these drunken people.

He pressed himself closer to Laurie, partly to protect the young man and to avoid another shambling woman, one whose scowl betrayed that she was not as likely to shrug off any accidental bump. Ambrose swallowed, turning to his companion. “Let’s hurry to the place where you got this from. And,” he held out his hand. “Maybe I should take it, for safekeeping?”

"'Ey, keep your hands off 'Rose!" Laurie called at the scowling lady, shaking a wobbly fist in her general direction. "Yeah, let's hurry. Yeah, you safe-a-keep this, 'Rose."

He pushed the purse back into Ambrose's hand, then added an incredibly familiar leather satchel that he appeared to have produced out of nowhere - a satchel obviously much too fine to belong to a peasant, and that seemed from its weight and shape to be filled with multiple metallic objects. "You want to hold this again, too? I wouldn't want to drop it."

Ambrose almost dropped the purse in surprise when Laurie pulled out his toolkit with all the pride of a stage magician. Normally he would not have taken it outside but he had brought it along this time to dismantle any crazy idea that Clarissa thought of. He had not even felt anything amiss, but of course he never did when Laurie took it, not at the feast and certainly not when it was stolen from his room in the manor. Automatically, his hand flew to his right side beneath his cloak where he usually hung the kit for safekeeping but as he thought, it was not there.

“L-L-Lawrence,” he gasped, staring wide-eyed at the young man in front of him. “I didn’t ask you to hold that. Please give it back to me!”

“Huh, didn’t you? That’s so odd!” Laurie immediately went for the exact spot where the satchel
had previously hung. He hesitated for a moment and his fingers fumbled with the strap, but he managed to fasten it securely, as if it had never left its place.

“Good thing we didn’t lose it, then,” he prattled on during this task. “Imagine something breaks and you need to fix it - I couldn’t fix things like you do, ‘Rose, with all the tiny little… things!”

“Yes…” Ambrose murmured, his back stiff and tense as the young man worked on affixing the toolkit back on to his belt. Unnervingly, he still barely felt anything during the process, only a slight brush that could easily have been attributed to his robe shifting or his cloak flapping. He continued to watch nervously and once Laurie had finished his work, the Stallion quickly moved away. Grabbing the edge of his cloak, he pulled it over to cover the toolkit and with his other hand, shifted the leather satchel further back around his belt. He also placed the purse into a hidden pocket sewn into his robe, alongside his own much more modestly decorated money pouch.

Once that was done, his shoulders relaxed but only just barely. “Lawrence, listen to me,” Ambrose looked the young man right in the eye. “You are not yourself. If you think anybody has asked you to hold anything now, you say no. In fact...please, don’t touch anything, alright? At least, not until you get home.”

The Stallion’s form kept drifting in and out of focus, and Laurie had to tilt his poor, heavy head this way and that to see him properly.

“Alright. I get it, ‘Rose. No touchy. Sounds fine.” He wrapped his arms tightly around his chest, hoping that touching himself did not count. “I’ll just tell them sorry, I can’t hold this for you, because I’m not myself, so myself can’t hold… that.”

He nearly dived aside to avoid the next gaggle of drunks, a few of whom whistled at him. “Can’t touch this!” he shouted hoarsely at everyone in the vicinity.

Then he lost his balance. His hands reflexively closed around the only object around his height and within his reach, which happened to be a low hanging garland. With a pitiful yelp, Laurie collapsed, buried under a cascade of multicoloured fabrics wrenched from the side of the nearest tent.

"'Rose," his voice whimpered feebly from somewhere in the mess. "I touched it..."

“Lawrence!” Ambrose exclaimed. He tried to reach out and grab Laurie but his reflexes were nowhere near fast enough to prevent the inevitable crash. Thoughts of the worst case scenario flashed through his mind: what if Laurie had broken something or- no, he forced the idea down, along with the panic in his throat. He should not get so ahead of himself. Laurie was not in extreme pain, at least he did not seem to be, so most likely it was just a fall.

