Celestial Writes Medieval Fics

[Celestial]

Merry Christmas, everyone! ^_^ Have a two-parter of feels.

Life...

SPOILER: Click to show

“My lord?” the servant called out as she came in to the courtyard. Alain broke away from the Stallion knight who he had been sparring with, the latter stopping as soon as he heard the woman’s voice and stepping away. The young Duke briefly caught the sympathetic look in his eye and waved his hand at the knight.

“Leave us, please,” he asked. The other man did not need to be told twice and quickly hurried off. Once they were left alone, Alain turned to the servant girl, brushing a lock of golden hair out of his eyes. “What is it?”

“Your child has been born,” the servant could not help but smile a little.

Alain paused, letting the words sink in. So he had a child now. The alliance with Brachyura was secure and the line of Stallion would continue. He knew this would happen, he had known this was how it should be, and how it would be. That was one of his many responsibilities as heir to the House, fathering children to guarantee that there would always be somebody to take over. Rationally, he had accepted that and had been perfectly comfortable with the thought, both throughout his marriage and Margot’s subsequent pregnancy. They were both old enough to carry out this responsibility they had.

But nevertheless, now that the moment had arrived, a strange worm of an emotion had suddenly wriggled its way into Alain’s heart. He had known this day was coming for a while, he had known what was happening as soon as Margot had gone into labour and he had heard perfectly clearly what the servant had said. Yet somehow, the fact that he was from this moment on a father did not feel entirely real.

“My lord?” the servant’s voice broke through his thoughts. Dismissing them promptly, Alain looked up at her, his usual calm smile on his face.

“The child is healthy, I take it?” he asked, sheathing the sword he held.

“Yes,” came the answer.

“Good. A boy or a girl?”

“A daughter,” the woman replied.

Alain gave her a small nod of acknowledgement. While a male child would have been a better choice to strengthen the line and guarantee inheritance of the House, this was what fate had dealt him. There would be plenty of time to secure an heir later. As long as the girl was healthy, that was all he needed right now.

He wiped the dust off his hands before turning back to the servant. “And how is Margot?”

“Lady Margot is also doing well, according to the midwives,” the servant smiled a little. “It was her who sent me. She thought you would want to know.”

At this, Alain’s smile grew just a fraction. How considerate of her. Though it was really no surprise if one took a second to think about it. She was a kind woman and she deferred to him, of course she would want to let him know about the birth of his child.

“She was also asking if you were going to come see her and your daughter,” the woman added. Alain could not help but overhear the tiny bit of suggestion in her tone but he decided not to pay it any mind. Instead, he smiled and nodded at the servant.

“Of course I will. Tell Margot I’ll be there as soon as I am ready,” Alain smirked. “I doubt the midwives will let me in as I am now,” he waved his hand, “You may go.”

The servant gave him a small bow and turned, going back towards the castle. Alain was left alone and he turned to look up the castle that was being lit by the setting sun. Despite the conversation to assure him, it still did not feel completely real, that somewhere in there was his daughter, a girl who did not truly exist in the world until today. But no matter what he felt about it, it was true and it was not going away. That was one thing Alain knew for certain. Only a fool would deny it and he was definitely not a fool.

He spun on his heel and walked towards the exit of the courtyard. It was high time he saw his daughter at last. Perhaps that too would settle his mind.

Alain did not hurry as he got changed. Neither his wife nor the baby would be going anywhere and he was sure Margot would appreciate the opportunity to rest; at least that was his reasoning. Besides, to hurry was a sign of anxiety and that was not an emotion he wanted to show, not even to himself. There was no reason for him to be anxious anyway. The servant had said that both the child and Margot were fine, therefore he should not be anything except calm. That was how he conducted himself throughout all his affairs and this should be no different.

Finally, he was ready and he made his way upstairs towards the room where he had last seen Margot escorted. Alain did not allow himself to hesitate as he knocked on the door, a knock that was shortly answered by one of the midwives. She gave him a critical look, examining the young lord before she nodded and stepped aside, letting him come into the room.

Margot lay motionless with her eyes closed on the bed. Only the slight rise and fall of the covers betrayed that she was asleep. Maura sat beside her bed, holding something swaddled in a blanket to her chest. Upon hearing Alain’s footsteps, she looked up and beamed at him, beckoning him over. He complied, crossing the small distance between the doorway and where the two women were.

“You took your time, Alain,” she said to him softly.

“I did not see much point in rushing, mother,” Alain smiled at her, though he could not help glancing down at her arms.

“Of course not,” Maura gave a soft chuckle. “Don’t be nervous.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I’m not nervous, mother.”

“All men are nervous when their children are born. Your father wasn’t the exception and I doubt you are either,” she replied in a gently chiding tone before holding the bundle in her arms up to him. “Do you want to hold her? It might help.”

Alain nodded and Maura stood up, moving over to stand opposite him. “Hold up your arms like I’m doing.”

He did as he was told and she placed the baby in the cradle he had made, carefully adjusting his hands to support the child’s head before finally letting go, leaving Alain holding the girl.

She stirred a little in his grip but Alain kept a firm hold of her. Swaddled in the cloth, she was much smaller than she had initially looked, yet he could feel the weight of her resting in his arms. The baby turned her head to look up at him and he drew her a little closer to allow her to do so. Her eyes were a beautiful shade of blue and fine hair covered her head like golden thread. He stroked it with his fingers and warmth from the girl seeped into them.

Alain felt himself smiling. The reality of the situation dawned upon him but it was hardly like what he had expected. He had been more than willing to accept having children but that was it, acceptance. Now, he found himself welcoming it. Son or daughter, this was his child and he was glad to have her in the world, obligations or not. She was not just going to be an obligation.

He tore his eyes away from the child and looked up at his mother, who was beaming at him. “Does she have a name?”

“No. Margot wanted you to have a say in naming her,” Maura replied. “Shall I wake her?”

“Please,” he nodded. Maura turned and leaned down to Margot, shaking her shoulder gently, and Alain stood behind her, waiting for his wife to wake.

Slowly, Margot’s eyelids fluttered open and her gaze settled on her husband.

“Alain...” she tried to sit up but Maura placed her hands on her shoulders, preventing her from doing it fully. “Do you like her?”

“I do,” he smiled warmly. “Thank you, Margot.”

Despite her exhaustion, she blushed and beamed back at his words. “I was worried. I know a son would have been better...”

“There will be other opportunities. As she is, she is fine,” Alain gave the girl’s head another stroke. She wriggled a bit, nestling herself comfortably in his arms and closing her eyes. “You wanted to wait for me to choose a name for her, correct?”

“Yes,” she murmured quietly and glanced shyly down at her hands, “I...I have a name in mind. May I suggest it?”

“Of course,” Alain looked down at his wife, waiting for her to continue.

“Aveline. I just think it sounds nice and it is a name from my homeland,” Margot lowered her eyes briefly but then gazed back up at Alain. “What do you think?”

“I like it,” he glanced down at the girl, who had by now fallen asleep in his arms. “Aveline it is.”

...And Death

SPOILER: Click to show

“Alain!” Margot’s voice echoed down the corridor. That one word, so familiar to him, immediately set him on edge. Even a deaf idiot could not miss the anguish in his wife’s voice. Something had happened.

The Grand Duke stopped in his tracks and turned back towards her, just in time to have Margot run up to him and press herself against his chest, sobs racking her body. The tiniest hint of a frown crossed Alain’s face. Margot was emotional, yes, but she would never act like this with him. If her grief had overtaken her this much, something had definitely happened. Something bad.

“Margot?” he gripped her arms and gently but firmly pushed her away, lowering his face to hers. “What happened?”

She looked up at him and opened her mouth but only a choking sound came out. It was then that Alain noticed the parchment she was holding in a death grip. Carefully, he began prying at her fingers and she held it out to him. Once he had taken it, Margot had buried her face in her hands.

An odd sensation of cold ran down Alain’s spine. As soon as he had touched the parchment, a name appeared in his head: Aveline, the name of his daughter, accompanied by a sense of foreboding. Last he had known of her, she was in Kine, happy and expecting a child. Unless...

The Grand Duke’s face hardened into stone and he unrolled the parchment, his eyes drinking in every word.

Reading it once was enough. Calmly and deliberately, Alain rolled up the crumpled parchment and put his hand on the still-crying Margot’s shoulder, guiding her into a side room. Only when he closed the door behind her did she look up.

“How can she be dead?” she whimpered. “How can our daughter possibly be dead?”

“It was a risk,” Alain replied, his voice quiet and calm.

“But...she was so young! She had so many hopes and dreams and now...” Margot’s breathing was ragged. She looked up at Alain, meeting his gaze expectantly, trying to peer deeper into his blue eyes.

Without a single crack in his expression, he drew her into a hug, pressing her head into his shoulder. While it robbed her of the opportunity to look him in the eye, she did not resist, wrapping her arms around him.