“Woo, Lawrence…” the Stallion sighed and kneeled down in the fallen fabrics, digging through them in order to get to Laurie. Pulling aside the colourful bunting, he was relieved to find the young man lying there, dazed but otherwise unharmed. “Lawrence, can you walk?” Ambrose stretched out a hand to him. “If so, we need to keep moving.”

Laurie blew strands of hair out of his face and automatically reached for the offered hand, more for comfort than to lean on it. "I-I know myself can walk most days, but..." Suddenly, he sprang to his feet and into a crouch, tense as a frightened rabbit.

“HEY!” a loud, enraged voice called out over them. Ambrose’s head shot up and his eyes widened as they met the enormous woman looming over them, her face twisted into a scowl. “What do you two drunks think you’re doing, messing up my stall like this?!”

"Don't call 'Rose a drunk. 'Rose didn't touch anything!" Laurie slowly straightened up and stepped in front of the Stallion. His stomach gave an alarming lurch from the added pressure. “All I had to drink was the stupid juice. I’ll… I’ll fix your stall. It was pretty before it jumped on top of me.”

He turned to Ambrose. “And while she’s distracted, you make a run for it,” he added without lowering his voice, instantly forgetting that the lady was still within earshot.

“What was that?!” the woman yelled. Like a striking hawk, her beefy hands lashed out, one closing in around Laurie’s arm and another on Ambrose’s wrist. “Neither of you are going anywhere until you pay for what you’ve done, you no-good-”

Laurie's fear reared like a beast in the pit of his stomach and his eyes focused on a spot in the distance; in his drunken stupor, however, he had no outlet for it. His panic flared and grew, coursing red-hot under his skin, thrashing to escape the imaginary imprints of hands groping him like the woman's, yet he remained frozen on the spot. A high-pitched whine like a fox's shriek built up in his throat, barely audible.

Off the Wagon - Part 2/2
(Canon, spring 1316)

SPOILER: Click to show

“Ma’am, please, let us go. We didn’t mean any harm,” Ambrose begged the merchant woman that had grabbed ahold of them, trying to meet her eye. However, that only earned a scowl as her head whipped around to face him.

“I don’t care, I am sick of drunkards going around wrecking up the place!” she growled, baring her teeth and bringing her head closer to the Stallion, so close he could almost feel her breath. “And don’t think you wearing Ascension livery is going to save you. I am not afraid to go up to the king and complain about his people getting plastered and wrecking my-”

“I am not drunk. Please believe me, I am not,” Ambrose immediately froze, realising how disgustingly familiar those words were and how much good they usually did. Except those situations were as different as a nut and a bolt, but Woo, if she really made good on the threat that she would tell Aldrich...perhaps it would not matter whether he was drunk or mad if Aldrich doubted him.

He shook his head, pushing the thought away. “Look, ma’am, we’re sorry for what happened. But let me assure you, I am perfectly sober. My friend…” his stomach dropped as he realised the merchant woman had a tight grip on Laurie. “He’s drunk but I’m looking after him. Please let him go, we’re not going anywhere.”

She narrowed her eyes even further at him, contemplating the validity of his claims before slowly uncurling her fingers from their wrists. Ambrose breathed a sigh of relief before pulling Laurie closer to him, putting one protective arm around the young man.

“You still broke my stall,” the merchant woman folded her arms, staring directly at them. “I demand repairs and compensation, immediately!”

Laurie slumped against Ambrose like a dead weight, breathing in short, shallow gasps. “Anything, I’ll do anything please,” he whimpered, before the pressure became too much for his stomach. He abruptly shoved Ambrose away and stumbled a few steps behind them before doubling over.

“Lawrence?” the Stallion called before the sound and the smell hit him. Inwardly, he winced: alcohol was bound to do that to a person but that hardly made the sight of Laurie bent over the contents of his stomach better. Once the young man had finished and was trying to take in gasps of air, Ambrose slowly walked over to him and began to run a gentle hand down his spine.

“It’s alright, it’s alright. It will pass, and it’s better than holding it in,” he murmured quietly all while continuing to stroke Laurie as though he was a lost kitten.

The first contact sent a faint shudder down his back, but Ambrose's touch felt familiar enough and Laurie too exhausted and groggy to recoil. His shaky hands had somehow located a handkerchief, and he used it to cover the lower half of his face. He could breathe more easily after this mild relief. It was by no means unusual to him, not even alarming to his drunken mind. What a pity that he'd subjected dear 'Rose to such a revolting spectacle. He leaned more heavily against the Stallion in a weak attempt to make him turn further away from the puddle.

“Don’t turn your backs on me! Didn’t you hear what I said?” the woman behind them yelled shrilly. “Am I going to get my compensa-”

“Will you be quiet for a moment, please?” Ambrose suddenly snapped at her with uncharacteristic ferocity, so much so that the burly merchant gaped at him in surprise. Without another word, she stepped back away from the two men.

Relieved, the Stallion sighed deeply before turning back to Laurie. “Lawrence? It’s fine now; you’re going to be fine,” he put his arm around the young man’s shoulders to support him. “Can you walk?”

He could, and his appeased stomach did not seem to have any more objections. He was not sure if he wanted to walk, though, back into all those grabby men, perilous trees, mysterious objects sneaking into his pockets, and lurking garlands and tents ready to ambush him at any moment. He certainly did not want to risk making another mess like this one. Even 'Rose sounded angry now, so angry that the bear wrestling champion lady had backed off.

"I'm sorry," Laurie croaked, "so sorry, 'Rose, Mrs. Bjorn- Madam, stall... I'll be fine." He hiccoughed and had to clear his throat, but continued very gravely. "I want to make it better, Ma'am. The stall. That I hurt." (The stall had hurt Laurie, too, but he'd forgiven it since.) "I had money on me but where's it now, it's never around when it's needed..."

The merchant woman snorted and folded her arms, tapping one large foot against the cobbles. “You better have the money, or else,” she growled. “I’m not going to tolerate any shenanigans today.”

Ambrose sighed deeply, his arm tightening around Laurie’s shoulder. “We’ll pay you, ma’am, and I’m sorry for my friend’s...accident,” he reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the embroidery of the foreign purse sitting beside his own. “If it was not for his condition, I’d volunteer that we help you repair it but I doubt that would be practical,” he took out his coin purse, holding it close to his chest. “How much do you want?”

“Hmph,” she snorted again, glancing back over the damaged tent. “Five amulets should cover it.”

The Stallion’s eyes widened but immediately, he sighed, choosing not to argue with the woman. It was not like that was a great amount of money for somebody who was both a major noble and a servant of the king. Without further hesitation, he reached into his purse, taking out the round amulets which served as currency in Medieville. Once he placed it into the merchant’s palm, her fingers closed around it and her stance became more relaxed. She turned around, placing the amulets into her own purse and looking over the remains of her stall, rubbing her head as though her temples were hurting.

Laurie's eyes followed the exchange and remained locked on the woman's purse even after the amulets had disappeared from sight. It was the kind of sum that, until recently, could have determined his survival. Part of his mind could already picture the woman's back, the way she moved, her belt, her purse, the ground near the neighbouring stalls which he could cross to disappear in an instant. His hands clenched where they were holding on to Ambrose's tunic. No touchy.

Ambrose placed his money back into his pocket, his hand once again brushing against the floral purse. An idea suddenly blossomed in his mind and his head snapped up, turning to the merchant woman. He just prayed she would not be mad enough to dismiss them or accuse them of thievery.

“Ma’am, could you...please help us?” he asked, taking the purse and holding it out. “We’re looking for the person who owned this. Would you know who it belongs to?”