“Aveline is not the first child we have lost,” Alain murmured.

“At least Eve and Lyle were just babies. Aveline...” Margot buried her fingers into the folds of his cloak. “She was my first. Our first...she can’t be dead, Alain!”

“It is not something either of us can help, Margot,” came his all-too-calm reply. “At least her daughter is alive and as healthy as she can be.”

“...yes,” Margot’s shoulders shook again. “I never thought I would be so unhappy on the day of my granddaughter’s birth.”

“Neither of us could have known this would happen, Margot,” Alain said and turned his head to his wife. “Perhaps you should go down to Kine? To see her?”

She looked up at him, her face still swimming with tears. “Won’t you come with me?”

“Margot, I cannot leave Destrier just out of sentiment. There’s a lot to do here,” he smiled a little.

“But I...Kine is so far. I don’t want to go alone. And Isabelle...I don’t want to leave Isabelle. She’s all we have left.”

“You can take her with you or let her stay here, it is your choice. Baron Ewan’s province is not far either, you won’t have to travel long,” Alain’s smiled grew a little wider as he leaned down to Margot. “And Isabelle is not the only one. There’s Aveline’s daughter, Lucinda, now.”

“There is...and I do want to meet her, but-” Margot swallowed, bowing her head.

“You think about it, Margot,” Alain let her go and slowly worked his way out of her grip. “We shall get through this. This is not the first death either of us has had to endure.”

Despite the tears still flowing down her cheeks, she nodded. He smiled and guided her back out of the room.

“How can you be so calm about this, Alain?” Margot murmured as they exited. “Aren’t you upset by this at all?”

Save for the slow blink of his eyes, the Grand Duke’s face did not move. His eyes stared straight ahead, locking on some point a thousand leagues away. A moment of silence settled on them.

“I am calm because I need to be calm. You should reply to Ewan’s letter, Margot, since he sent it to you,” Alain said eventually and let go of her, starting down the corridor. “I’ll leave that in your capable hands.”

She frowned but even if she had wanted to any questions, Alain was already walking away down the corridor. He kept walking in a slow, measured pace until he reached his office. There, he closed the door behind him and turned the key in the lock.

On a rational level, he knew Aveline was dead, Ewan would not have sent them such a letter otherwise. But the thought of never being able to see his daughter again was still an alien one that had not fully settled in his mind. Just like the thought of her birth had not felt completely real to him at first.

He had seen plenty of death, both in the family and during the war. There had been Eve and Lyle, but he had never even met Eve, having been at war at the time, and he never got to know Lyle before the boy had caught an illness and died. Aveline, however, he had watched grow up and had been so happy when she had gone to start a family of his own. But now, all that was no more. She was gone, and what was worse, there had been nothing he could have done. For all of his power, for all the control he exercised over the land and over its people, he had been completely helpless against nature when it came to those he cared for.

Alain took a deep breath and closed his eyes, suddenly feeling very aware of the numbness spreading throughout his body. He had to compose himself. Life went on for him, despite Aveline’s death. There was his other daughter, his new granddaughter and his lands to think about.

The calm mask of his face cracked and Alain covered his eyes with one hand. But there was nobody here to see him. Surely, on the occasion of his daughter’s death, he could have a moment of weakness.

[Celestial]

And the last part of the feels. Slightly related to the above two fics in theme and events. :3

Fears for the Future

SPOILER: Click to show

Destrier, Bern, 29th May 1317

On that warm late May day, Hector knocked softly on the door of the room he and his wife shared. Normally he would have woken her when he left for physical training with the other knights earlier that morning, and endured whatever grumpiness she threw his way at being roused, but lately he had been letting her sleep. This late into her pregnancy, it was only fair. But the day was dragging on and she had to get up at some point.

“Milady?” he called softly, a smile spreading on his face. However, it was immediately wiped out by the moan that came from behind the door. “Isabelle?”

He turned the handle of the door and poked his head in, his heart in his throat. Isabelle sat on the bed, doubled over and clutching her stomach. She looked up sharply as soon as he entered, her eyes wide and her hair hanging limply down across her shoulders.

“Hector, the baby!” she yelled. “The baby is coming!”

The squeak of a terrified mouse flew out of the mouth of the tall knight. With a few short steps, he was by his wife's side, shifting from foot to foot as he watched over her, clutching his hands in front of him as his face twisted up with fear.

“Oh Woo, oh Woo, oh Woo! What do I do, what do I do, what are we going to-”

“You can start by not panicking!” Isabelle cried, glaring up at him.

“Okay, okay,” Hector took a deep breath. For a moment his muscles relaxed. “But what do I do?! What do you want me to do? Oh Woo, I don't know what to do!” It barely took a second for him to return to the same hovering that he was engaged in before.

“I said don't panic! You're supposed to be a knight” she barked sharply at him. “Stay calm, and that's an order.”

“But you're-”

“I'm not going to get better if you keep flailing!” Isabelle's features contorted in pain and she turned away for a moment before returning her gaze to Hector. “Go get somebody. One of the servants, the midwife, mother, anybody.”

“Are you going to be ok-”

“YES!” she screamed. “NOW GO!!”

The words slapped Hector like cold water. He immediately turned and rushed out of the door. In his hurry, he skidded on the flagstones, almost slamming into the wall opposite their room at full tilt. Bringing his hands up to cushion the impact, he pushed himself off and ran down the corridor, praying that he would find somebody before long. The image of Isabelle sitting on the bed moaning with pain stayed like an after-image in his mind.

A maroon figure appeared in front of him and Hector just barely had enough presence to stop running, coming to a halt before he knocked them over. Trying not to let thoughts of Isabelle distract him, he forced his eyes to focus on who it was.

“Sir Hector, are you alright?” the voice of an older woman asked him, fear bubbling on the edges of her calm words. The knight looked up at into the face of Lady Margot Stallion, his mother-in-law and his superior. But that barely registered in his mind as he reached out and grabbed her shoulders. Tears threatened to burst out of his eyes.

“Thank Woo, Lady Margot, I found you!” Hector panted, looking right at her. “It's Isabelle! The child is coming and I don't know what to do! She told me to find somebody who could help and-”

“Sir Hector, please let go of me,” Margot murmured, her eyes awash with fear. His common sense finally caught up with him and Hector let go of her immediately, backing away and giving her a bow.

“I am sorry, Lady Margot, I'm just- I'm so scared, please, you have to do something!” the knight was surprised to feel himself shaking. “She's going to be okay, right? Right?”

A darkness passed across Margot's eyes before she nodded. “She'll be fine, Sir Hector, of course she'll be fine,” she looked right up at him. “I'll get the servants and the midwife. You stay with her until they get there.”

The knight nodded and bit his lip. Margot gently pushed him back and swept past him down the corridor, the rhythm of her steps stopping just short of running.

Hector watched her go, taking a few raggedy breaths to steady himself before he took off back towards Isabelle’s room. His mind ran through what he might find once he got there: Isabelle collapsed, or bleeding, or with the child born and dead already, or if she had decided to wander away and he could not find her-

He charged back into their room where he had left her.

“Did you-” Isabelle grimaced as another wave of pain swept over her. “I’m guessing you found somebody then, if you’re back.”

A sigh of relief escaped him and his shoulders slumped as the tension in them eased a little. Even though her face was still contorted with the agony of labour, she was still where he had left her, almost exactly as he had left her. The only thing that had changed was that she had moved to lie on the bed instead of simply sitting there.

“I did. I ran into Lady Margot,” a laugh escaped from Hector, “Quite literally. She went to get the servants and midwives.”

“Good,” Isabelle’s jaw tightened and her hand clenched by her sides. Hector gave a little whimper at seeing his wife in such obvious pain and strode over to her side, perching on the edge of the bed. Isabelle leaned over, resting against his shoulder and, as another contraction swept over her, reached out and gripped his hand.

“I’m sorry,” Hector said, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“What in the ‘Pit do you have to apologise for?” she barked.

The knight looked away, swallowing. “Well it’s...it’s because of me you’re like this.”

“Idiot,” Isabelle murmured, though even through the pain, her voice could not hide the affection in the word. “I’m not blaming you so don’t apologise. I wanted this and I knew it had to happen.”

“But still-”

“No,” she dug her fingers into his hand. “I am not having you panic and blame yourself for nothing,” Isabelle forced herself to smile up at him. “Stop it before I get annoyed at you. You don’t want that and I don’t want that.”

Hector nodded, looking for the entire world like a cowed puppy. Isabelle opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by another gasp of pain. Taking several deep breaths, she hid her face in his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his hand as if trying to draw out his strength to fuel her own. He kissed the top of her forehead and looked down at her stomach before gingerly reaching out and placing one palm on it.

Please, little one, please be nice to your mother, he prayed quietly. Please?

Both of them looked up as they heard a chorus of footsteps. Margot came into the room first, followed by two older female servants and another woman who Hector had gotten to know well over the past nine months: the midwife. Isabelle let go of him and he stood up as they entered, shifting from foot to foot again. Even though he had gotten help, the fear had not eased at all.

The midwife took charge of the situation immediately, directing the two servants towards Isabelle. Margot, however, made a beeline right for Hector.

“Sir Hector, you should go,” she stated, looking up at the knight. “We can deal with Isabelle.”

He blinked at her, confused. “But...Lady Margot, she’s my wife!”

Margot sighed and wrung her hands. “I know. But this is a woman’s business. You should go.”

The knight whimpered and looked back towards Isabelle, who by now was surrounded by the other women, silently pleading with her. She, however, despite all the attention, met his gaze.

“I’ll be fine. You should go,” she smiled wryly. “You won’t help me anyway, given how much you’re panicking.”

A wide, stupid smile spread across his face. Before Isabelle even realised, Hector leaned down and kissed her. When he had drawn away, the smile had infected her as well.

“Stay strong,” he murmured.

“I’m stronger than you and you know it,” Isabelle’s smile was broken as she gritted her teeth in pain. “Go.”

Hector nodded and, after pausing to cast a glance at the other women who were now tending his wife, dashed out of the room. He had time for one last look back before Margot closed the door on him. Behind it, he just barely heard Isabelle cry out.

It was a mistake to leave her. Even if Isabelle was right, and even if he was no place there, he still wanted to be with her. In case...in case something went wrong.

Fear bubbled up in Hector’s gut, forcing another whimper out of his throat. No, no, she was going to be fine, everything was going to be fine. At the end of the day, he was going to a father-

The knight’s eyes widened to the side of cart wheels and he dug one hand into his red hair. Oh Woo, he was going to be a father. How did one even do that? He did not even know what to do with Isabelle giving birth, let alone how to look after the child. Maybe she would know, or Lady Margot would know. But he also wanted to know and how was he supposed to find that ou-

It was the rhythmic tap of metal against stone that snapped him out of his thoughts. Hector’s head jerked up and he found himself staring right into the icy gaze of the Grand Duke.

“Ah- your Grace!” he gasped and straightened out. “I didn’t see you, I’m sorry.”

“Quite alright,” Alain replied and folded his hands on his cane. His eyes shifted slowly towards the door, “How is she doing?”

“Uh- Isabelle?” Hector bit his lip and stared at the door again before forcing his head back to face the Grand Duke. “I’m not sure. I think she’s okay? She’s uh...she’s got Lady Margot and the midwife and the servants with her.”

“Good.”

Hector could not help but shiver at that one word. Alain had always been a calm man but his voice was flat and serene as a lake on a clear day. His face too, betrayed none of his emotions. The knight chanced a look up into his eyes and found that they too, contained nothing. There was usually some semblance of feeling in them but right now, he was eerily tranquil.

Before the knight could even open his mouth, however, the Grand Duke turned on his heel and headed down the corridor, his crimson cloak fanning out behind him. Hector blinked, taking a second to comprehend Alain moving away from him.

“Your Grace, where are you going?” he called, lifting up one hand as though in an attempt to reach him.

“Away,” Alain replied without missing a step.

“Away where?” Hector raced on after him, his height thankfully allowing him to keep up with the Grand Duke’s stride.

“It is a nice day and I have no pressing work. I am going out of the castle,” Alain stated with barely a look towards the young man who was following him.

“Out?!” Hector’s jaw dropped open. “At a time like this?”

“Why not? My presence will not affect the outcome whatsoever. As such, I see no reason to remain here,” Alain turned a corner and began to descend down the steps.

The knight stared after him, trying to process what he was hearing. There was no trace of fear or panic in the Grand Duke’s voice, no shudder in his words which indicated any feeling. While Hector was losing his head, Alain remained as calm as if he it was simply another day, seeming to barely acknowledge what his daughter was going through.

He suddenly became aware that his hand had clenched into a fist. No, he had to relax. The Grand Duke was both his father-in-law and his employer, the lord he had sworn an oath to. He could not get angry at him.

“But with all due respect, your Grace,” Hector called, running after him down the stairs. “Aren’t you worried about Isabelle? Even a little bit?”

Alain reached the landing and froze in his tracks, facing towards the far wall. The only sound Hector heard were his own footsteps against the stone steps and the hammering of his heart. He stopped and watched the Grand Duke, waiting for an answer.

“That is not your concern,” the words were even smoother and calmer than before, almost eerily so. Alain set off once again down the stairs.

“But...but, your Grace!” Hector called on after him. As he caught up, he tried to reach out and stop the older man but recoiled at the last second. “What do I tell Isabelle?”

“There’s no need to tell her anything.”

“But if she asks about you-” the knight swallowed. “She thinks the world of you, your Grace. I know it, you know it. She’s going to ask. As soon as the baby is born, she will want to know about you. What do I say?”

Alain stopped suddenly again. Still racing at full pelt, Hector could not stop in time before he bumped into the Grand Duke.

“I’m sorry!” he leapt away and pressed his arms to himself. However, there was barely any reaction from the older man. He did not even turn to face him.

“I doubt she will be in any state to say anything immediately after. And I will return by the time she is,” Alain resumed his walk, his pace quickening. “You should go find something to occupy yourself with, Sir Hector. You will not do anybody any favours by running around like a lost puppy.”

They had gotten down to the ground floor and stepped out into a corridor leading to the entrance hall. An unfamiliar expression formed on Hector’s face and he realised after a brief moment that he was scowling. “Were you this cold with Lady Margot too, your Grace?”

“That is none of your concern either,” this time, the words had acquired a frosted blade of an edge.

Too subtle for Hector’s ears however.

“How can you possibly be like this?!” he cried. “Don’t you care? She’s your heir, your daughter!”

Alain stopped almost instantly, the crack of his cane against the flagstones echoing down the corridor. “You are getting into dangerous waters, Sir Hector.”

“It doesn’t matter! You’re supposed to be her father, aren’t you?” Hector’s hands pressed against his sides. His fingers curled in around his palm but this time he did not unclench them. “I know you are the Grand Duke but even you cannot be this heartless!”

“Sir Hector, if I so wish I could slap you with a charge of insubordination,” Alain replied. His words were now even more pointed. “Remember your oaths to me.”

“I’ll remember my vows to Isabelle first,” the knight continued, his voice rising in volume and his anger continuing to gain momentum like a boulder rolling down a hill. “She’s going to be Grand Duchess after you and she’s giving birth to her heir now! You should care even a little for her!”

“Quiet,” every letter of that word dripped with tranquil anger.

“She’s your only daughter too!”

The Grand Duke’s head whipped around and his icy eyes stabbed into Hector like spikes. His expression, which had been perfectly neutral before, was now shattered by a scowl. The knight recoiled, instantly regretting the words that had come out of his mouth. His stomach dropped out from beneath him and for a moment, he forgot even Isabelle. There was nothing except that glare wringing him inside out, making him feel as tiny as the motes of dust that floated on the rays of light streaming in through the windows.

“I will say this plainly, Sir Hector Guinne; leave me,” Alain hissed. Without even waiting for a reply, he continued walking. However, there was a certain unevenness to his steps which had not been present before.

Hector blinked as he watched the Grand Duke walk out of the castle. Only when the last flash of crimson had disappeared did he bury his face in his hands, the force of what he had said hitting him.

“Oh Woo, oh Woo, oh Woo,” he gasped. With another whimper, he dashed off into the depths of the castle. Maybe this time he could find somebody more receptive to talking. Anything to stop the sickening bile of panic that kept rising up in his throat at the thought of Isabelle’s labour and his conversation with the Grand Duke.

***

Alain, however, had proceeded directly to the stables. There, it had not taken long for the grooms to get his mare saddled and ready to be ridden. Though he had been patient while they worked, as soon as the last stable-boy stepped away, Alain took Luna by the bridle and led her out of the Noblesse’s stables into the open air courtyard. Once there, he climbed up on to her back and nudged her with his heels, spurring her into a walk. The walk quickly turned into a trot and by the time they reached the castle gates, it had become a light canter.

From there, the light blue roan mare raced through the streets of Destrier as quickly as the crowd would allow her. Alain guided her down its wider roads, first down the High Street and then turned her in the direction of the Ursine Gate guardhouse. As usual for it in late morning, the city was packed with people. The rapid sound of hoof beats on the paving stones, however, was signal for most people to get out of his way, allowing Luna to cut through the mass of people on the street like a falcon through the air. Most of its native inhabitants, being used to nobles riding through their streets, barely paid them any attention. Whatever people had come in from surrounding countryside that wanted to gawk did not get the chance to do it for long before he was gone. However, they recognised the colours of his clothes and the fact that his warhorse was unlike any animal they saw pulling carts. Even if they did not see or know his face, they could guess who it was.