She put a hand on to her chin, examining the embroidered cloth for a moment before nodding. “Yes. A young lady who came by my stall not long ago had it.”

This caused Ambrose’s heart to surge. Finally, they had a lead. “Do you remember what she looked like?”

“Mhm,” the merchant woman nodded again. “Brown hair, a mole under her right eye, brown dress but with some embroidery on it like this purse, no doubt to make herself look fancy,” she gave a derisive snort. “Also had a blond young man with her who was clearly trying to impress her, judging by how he paid for everything. Not that I’m complaining, money is money.”

“Thank you!” Ambrose bowed deeply to her, breathing a sigh of relief. If she had spotted them recently, they might have still been around. The sooner they found them and returned the purse, the sooner they could all go home.

Not wanting to waste any more time, he took a few steps away from the ruined tent, still holding Laurie by the shoulders. “We’ll find them, just a little bit longer, hang in there,” he glanced over at the young man. “Will you be alright to keep walking? Or maybe...maybe I should take you home?”

The prospect of wandering around the city when it was this crazy sent a cold chill down Ambrose’s spine. He had grown comfortable enough walking around Medieville normally but with this many drunks, Woo only knew what could happen if a vision struck him. Once again, he wished he had brought a knight, or even better, an entire escort of knights, but it was too late to regret it now. Laurie was better than nothing, if just for an extra pair of eyes to keep a lookout, but he did not want to drag him around for his sake when the young man was already struggling to keep his stomach to himself.

"Wasn't brown, but russet," Laurie mumbled, gazing around at the feet of everyone who passed them. "Brocaded. Hemmed with a blind stitch, in flame-coloured linen thread that showed where the train was rumpled. Balloon sleeves with lace trimming. Spangled belt. Young man was not that young, muddy boots, carrying a big pile of parcels."

He gave a deep sigh, stifling a hiccup. "So many hems..." He glanced up at Ambrose. His head was pounding, the cacophony of the festival filling his ears with a sharp whistling that felt almost like a solid plug. How desperately he wanted to support his own weight, to fight the accursed drink, to cooperate with Ambrose through this ordeal. Instead, his mouth trembled and his throat clenched. "Home," he said feebly.

Ambrose paused for a moment, looking over the young man’s sickly features and glazed eyes before nodding. This was the best thing for Laurie right now, and for him. Perhaps he could send a Stallion knight to look for the couple to whom the purse belonged to but they had no reason to be wandering around in this mad swarm of people.

“Alright,” he murmured quietly, clutching Laurie’s shoulder tightly, trying to pull him up. “We’ll get you home, back to Rosalie. She’ll look after you,” the Stallion shot him a weak smile, trying to cheer the young man up. “Won’t that be nice, Lawrence? Being looked after by your beloved?”

Laurie gave a weak nod. "She'll wanna kiss me, and her hair will tickle me, and it'll be so nice and soft... fluffy as a kitten." Then he began to sob quietly, his eyebrows creased and his lips tight, though his eyes remained dry. "What if she doesn't want... what if she thinks that I st-stole... that I've become a crimi- crimimi- a bad person... I… I wanna go say sorry..."

“It will be fine, she won’t abandon you for that. Rosalie is much nicer person than that,” Ambrose exclaimed, squeezing Laurie’s shoulder to try to comfort him. “I’ll vouch for you to her, I promise,” he swallowed. “I just hope she’ll accept my words...I damaged one of her keys during the Coronation and I’m still not sure if she’s fully forgiven me for that.”

"Rosie's the best, she's more precious than... than all the keys in the world. You'll be fine, 'Rose. Just don't murder any more keys." With that important piece of advice, Laurie patted Ambrose on the shoulder, in a way that was meant to feel encouraging.

"I wanna see Rosie," he wailed abruptly, loud enough to make a few heads turn. "I'm so sorry... Don't murder any keys, please..." Struck by a sudden fear for the safety of local keys, he sank into a crouch to inspect the ground and the maze of criss-crossing legs.