Usually, their stares would wash over Alain while barely affecting him but this time, he found himself wanting to be out of the city. At the pace his horse was going, however, it was not long before he reached the gates in the enormous stone walls of Destrier. Once he had passed them, a wide road interested by footprints and grooves carts stretched out in front of him. Fields and cottages rolled on either side and he could glimpse people toiling away in them.

Alain nudged his horse on into a full gallop and she, not needing to be told twice, obeyed. The distance melted away before them and the wind hit his face, forcing him to concentrate on where he was leading the mare. It took his mind of what was happening back at the castle. However, the straight, flat road barely provided any challenge.

Hector should not have even touched on the subject of Aveline. Memories of his first daughter kept flashing through his mind like flickers of flame. How bright, cheerful and kind she had been. And how quickly her life had been extinguished by giving birth to Lucinda.

Alain’s jaw tightened at the thought. He was beginning to drift. Ahead, a smaller dirt track forked off from the main road and he turned his horse down it. The path twisted and turned, forcing him to rein her into a trot in order not to go off the road and run out into the meadows bordering it. However, he could not help but notice it slowly narrowing. The edge too, was slowly beginning to overgrow with messy plants. Trunks of young trees had begun to jut out of the landscape intermittently as if trying to take the place of the peasants who had been toiling in the fields at the side of the main road. Up ahead, the green skyline resting atop the brown mossy trunks indicated one thing: the path was leading him into a forest.

Sure enough, the blue sky littered with clouds that had hung above Alain was soon invaded by the greenery of leaves as he and his mare wandered into the wood. By now, the path had narrowed to a deer trail through the undergrowth but it was still clear and sharp enough to be followed. That was good. He did not want to turn back and yet if the trail disappeared, Alain knew he would have to. Nevertheless, for now, he pulled Luna into a walk and let her follow the trail.

The forest was not thick and the trail now only wound as much as the trees would let it so he barely had to tell the horse where to go. Around him, there was nothing but the monotonous landscape of brown and green. He tried to tighten his hands on the reins and sit up straight in the saddle. It was important he focus on the road. That was why he was here. He had wanted to get away from what was happening in the castle.

It was hardly like he was a stranger to this sort of worry. After all, he had gone through with it when Margot was having her children. The risk there was the same, and Margot was his wife. With her, however, he had never risked losing control, never needed to bolt like a startled bird. But Isabelle...

She was his daughter, and, as Hector had all too brashly pointed out, his only daughter. Aveline had already been sacrificed on the altar of childbirth. Even if it had been over twenty years ago, she had been his firstborn child. Her death, for good or for ill, was imprinted in his mind. Now, with his other daughter going through the same thing that had killed his first, the memories of her rose up and echoed in his mind, haunting him, taunting him with the promise that he could so easily have to relive them.

Yet Aveline had been...he did not want to say unimportant because she had not been. Her death had been a personal tragedy but that was all it was, personal. The web of plans and politics that he had so finely constructed around him had not been ruptured by that event. Isabelle was different; she was his heir.

Alain was not a man who ever liked taking risks without having a backup plan but fate had conspired to leave him with no choice when it came to the most important decision he probably would ever have to make. His sons had been and continued to be inadequate, leaving only her. She had not disappointed him either. While her temper and rashness were flaws, Isabelle was intelligent, cunning and a better fighter than most of his knights. She had a keen grasp on politics and strategy and had responded excellently to all the training he had invested in her since she was a child. There was no doubt in his mind that she was going to be an excellent Grand Duchess. But all this was moot if she died giving birth today.

If she died...

Alain gritted his teeth. Normally his mind would have no problem thinking of worst-case scenarios and making plans for them but at this one, he balked. He took a deep breath, forcing his emotions to simmer back down as if he was turning down the fire under a boiling pot.

If Isabelle died giving birth, the child was unlikely to be of age when he passed away, assuming they survived. Mayes was far too timid and he was not even going to consider Garrick. Lucinda might be a decent choice, given far she had come since her experience in Medieville but even she did not have the skills of training to make a Grand Duchess. He had put years of work into making Isabelle a worthy heir to him and yet, that could all be wasted within the space of a day.

A scowl passed across his face and he gripped the reigns even tighter. Birth was the domain of women. As a man, there was nothing he could do to intervene. Even when it came to saving his only daughter and heir, he was utterly helpless.

Luna had stopped, alerted to her rider’s discomfort by the slight pressure he had applied to her reins. Alain loosened his grip slightly and stroked her white mane before nudging her back into her walk.

It was funny. He was the Grand Duke of Bern, leader of one of the most powerful Houses in Kyth. People feared and respected him. He could command armies as easily as he blinked, leading them into battle with confidence and without hesitation. Lives rested in his hands on a day to day basis and he could choose whether to crush them or save them. One word from him could change the political landscape completely.

And yet right now, for all intents and purposes, he was the little boy that was frozen with fear as he stared at the old god leaning over his bed. Helpless before forces greater than himself

Alain turned his head up to look at the sky flashing through the now thinning canopy of leaves. Clouds soared above his head, lit a brilliant white by the sun. A humourless smile appeared on his face as a thought entered into his head. He had always preferred to make his own fate, to never rely too much on gods. But who else was there now to appeal to?

“You already have one of my daughters; do not take the last one. I need her so keep her safe,” he murmured seemingly to no one. After a moment’s thought, he added one word; “Please.”

The woods by now had begun to thin out and Alain could see the edges of fields interrupting the backdrop of green that had lulled him into the very thoughts he had been trying to escape. The trail too, was transforming back into the path that had tempted him off the main road. Seeing that the end of the forest was near, Alain nudged Luna into a light trot again and she obeyed, glad to be picking up speed again.

He had every right to worry, with how much was at stake. But it would be how it would be. His own feelings about it were irrelevant. All he could do now was to distract himself.

***

The sun had set and darkness had begun seeping into the sky by the time Alain returned to Destrier Castle. Even though he had stopped several times to let Luna rest, she was thoroughly exhausted. A fine mist of sweat covered her and there was a slight unevenness to her pace. He did feel a twinge of guilt for running the horse as ragged as he had done but she had given him the chance to escape his worries, for the most part. Now, upon their return, she deserved to finally return to her stall.

He climbed off as soon as they had entered the castle grounds, gave the horse’s head and neck a few strokes for a job well done and led her back to the stables. After handing her over to the grooms with explicit instructions to curry her thoroughly and give her all the food and water she wanted, Alain headed back to the castle. As he proceeded to find his way to his room to change clothes, he cast glances at the servants who passed him by, watching their faces for any sign of pity or sympathy. However, there was none he could detect. That was a good sign, but he did not want to assume anything before he had gone to see for himself.

It only took him a short while to change out of the clothes that were dirty from the ride before he proceeded to make his way to Isabelle’s room. Even if he looked perfectly composed from the outside, Alain could feel his heart beginning to hammer in his chest and his grip on his cane tightened. The thoughts he fought so hard to suppress on the ride rose in a crescendo in his head.

Finally, he reached the door. Alain did not even allow himself to hesitate before he knocked on it softly.

It was Margot who opened it. As soon as she saw her husband, a smile appeared on her face.

“Oh Alain, I’m glad you’re here!” she cried and threw her arms around him.

“Margot,” he put his hands on her shoulders. “How is Isabelle? Is she-”

His wife moved away to look into his eyes, her smile growing even more. “She’s fine. They’re both fine.”

She could not have missed the tension that escaped from his entire body. Isabelle was alright. So was her child. His fears were not realised.

A smile appeared on his face and he moved his arms to return Margot’s hug. She froze a little at the gesture but accepted it, closing her eyes for a brief moment.

“That’s not all,” his wife continued and lifted her head to look him in the eye. “It’s a boy, Alain. We have a grandson.”

“Do we? That’s wonderful,” Alain let her go and moved back, resting his hands on his cane. “May I see them then?”

She nodded and stepped aside, gesturing for him to come into the room. The servants and the midwife had gone, leaving only the family in the room. Isabelle lay sleeping on the bed under the covers which rose and fell with her breathing. Hector sat beside her on the opposite side of the bed from the door, holding the cloth-wrapped bundle in his arms. Unlike the last time Alain had seen him, the knight was completely relaxed. All his attention was focused on the baby he was holding and the ridiculous, beaming smile which threatened to split his face broadcast to everyone around him how he felt about his son.

A little twinge of understanding passed through Alain’s heart before he turned away from the two and focused his attention on Isabelle. Her cheeks were pale and her tangled hair splayed out in all directions from her head but otherwise she looked peaceful. Exhausted, certainly, but not in any danger. Though he could not help but notice the dampness around her eyes.

Alain put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a small shake. “Isabelle?” he murmured quietly. There was no movement from her. He tried again, a little more forcefully, which resulted in a faint grumble from her.

He could not help but smile. If she was refusing to wake then she was still definitely herself. “Isabelle, it’s me.”

Sluggishly, her eyes cracked open, though it took her a few seconds to focus on his face. “Father...” the corners of her mouth twisted upwards. “You’re here at last.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss seeing you, or my grandson,” Alain’s smiled down at her.

“No, of course not. I should not have doubted you,” Isabelle replied.

Alain tilted his head a fraction. “You were crying?”

“Yes,” she nodded sadly. “It hurt. It hurt so much.”

“I can’t imagine,” Alain closed his eyes for a brief moment, pushing the thought out of his mind. “I...I was worried about you, Isabelle.”

“I’m sorry,” the young woman turned her head away. “You wouldn’t have had to if...if I was male.”

“No, I wouldn’t have,” he stated frankly.

Isabelle looked back at him. “Father...did you ever wish I was born a boy?”

Alain raised an eyebrow at the question. “I will confess, it would have been easier. But,” he straightened back out again and folded his hands on his cane, looking down at her. “You are the best of my children, Isabelle, male or female. Because of that, I am happy with you as you are.”

She could not restrain the wide smile that appeared on her face. Fresh tears threatened to burst out of her eyes. “Thank you,” her voice was a grateful whisper.

“Besides,” a glint of humour entered into Alain’s eye. “You’ve endured this now. No injury you could receive in any war you may have to fight will faze you.”

Isabelle gave a soft chuckle. “No. I suppose not,” she winced and closed her eyes for a moment before opening them again. “Do you want to meet him? My son?”

“Of course I do,” Alain grinned at where Hector was sitting. “If he would let go long enough.”

“He will,” Isabelle nodded. “Hector?”

“Yes?” the knight looked up, his demeanour resembling that of a dog that had just heard its owner whistling for it.

“Could you relinquish your hold on our son and let my father hold him?” she asked quietly, smiling down at him.

Hector blinked and looked up, his eyes widening as he noticed Alain for the first time. “A-ah, your Grace. Hello,” he grinned sheepishly and ducked his head into his shoulders. “I, uh, didn’t see you there.”

“It’s quite alright,” Alain shook his head.

Hector nodded. His grin grew wider, acquiring an almost manic air as he stood up and held the baby in his arms. “Isn’t he beautiful?” the knight’s eyes glittered happily. “I can’t believe I have a son!”

“I am happy for you, really,” the Grand Duke could not help but smile a little. He put his cane down, leaning it against the bed and held out his arms. “So may I?”

“Of course, of course!” Hector nodded enthusiastically and deposited the baby in Alain’s arms, resting one palm under the boy’s head. “You have to-”

“I think I know how to hold children by now, Sir Hector,” Alain grinned. The knight blushed.

“Oh, oh...yes, of course you would,” he looked down at his feet. “Your Grace...I am sorry for my outburst earlier. I was just...really scared.”

“It’s alright, I quite understand,” Alain’s tone was calm but he gave the knight a small smile. “It’s in the past.”

Hector grinned and rubbed the back of his neck. Alain just noticed his shoulders sag with relief a little. However, soon, he turned his gaze from his son-in-law to his grandson.

The first thing he noticed was the tiny tuft of hair sticking out from the swaddling. Not blonde, as was common with Stallions, but more like his father’s; brilliant red like the rising sun. In fact, many of the boy’s features resembled his father closely. But when the baby opened his eyes, there was no doubt of his mother’s influence: his eyes were the exact same shade of grey-tinted blue that hers were.

Careful not to upset him, Alain removed one arm and tugged the glove off the hand supporting the baby’s head. His bare fingers touched the child’s soft skin and he smiled down at the boy.

“He’s wonderful, isn’t he?” Margot’s voice came from beside him.

Alain looked up at her and nodded before turning to Isabelle. “What is his name?”

“Emil,” she replied, smiling. “I thought it was a nice name.”

“It is. It’s a good name,” Alain nodded, looking back at his grandson. While he had hardly forgotten the fears of the morning, they had quietened completely now. He had not lost anything, quite the opposite. He had gained.

[Celestial]

I got randomly inspired for Bad End. Poor Hector...

A Black Raven

SPOILER: Click to show

Smoke rose up from the city of Hereford. The siege had finally been broken and the Courdonian army was making the most of the riches contained within the walls of the Kine capital. Screams occasionally rose up from the inhabitants who had failed to get out while they had the chance. Sometimes, those screams were cut off quickly but others were prolonged. By evening, the city would be stripped and blood would cover the cobblestones that paved its streets. With the stores of food contained within its granaries and the cattle that the region was known for, the Courdonian celebrations would go on for days afterwards. After all, they had just captured another Kythian province to add to their already vast conquered territory. There was not much of their old enemy remaining.

But it was not just the Courdonians who would eat well in the coming days. In exchange for the bounty that was Hereford, their army had provided the local carrion birds with enough meat in the forms of the bodies of the soldiers who had fallen in the battle for the city. Indeed, the crows, ravens and hawks that had come out to this banquet were spoiled for choice. They alighted on whatever body caught their eye and began pecking at their wounds, ignoring the moans of pain if the particular man they had set their sights on had not quite died yet. Most were too weak to raise up even a finger to scare whatever bird had decided to make them into their meal.

Flying over the battlefield, it was easy to see who had taken the greatest losses. Most of the soldiers below were adorned in the green and brown of the now broken House Boovean. At times, however, the eyes of the birds were caught by flashes of bright red that some of the corpses wore. Those in red and gold were the few Courdonian soldiers who would not be celebrating with their comrades in the city. But the few in crimson and silver belonged to the Boovean’s northern neighbours, House Stallion. A cohort of them had been sent to protect their allies and fellow Kythians. Now most of them, with few exceptions, lay either dead or awaiting death to claim them.

It was on to the chest one of these knights that an enormous black raven landed, its claws trying to find purchase on armour that was scratched and covered in blood. Once it had stabilised itself, it looked up at the face of the man who was going to be its next meal. What had caught its eye from above was the red of his tunic but now he could see that his hair was also bright red, almost matching the colours of his House. While it probably did not look neat at the best of times, now it was matted with dirt and sweat, making individual lock cling to his forehead like rivulets of blood. Tiny freckles ran across the bridge of his nose and even now, there appeared to be the ghost of a smile on the corners of his mouth. He would have been a handsome man in life, but the raven did not waste such thoughts on a dead man.

It cawed and the knight took a shallow breath, the sudden noise breaking him out of the delirium which he had fallen into. So he was not quite dead. The raven tilted its head and its wing muscles tensed. The knight’s arm twitched as he tried to bring it up to swat the bird away, only to grimace in pain. Fresh blood flowed out of the wound in his side, draining out of the cracks in his armour and staining the green grass on which he lay. His legs too, had deep gashes from Courdonian blades in them. There was also a piece missing out of his arm. He was not going anywhere and the bird could sense it. It could take its time in making its dinner sweet.

The knight opened his blue eyes. He looked directly at the bird on his chest and the raven gazed back.

“Hello,” he whispered. “I suppose you’re here for me?”

The raven ignored him, taking more interest in the wound in his arm than anything the man had to say. The knight, however, continued looking at it.

“You know, some people say you’ll carry my soul back home,” he sighed, “But that’s ridiculous, isn’t it? We know that’s not true.”

It continued to ignore him, now digging its beak into the soft muscle of his arm. He winced a little but the pain by now had begun to dull. The bird’s pecking was just mildly uncomfortable.

“Maybe...maybe you could tell milady...to put up a good fight against the Courdonians. They’ll be coming for Destrier next. And,” tears began to appear in the knight’s eyes. “Tell her I wish I could have held her properly...or kissed her. But she’s really going to marry somebody else now.”

The raven continued its meal as the man‘s head lolled towards it.

“I’m such an idiot for falling in love with the Grand Duchess of Bern,” he sighed and closed his eyes. The carrion bird barely noticed, only glad that now it could finish its meal in peace.

***

“Your Grace, there are more refugees coming in of the city,” the general said, matching the pace of the woman next to him as they walked through the courtyard of Destrier Castle.

“Get them rounded up and have them evacuated. Is Konik full?” Isabelle asked.

“Full to bursting,” came the reply. “But Noriker or Morgan can take a few more, as can Rouncey”

“Send them to Rouncey. We should try to fill it up before the winter comes in and cuts it off” she told him, averting her eyes away from the general. He did not need to see the doubt in them.

They landed on a black shape in front of her. A raven. She stopped in her tracks.

“Your Grace?” the general frowned, confused by her sudden stop. “Is something wrong?”

Isabelle swallowed. For some reason, her eyes were fixed on the bird. There was a sinking feeling in her chest, a feeling she could not quite place.

It lasted a mere second before the raven took off into the sky above the castle. Isabelle shook her head and turned back to the man.

“Nothing is wrong, Commander,” she stated. “What about Te-”

The clattering of hooves interrupted her. A messenger leapt of his horse, which almost collapsed as soon as he got off it, and ran up to her. His face was pale and his eyes were wide.

“Your Grace!” he cried. “News, from Hereford.”