“Lawrence, no, be careful,” Ambrose cried, pulling Laurie up and holding him close to prevent him ducking down again, in case he was not so lucky to avoid the flailing of feet this time. Once he was sure the young man was secured, he shot him a shaky, uncertain smile. “You’ll get to see Rosie soon. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you. Just...just stay with me and you’ll be with her sho-”

“I SHAID IH’M FINE!” a shrill voice pierced the ear, breaking off whatever the Stallion was going to say next. The Stallion winced at the sudden sound and his head snapped around involuntarily towards the source of the noise. It was a young woman with brown hair arranged into a bun that, judging by the mess of locks sticking out of it, was now falling apart. Her dress was plain brown, except for a few splashes of colour where the embroidery on it shone through. Embroidery exactly like on the purse. His heart speeding up, Ambrose took a closer look at her face, and sure enough, there was a mole, exactly as the merchant woman had said.

Except she had not mentioned that the girl was not steady on her feet. Instead, her arms were firmly around the neck of the young blond man she was with, her legs trying to find purchase on the ground as though it was made of ice.

“I shwear, Ih’m not drunk,” she slurred, grinning lopsidedly at him. “Don’t be shilly.”

The man huffed and wheezed from the effort of supporting not only her weight, but also the assortment of purchases piled high in his arms. "'Course not," he stammered, blowing sweaty hair out of his reddened face, "I'm not being shilly - silly, let me catch my..."

He cursed under his breath as a parcel began to slide from the top of the stack. He swayed from side to side, catching it in extremis. "I still think we should be sensible and head home immediately, if you please."

A small item tumbled out of the pile and landed behind the man's feet without him noticing. A pair of sleepy brown eyes followed every inch of the trinket's fall. Laurie's arm slid lower and his fingers clenched in midair. "N-no touching," he muttered, still slumped against Ambrose. "Can't use my hand. 'Rose... look down, north-northeast, six feet away from us... Can you swing your arm over the ground, like you're about to trip, and let your hand swipe over there real quickly..."

“Lawrence, no!” Ambrose exclaimed, his eyes going wide as he stared at the young man he was holding. “I am not stealing for you. We’re here to return something, not the other way around.”

As quickly as he could with Laurie still in his grasp, he followed the couple and picked up the parcel that they had left behind. “Excuse me,” he called out to them, holding it out. “I think you dropped this.”

“OH!” the young woman exclaimed, her arms still around her boyfriend. “Tshank you, mishter…” her bleary eyes focused in on Ambrose, taking in the colour of his clothes. “...lord…” she beamed. “Mishter lord!” she reached for the parcel but clearly underestimated the distance, instead only grabbing air. “Dahrling, could you get tat for me? I cahn’t sheem to reach it.”

"Lord?" The man broke off as his companion nearly brought them crashing down. He strained his arms with all the meager strength left in them, pulling back to keep the lady and their shopping somewhat vertical. He felt a worrying crack in his lower back as he did so. "My lord! My humblest apologies - no need to help, dear, I'll take it, all right?"

Gingerly, he withdrew one arm from around her waist and edged it under the offered parcel, which he slipped back into the tottering pile as if playing a game of wooden tower blocks. "Thank you so much, my lord. I am very sorry about my friend's ah, manners."

“Ah, it’s alright, there’s no need to apologise,” Ambrose said, giving the young man a small smile. “You seem to be doing all you can, given the...circumstances,” he glanced nervously at the young woman.

Noticing his gaze, she smiled lopsidedly at Laurie and Ambrose, her head lolling on to her boyfriend’s shoulder. “Ishn’t the feshtival grand? Are you enjoying it too, mishter lord? You and your...friend? Shon?”

“Friendshon?” Laurie blinked and glanced up thoughtfully at the Stallion, as the idea crossed his mind and settled. "I'm ‘Rose’s... I’m his most obliged servant and bodyguard, plus anything else he wants," he announced proudly.