The sinking feeling returned.

If anybody is curious, he is referring to this.

[Celestial]

Oh dear, this thread had been quite emotionally heavy these past few fics. Let's fix it with some pure fluff!

Snotty Brat

SPOILER: Click to show

Destrier, Bern, late 1264

Alain had been seized by a coughing fit as soon as he had woken up. Each spasm sandpapered away layers from his throat, leaving it feeling as rough and raw. As much as he wanted to stop, he could not do anything, not until his body had given up in trying to clear the blockage of mucus and phlegm that had formed overnight. For daring to crack open his eyes, he was only reward by stabs of pain that manifested behind them. The little boy gave a little whimper of pain and pulled his blankets over his head, leaving only a few blonde hairs sticking out of the edges.

Another coughing fit violently shook him, the dry rasps sounding as though somebody was choking him. The boy had to pull the covers back down and gasped for breath. Cold air swept in, irritating the insides of his raw throat. He tried to breathe through his nose, only to find it completely clogged. After a few half-hearted sniffs, he managed to clear enough of an airway to breathe, though it was not going to last for long.

Closing his eyes, Alain curled up on the bed, hugging his blankets to himself. His parents and tutors would understand if he did not come down for lessons. Right now, all he wanted to do was bury his heavy head in the warmth comfort of the pillows and sleep.

The door creaked and Alain cracked open one eye. However, he saw only the light streaming in from the opposite window. The door was behind him, there was no way to see who his visitor was.

“Brother! Brother, it’s time to get up!”

Ambrose. He was as bright and cheerful as always. Clearly he had not been struck down by any sickness, lucky him.

“Go away,” Alain moaned as he scrunched up his eyes and pulled the blanket over his head.

“Wh- why?” Ambrose’s footsteps sounded off against the flagstones as he ran up to his brother’s bed. “Alain, come on!”

The older boy felt a tug at his blankets and he yanked them back, tucking them in around himself. “No!” he cried. “I am not going to-”

A violent cough throttled the next word right out of his throat. Alain did not even fight it as it racked him, trying to dislodge whatever it was that his body felt was obstructing his breathing. He was small so the coughs were relatively quiet but to him, they might as well have been thunder.

When the fit subsided, Alain flopped down like a gutted fish into his sheets. Hopefully Ambrose would take what that was for his answer.

“Alain?” came the small voice of his brother. “Alain, are you okay?”

Alain heard the other boy as he trotted around the bed and before long, Ambrose had appeared in front of him. His golden hair fell across his blue eyes, which were alight with both curiosity and concern, as he leaned down to look closer at his brother.

“I’m sick, Ambrose,” Alain rolled over on to his stomach, burying his head in his pillow.

“No!” Ambrose grabbed him by the shoulder. “Are you going to be okay? Please tell me you’re going to be okay.”

“I’m sick, I told you,” Alain mumbled.

“But...that doesn’t mean you’re not going to better? Are you going to get better?” Ambrose cried, continuing to shake his shoulder.

“Yes!” Alain’s head shot up and he glared at him. “Now stop it.”

Ambrose snatched his hand away as though burned and took a step back, looking over his brother. After a moment, he sat down on the foot by the bed, curling his arms around his knees, cowed by Alain’s irritation

“We were going to have a snowball fight after lessons today,” he sighed and looked up at where Alain was lying. “That’s not happening, is it, brother?”

“No,” Alain turned his head, withdrawing out of the feathery embrace of the pillow to face him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to get sick.”

Ambrose nodded sadly before a smile suddenly appeared on his face. “But it’s okay. You said you’ll get better, right?” he shifted on to his knees and peered at Alain over the edge of the bed. “Will you?”

“I will. I must, right?” Alain suddenly found himself taking a deep breath and a sneeze escaped out of him. He sniffed and wiped his nose with his sleeve before closing his eyes. “You should go, Ambrose. You’ll get sick too.”

“But you'll be lonely and I'll be lonely,” Ambrose whimpered and continued to stare at Alain, his hands occasionally tightening on the sheets of the bed.

“I'll be fine,” the other boy moaned. “You can find somebody else to p-”

His thought was broken off by another loud sneeze. At least it did not tear at his throat and lungs as much as cough.

“You’re sick! I don't want to leave you when you're sick!” Ambrose reached over and grabbed his shoulder again.

Alain jerked himself out from his younger brother's grip and rolled over, adjusting his blankets around him to block out the other boy. He never realised just how noisy his little brother was. “Leave me alone, Ambrose. I want to sleep,” he cried hoarsely.

The tiny squeak from Ambrose and the sound of his footsteps retreating away from his bed instantly made Alain regret his harsh words. It was not his brother’s fault he was sick after all. Slowly, he pulled himself up into a sitting position, still clutching the blankets to his body, not letting the precious warmth out of them. With bleary eyes, the boy turned to face Ambrose, whose gaze was fixed on his brother and his hands were raised up in front of him.

“I’m sorry, Ambrose. I didn’t mean to get so snappy,” Alain sighed and brought his knees in to his body. “I hate being sick.”

Ambrose trotted closer to him and leaned on to the bed, looking up with wide eyes at his Alain. “I’m sorry. But...can’t you fight it, big brother?”

“I wish,” Alain brought his blanket up and weakly coughed into it. “I can’t do anything, nor do I feel like doing anything,” he grimaced. “It’s horrible”

His brother opened his mouth but any words he was going to say were cut off by the sound of the door opening. Both brothers twisted their head up and turned to face their visitor.

“Well now, ya two, what are ya doing still oop here?” the heavily accented voice of their mother was like a clarion call. Both brothers winced. If she was letting her common accent show, it meant they were in trouble.

“But...but mama!” Ambrose reacted first as he almost threw himself over Alain to get to Maura. “Alain’s sick! He can’t go anywhere if he’s sick!”

Alain nodded weakly and burst into a fit of coughing as though to back up Ambrose’s story. His mother frowned and walked on over to him, leaning over the boy’s bed.

“Ye’re not faking it, are ya?” she asked, brushing aside some of his hair and putting her hand on his forehead.

“No, mum!” Alain exclaimed. “I wouldn’t fake being sick.”

“You sure?” Maura’s accent had slipped away, replaced by the noble tone she had come to adopt upon becoming a Stallion. A smile appeared on her face. “You are quite a trickster, Alain, I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“I wouldn’t. No point in it,” the boy folded his arms, his eyes acquiring an edge of annoyance.

Maura laughed. “I suppose not. You’re not one to skip lessons, and you’d not avoid your brother,” she lifted his head up and looked into his throat. A frown crossed her face. “And you’re definitely sick.”

“Told you,” Alain grumbled. He sniffed and wiping his nose on his blanket.

“Don’t do that,” Maura remarked, taking his hand with the blanket and gently guiding it away from his face. She sat down on the bed next to him and stroked her son’s head, giving him a little smile. “I’ll get the servants to bring you something to wipe your nose with. Don’t use your blankets.”

“Is brother going to be okay?” Ambrose stretched himself out across the bed to reach out to his mother, almost lying across Alain’s lap in the process. “Please tell me brother is going to be okay!”

Maura laughed quietly and smiled down at her younger son, reaching over with her other hand to also pat his head. “Yes, he should be fine. From what I can tell, it’s a bad cold.”

“But I feel horrible,” the boy whimpered. “Are you sure it’s just a cold?”

“If it wasn’t a cold, you’d feel even worse,” his mother murmured quietly and a flicker of remembrance crossed her eyes before she shook her head. “Cheer up now. I’ll get the physician and have somebody tell your tutors they’ll only see Ambrose today.”

“Aww but mama!” Ambrose cried, grabbing her hand. “It won’t be as fun without Alain.”

“It’s lessons, Ambrose, they aren’t meant to be fun. But it’s what you got to do as a noble boy, alright?” she wrapped her fingers around his and smiled. “You’re lucky; I wish I had gotten lessons at your age.”

The boy blinked and looked up at her, his eyes wide and confused as he tried to imagine this other, strange life. “What did you do besides lessons, mama?”

“Learned to herd sheep instead of writing and numbers,” she chuckled. “That’s what us peasants do, little lord. So you’re very lucky you get to do that instead,” she ruffled Ambrose’s hair a bit before letting go and standing up. “I’ll go get the physician to see you, Alain.”

Alain nodded and opened his mouth, only to have another sneeze come out. He just barely managed to angle his body into the blankets to avoid sneezing all over his brother and mother.

“That...that sounds good, mum,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

A warm smile blossomed all over Maura’s face and she looked over at her other son. “Ambrose, you should go now. I’m sure you’re very late to your lessons.”

“But I want to stay with brother!” the boy cried, clutching at Alain’s blanket as though that was lifeline.

“I know. But if you stay here, you’ll catch his illness,” Maura sighed. “I don’t want to deal with two sick boys. Come on now.”