His eyes drifted back to the pile of parcels. "I'd help you with those, but I'm not allowed to hold stuff tonight. May I... may I hold you instead?" he asked the lady. "That's a really fine dress you're wearing. It looks like... like a purse."

The young woman giggled as though somebody had just tickled her. “Ooh, aren’t you shweet? But I got shomebody to hold me right here,” she gave her boyfriend a squeeze, leaning against him. As she did, Laurie’s other remark seemed to filter through the drunken layers covering her mind and she blinked a few times, patting at her skirt. “Purshe...purshe…darling, where ish ma purshe?”

The boyfriend let out a weary sigh. “No, not again, please tell me you still have it…”

“Oh, your purse, yes. Don’t worry, miss, we found it. It’s actually why we were looking for you,” Ambrose reached into his pocket. “It is right he-”

He felt his consciousness being suddenly ripped away by another vision, like a carpet being yanked out from under his feet. No, not now! The Stallion tried to bring up a hand to cover his eyes but he was not fast enough. His arm froze in front of him, looking as though he was holding some invisible item to his chest.

The woman screamed, pressing herself against her boyfriend. “W-wha-whatsh wrong with him? Eeew, I don’t like it!” she shook the young man by his collar. “Doooo shomething!”

Laurie's brow slowly creased into a frown. "Ew yourself," he snapped at her. "He don't like it any more than you do." He pounced to Ambrose’s left side, just in time to stand between the paralysed Stallion and a gaggle of giggling ladies about to walk right into him. They backed off hastily, startled by his snarling.

The boyfriend grunted in protest at the added jostling and jerked his head away from his companion's grasp. "Is this some kind of joke?" he asked, peering suspiciously at Ambrose. "Don't reach for the purse just yet, dear..." He edged in front of the woman and tried to get a better view of the lord's clothing and pin.

“O-o-okay,” she whimpered, still clinging to him. She glanced sideways at the Stallion standing motionless in front of her but then immediately shrieked, pressing her face into his chest.

Laurie stepped directly in front of Ambrose and planted himself on the ground as firmly as he could. The tip of a blade appeared in one of his shaking hands. The scowl that twisted his dainty features into a hostile mask said more than any threatening words.

The boyfriend almost shuffled back into the woman. "Hey now, let’s all keep our decorum," he stammered, puffing up his chest. He glanced around frantically, but no one seemed likely to help them among the few dazed drunks who had stopped to stare.

His girlfriend cried out again at the sight of the knife, wrapping her arms around her boyfriend and hanging off his neck as though she was trying to wrestle him down on to the ground. “He’sh gonna shtab ush! You should be protecting ush from that weirdo behind you!” she pointed at Ambrose with a shaky finger. “Shtab him! Shtab him! Not ush, we’re only minding our bushiness!”

Laurie's vision zeroed in on the woman's accusing finger and the rest of the world seemed to blur around that point. Laurie snapped. He saw nothing but rage as he lunged for the couple, charging with all his speed. Even in his state, he attempted to feint around his prey, out of habit. He swerved too wide, swayed dangerously, then crashed headfirst into the man's side, sending all three of them sprawling under a pile of parcels.

There was a piercing scream from the girl, loud enough to shatter glass and eardrums alike. “Help, help, shomebody!! Murder, murder, help!!!!” she yelled as she flailed and struggled under the parcels, waving her arms and legs in the air as if mimicking an upside-down tortoise.

Her companion let out a loud groan as the wind was knocked out of him. He finally dropped their shopping and tried to take hold of the woman's arms, getting struck a few times. "Stop - get away from him, for Woo's sake!" he shrieked in a voice almost as high as hers, striving to drag her away from the dangerous hoodlum.