“Pleeeeaaaase?” Ambrose whimpered and stared up at her, his blue eyes widening as though aspiring to turn into lakes. “Please, mama! I’ll go as soon as Alain gets his medicine! Please! He’ll be lonely without me!” he shook his head frantically, “I won’t catch anything, I promise! Please just let me stay!”

“Alright, alright, fine. I see there’s no separating you two!” Maura threw her hands up in the air and put them on her hips. “But only until Alain gets his medicine, understand,” with that, she turned around and headed out of the door, closing it with a soft click behind her. As soon as she had left, Alain flopped back down on the bed, rolling over and closing his eyes.

“Are you going to sleep now, brother?” Ambrose asked. “You shouldn’t until mama brings you medicine.”

“I won’t fall asleep,” Alain muttered. “You won’t let me.”

“No, I won’t,” Ambrose admitted cheerily. He crawled over Alain and sat down on the edge of the bed, dangling his feet off the edge. “What would life have been like if we were peasants?”

“I don’t know,” Alain said and coughed. “We wouldn’t live in a castle, probably.”

“Or have lessons. Mama said she didn’t have lessons. No lessons would be nice,” Ambrose peered down at the floor. “But mama also got badly sick once, right?”

“She did,” Alain nodded.

“So if you were a peasant and were sick now...does that mean you would also get bad?” Ambrose’s voice acquired a little squeak of terror.

“Mum said it wasn’t bad...” Alain’s eyes turned away to stare at the floor. “But maybe. If we were peasants, maybe I would get badly sick like mama.”

“I’m glad you won’t,” Ambrose reached out to try to hug Alain but the other boy held out his hand, pushing him away.

“Don’t, you’ll catch it,” he grumbled.

Ambrose stuck his lip out to pout but moved away, going back to his previous place, resuming swinging his feet back and forth. “It’s good being noble. Even if we do have lessons.”

Alain nodded. “And we have the physician to make sure we get better.”

Just as he said that, the door opened again. Maura returned, accompanied by a tall old man in a long robe, carrying a large bag that clinked. Ambrose leapt off the bed and looked up at the man, recognising him as the castle physician. He in turn, gave the boy a smile but swept past him, coming to stand over Alain.

Maura also came over to him and put a small fabric of linen in his lap. “Use this to wipe your nose, Alain,” she said. “Now sit up and let Dr. Kerr look at you.”

The boy did as he was told, though he still kept the blankets over his head. Maura pulled Ambrose aside to keep him out of the physician’s way.

Dr. Kerr proceeded to examine Alain, checking if the boy had a fever and listening to his coughing, followed by more listening to his breathing. At one point, he forced the boy to climb out of the cocoon of his blankets so the physician could check his body thoroughly. As soon as that was done, he dove back under them, eager to reclaim the warmth, something which Dr. Kerr let him do.

At the end, the doctor smiled and stood up, going to his bag. “Nothin’ to worry about, your ladyship,” he said in a bright voice. “He’s running a bit of a fever and his cough sounds unpleasant. But there’s nothin’ in his lungs so I’m confident it’s just a cold.”

“I thought it might have been,” Maura breathed a sigh of relief. “Anything that can be done to remedy it?”

“Nothin’ but rest and warmth. I do have something to help him sleep and alleviate that cough,” Dr. Kerr replied and took a slim bottle out from his bag. He checked the label on it and, satisfied that it was correct, took out a small measuring spoon from his pocket. Sitting down on the bed beside the boy, he uncorked it and poured out some of the dark green, viscous liquid. “Drink this, young lord, you’ll feel better.”

Alain did as he was told as the spoon was brought to his mouth. The medicine touched his tongue and he immediately felt the urge to gag. It was like noxious grass infused with rotten egg and lemons. It took all his self control to just swallow it instead of spitting it out.

“It’s gross, ew!” he spat, sticking his tongue out as if trying to air the taste out.

“I know, young lord,” Dr. Kerr sighed and began measuring out another spoonful. “Come on, one more and we’ll leave you alone. It will help.”

“No,” Alain crumpled his face in disgust at the sight of the spoon of medicine and pulled the blanket in around himself. He was not going to be bullied into taking another spoonful of that disgusting stuff, no matter if he helped him fell better.

The physician sighed. “Please, young lord, just one more. I know it doesn’t taste good.”

“I said no. You can’t order me around,” Alain pouted.

There was a sigh from Maura and she let go of Ambrose, stepping forward to loom behind the physician. “Open yer gob and take it,” she instructed, folding her arms.

Alain bit his lip at his mother’s tone and slowly, reluctantly unhinged his jaw. Dr. Kerr took that chance to shove the spoon into his mouth, giving the boy a sympathetic wince. With Maura’s words fresh on his mind, Alain forced himself to swallow it. As soon as it had cleared his throat, he gagged.

“There, that wasn’t hard,” Dr. Kerr said and corked the bottle, going over to put it back into the bag. He then gave the spoon a quick wipe with a piece of cloth and put it back into his pocket. “He needs some rest now, Lady Maura. We best leave him.”

“Alright, as you say. Thank you for your help,” Maura bowed her head.

“It’s why I’m here,” the physician smiled and picked up his things before exiting the room. Once he had left, Maura leaned down to Alain and put her arms around him, drawing the boy into a hug.

“You’ll be okay. You get some sleep now,” she gave the top of his head a kiss. “I love you, little foal.”

“I love you too, mum,” Alain murmured.

“And me?” Ambrose tugged at his mother’s skirt and then turned to Alain. “You love me, right?”

Maura laughed and extended an arm out to draw Ambrose into the hug. “Of course I love you too.”

“And you, brother?” Ambrose turned to Alain, blinking at him expectantly. “Do you love me?”

“I’m sure he loves you too, but you have to let Alain rest now, alright?” Maura told him, stroking his hair.

Ambrose nodded and unwrapped himself from Maura before throwing his arms around Alain. “You get well soon, brother, so we can play together again.”

There was no point in pushing him away from the hug now to all Alain did was nod. “Okay,” he said and smiled. “Good luck with lessons. Try not to drive Master Weir crazy.”

“You’re the one who always drives him crazy. But okay,” Ambrose grinned and jumped off the bed. Maura took his hand and the two went out of the room, with only Ambrose casting occasional glances back at his brother.

Alain lay back down just as the door closed on a latch, his eyelids beginning to feel as heavy as his limbs. He gave another weak cough but it did not tear at his throat as it had done before. However disgusting the medicine was, it was clearly taking effect.

The boy placed the handkerchief he had been given on the pillow beside him, wrapped his blankets up around himself and closed his eyes. It was not long before he fell into a deep sleep.

[Celestial]

Happy Valentine's day. Everyone else is posting sappy fic so I thought I'd do it too. This is definitely not a relationship I ever expected to explore. But it provides some context for an earlier story, more specifically "Drowning My Sorrows."

Part of a set of three. :3 Stay tuned, more will come very, very soon.

Hello

SPOILER: Click to show

Destrier, Bern, mid-July 1278.

The ship finally shuddered to a halt and swayed gently in the waters on which it now rested. From below in her cabin, Margot Brachyura heard the cries of their Albion crew mixed in with the rough accents of the native dockworkers. So they had finally arrived in Bern. She gave a sigh of relief. The journey was over, at long last. She had spent every moment worrying that something was going to happen so now that they’ve arrived safe at their destination, that was one less thing she did not have to fear.

Except now she was in a completely different part of Kyth. The voices of the people here were more lilting and the air around her smelled fresh, without even a grain of salt. But it was here that she was going to spend the rest of her life. Her stomach twisted at the thought. This place was her new home.

There was a rapid knock on her door, distracting her from her thoughts before she could focus in on them. “Margot? Come on out, sis, we’re here. You don’t have to hide in your cabin anymore.”

She got up and opened the door, meeting the smiling face of her older brother. “I know, Llyr. I’m still quite scared. I’ve never been to Bern. I don’t know what it’s like.”

“It looks pretty great from up on deck. You shouldn’t worry. It’s different from Websteros but there’s nothing quite like Websteros,” Llyr grinned. “Come on, come see it for yourself. You’re going to be living here after all.”

“Give me a minute, alright?” Margot said quietly, getting up and steadying herself against her chair.

“Alright. But the Stallions sent a carriage for us; you shouldn’t keep them waiting,” the Brachyuran winked at her and closed the door.

She stood there, leaning against her chair and studying the grain of the ship’s deck intently, a million questions running through her mind. What was her life going to be like? How was her new House going to treat her? Would the Grand Duke and his wife be kind to her?

What about her betrothed? What kind of man was he? How was he going to treat her? Would she even be happy?

Margot forced herself to take a breath, clearing her head. Whatever the answers to those questions, she had to do her duty. She was well above the age when a noblewoman could marry and Webster wanted this alliance with Stallion, just as their Grand Duke wanted the alliance with Brachyura. The Stallion heir and she were vital to it. Whatever her thoughts and whatever she felt, she could not betray her kin. This was what she had been prepared by her upbringing to do.