Amidst the chaos and cries emanating from the pile of people, nobody noticed as Ambrose gasped and stumbled forward, just barely catching his balance before he also fell. He blinked, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes, trying to get rid of the fog of the vision still lingering in his mind. “What….no…” he murmured. “Shouldn’t...wait…”

Another shriek from the woman startled him back into reality as sharply as though he had been kicked. The Stallion’s eyes widened in horror as he beheld the chaos that had flared into existence while he had been swept away by his magic. “Lawrence!” he cried, diving in and scooping up the young man, propping him up under the shoulder. “Woo, what happened here?”

Laurie immediately stopped flailing to escape the heap, and clung to Ambrose like a glob of honey. "'Rose, you're all right?" He gazed up at him with the sad expression of a deeply betrayed dog. "She... she told me to st-stab you!" he choked, still in disbelief. “You!”

The Stallion gasped, glancing with panic between the young man clinging to him and the woman who was still struggling to get up on to her feet. A small shudder ran down his body and he hugged Laurie closer to him. “I’m fine, Lawrence, thank you. It’s alright. She...she probably wasn’t thinking clearly.,” his voice shook as he spoke. At least, he hoped that was the case.

Sighing deeply, he reached into his pocket again and took a few careful, tentative steps towards where the woman and her boyfriend were, clutching the purse to his chest with one arm while propping up Laurie with the other. “Are you...do you need some help?” he asked.

“Yesh-” the woman pushed herself up to her feet. “Wait, no-” her feet gave way under her as though she had stepped on a patch of ice, “Actually, yesh-” her eyes shot upwards, meeting Ambrose’s gaze. She screamed and fell down again, genuflecting. “I’m shorry, y-your lordship, I didn’t mean to off-off- inshult you! Don’t shet your bodyguard on ush!!”

Ambrose’s eyes were full of sadness as he looked down at her. He sighed again, shaking his head. “I won’t, don’t worry. I’m used to it,” he leaned down slowly and reached his hand out to the woman. She squeaked and flinched away but he only placed the purse in front of her. She stared at it as though he had just made gold out of thin air.

“My purshe!!” she screamed and clutched it. “Thank you!” her eyes narrowed. “How did you get it?”

"He got it after you lost it, and I was thirsty!" Laurie said, then squeezed Ambrose's arm tighter. "She wanted t-to hurt you and you're... you're giving her money?" he spluttered, torn between outrage and wonder at the Stallion's mercy.

After a long struggle against gravity, the woman's companion finally heaved himself back to his feet, then rushed over to her side, brushing dust off himself. "I think you've said enough to Lord Stallion, dear,” he said anxiously before she could blurt out anything else. “My lord, how can we ever thank you enough, all this was so indecorous, it's the crowd, and the drink, is there anything we can do...?"

Ambrose shook his head. “Please take your lady-friend somewhere else so that she may recover from her state,” he said quietly and squeezed Laurie’s shoulder. “I’m going to do the same to my friend here. Have a good day.”

With that, he turned around, and lead Laurie away, holding him close so that he would not trip or run away to get into any other shenanigans. “Let’s go home, for real this time,” he murmured to the young man, giving him a wan smile. “I’ll be handing you over to Rosalie’s tender love and care. Won’t that be nice, Lawrence?”

Laurie stumbled after Ambrose without any resistance, still hanging from his arm. He was attempting to shield the Stallion from invisible dangers with his body, even though he could barely stay vertical at this point. He was reaching his limits. They would probably never find the way back to Rosalie. At least they were leaving the scary stabbing-enthusiast purse-woman further behind with every step, and Laurie would not let any more purses sneak into his pockets, or let anyone stab 'Rose as long as he was conscious.

"No one stabs my 'Rose," he kept muttering, when his chattering teeth and unstable balance would let him. "No one murders keys. Must keep hands to myself. No one can hurt you, 'Rose."

The noise ringing in his ears, the Stallion's sleeve and wary steps were all that he registered before his memories of that day ended. He would be woken in a warm bed by a princess's gentle kiss.