So, without stopping to let herself think any more, the Brachyuran woman pushed open the door of her cabin and walked up the short staircase up on deck. Both Webster and Llyr were waiting for her and she took her place between them as they walked down the gangplank together towards a resplendent red carriage, harnessed by two beautiful brown horses. All around her, the docks hummed with life, just like they had in Websteros, except she could see the other side of the river here and the sailors of Albion spoke in a different accent to the strange, sing-song tones of the Bernians. It was going to take some getting used to.

Margot and her two brothers finally stepped off the boat and on to solid land, land which after the time at sea felt unstable beneath the woman’s feet. A footman opened the door to the carriage and ushered them inside. She sat down on one of the red plush seats and Llyr sat next to her, with Webster sitting opposite. He gave her an encouraging grin as the carriage set off. Llyr, however, reached over and tapped her shoulder.

“Come on, Margot, you’ll be fine. For all you know, he could turn out to be the man of your dreams who will promise you the moon and the stars as soon as he lays eyes on you,” the Brachyuran said with a light grin.

She could not help but smile a little at that. “Maybe, Llyr. I don’t know what he’ll be like.”

“I met him during negotiations, he was there along with Grand Duke Lachlan,” Webster spoke up. “He’s an interesting young man. Not a bad one though. I don’t know if he’ll be as smitten with you as Llyr says but-”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Webster, who could resist Margot?” Llyr laughed. “She’s a rare beauty. He’d be stupid not to.”

“Llyr, as nice as it would be, this is an alliance. Love doesn’t always factor in,” Webster sighed.

“But don’t you want Margot to be happy?” the younger brother exclaimed, staring at Webster in horror

“I’ll be okay, Llyr. No matter what he’s like, or what he thinks about me, this is still going ahead. I trust Webster. He would not give me to somebody awful,” Margot smiled weakly, not wanting her brothers to argue, especially not on her behalf.

Llyr shrugged. “If you say so, Margot. But if he does anything to hurt you-”

“Our hands will be tied, Llyr, I’m sorry,” Webster reached over and patted Margot’s other shoulder. “But I’m sure he won’t.”

Despite their words and what she had been saying, the knot in Margot’s stomach tightened. She hoped what Llyr was saying was going to come true. The idea of a man who thought the world of her filled her with a warmth that she could not even describe. But she did not want to get her hopes up. Trying not to think about it, she turned to look out of the carriage window, getting her first glimpses of the city that was going to be her new home.

After a short while the carriage finally delivered them up into the courtyard of Destrier castle. The footman opened the door, allowing Margot and her brothers to step out into the open air. Two people, a man and a woman, stood at the enormous entrance of the main keep to greet them. The man was tall with a stern face and wore a silver circlet embedded with gems. The woman seemed much warmer, both in her expression and in her reddish hair. Their rich clothes, outfitted in shades of red and maroon outlined with silver, marked them out as belonging to House Stallion. This had to be the Grand Duke and his lady wife. Almost reflexively, Margot curtsied.

Webster smiled widely when he saw the Stallion patriarch, however, and walked up to him, giving both him and his wife a polite nod of the head. “Grand Duke Lachlan, Lady Maura, it is good to see you,” he extended a hand out to Margot. “May I introduce you to my sister, Margot, at last?”

“You may,” Lachlan’s head turned to look over her and the woman curtsied deeply. She could feel him studying her, trying to decide if she was good enough no doubt.

“Hello, your Grace,” she mumbled. “It an honour to be here, and a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, Lady Margot,” Lachlan replied in a neutral tone and gave her a polite nod. “I do hope you will be comfortable here in Destrier.”

She was not sure what to reply to that. To express her worries would have been rude but it would have been even ruder to lie. So Margot only nodded. Thankfully, Lachlan had by then had turned back to Webster and the two had begun talking. Meanwhile, the young woman took the chance to glance around the courtyard. The Grand Duke and his wife were both here to greet them but where was-

“Lady Margot?” the voice of Maura interrupted her thoughts. The Brachyuran looked up suddenly into the face of the woman who was going to be her mother-in-law.

“Uh, hello, Lady Maura,” she bowed her head.

“Ah, you don’t have to be so formal with me, just my name will do,” Maura smiled, waving her hand dismissively. “I can’t help but notice you’re nervous. Please don’t be. I promise you’ll be looked after.”

“Oh, thank you,” Margot smiled back, grateful for the reassurance. Her eyes continued to dart around the courtyard. “Umm...I wondering...where is he? Where is my betrothed?”

“Alain?” Maura sighed. “He sends his apologies but he could not come down to meet you. But he said he would find you later”

“Oh, I see...” Margot’s shoulders sagged. She had so badly wanted to meet him, get her anticipation over with.

“And he’s a terrible man for keeping a young woman waiting; I thought we raised him better,” Maura gave a sharp laugh which was interrupted by a cough. She gripped her throat suddenly as her breathing grew shallow and strained.

Margot backed away in panic, terrified she did something wrong. The Grand Duke, however, immediately broke away from Lord Webster and was by Maura’s side immediately. His expression had morphed from the polite seriousness he had greeted her with to an open show of worry and tenderness as he wrapped his arms around his wife and held her steady, stroking her to provide her with comfort. She leaned her head on his shoulder and reached for a pouch hanging around her neck.

It felt wrong, obscene even, to watch the lady of House Stallion gasping for breath like a fish thrown out on to the dock. Margot locked eyes on to the Grand Duke, trying desperately to ignore his wife.

“Umm, your Grace, is there a place where I can go to see the whole city?” she asked quietly and turned her head down to examine the cobbles beneath her feet. “I just...I want to see what my new home is like.”

“The battlements are the best place, Lady Margot. There are steps up to them by the gates, you can climb them easily. You can see all of Destrier from there,” Lachlan replied, pointing in the direction she had to go. “Shall I have somebody escort you?”

“No, it’s alright. I’d...I’d rather go alone,” Margot bowed deeply to him. “Thank you.”

“You okay, little sis?” Llyr asked, stepping over to her.

“I’m fine, Llyr. I just need...some time to think,” she told him and started heading off up to the stairs indicated to her by the Grand Duke. As was indicated, the steps were wide and easy to get up. It was not long before she had climbed the high walls of the castle and found the entirety of Destrier spread out below her.

Margot looked over the city, taking it all in for what was unlikely to be the last time. The multitude of houses, some wood, some thatch and some slate, all clustered together like small animals huddling for warmth. In places, they were interrupted by streets and squares, although the one by the docks was filled to bursting with cloth tents as merchants sold their wares beneath the awnings. On the other side, the grey spires of the Cathedral of Saint Absolon, or at least that’s what she thought it was called, loomed high above the city, dwarfing everything around it. All around, the thick defensive walls wrapped the city in a protective embrace, broken up only by small round towers and the large, brick-like gatehouses. And beyond there were fields ripening with the summer rye, dotted with farmhouses that were all but spots on the green landscape.

Back in the city of her birth, if she had looked out from beyond the castle walls like this, all Margot would have been able to see were the silvery waves rolling in from the ocean. But here, the only water was the Ursine River that bisected the city with its slow, meandering waters.

Websteros. Life there, amidst her family, had been steady and predictable. Here, she was not so sure. Of course, Margot knew what was expected of her; marriage, and children to secure both the alliance and the line of Stallion. She had accepted that she would fulfil those expectations. But what kind of person with, that was the question that bothered her. From what everyone had said, he did not seem like a terrible person but until he met him, she had no idea what to think about him.

The wind ruffled a few loose hairs as Margot continued to look out over the city. She did not even hear the person approaching behind her.

“Lovely view, isn’t it?”

Margot froze, paralyzed by that voice. It had been like the purr of a cat on a moonless night. The smooth, quiet baritone had reverberated right through her, sending a shiver running down her spine. She took a few small breaths in rapid succession and forced herself to turn around to face its owner, and immediately found herself under the penetrating gaze of his ice-blue eyes. They gave away nothing of his thoughts but she found herself hypnotised in the intensity of that look.

“Uhh...um...I...yes,” she barely managed to gasp out and nodded quickly, drawing in several deep breaths in order to power her rapidly beating heart.

Somehow, Margot forced herself look away from his eyes and examine the rest of him. The man who now stood in front of her was tall and broad-shouldered. His golden hair fell in a cascade down his head, held back from his face by a thin silver band. Both his jaw and his cheekbones were smooth and sharp, giving his face definition, while his mouth was curled slightly into a knowing smile, though what he knew exactly escaped her. She wondered if it even mattered.

Margot would not have even hesitated to call him handsome. She found herself drawn back into his eyes and shivered again as he continued to gaze down into her.

“Are you cold?” the man’s smile grew a little and his tone acquired a hint of amusement. “I would have thought, with Websteros being further north than Destrier, you would not mind our climate.”

“Oh, I-” Margot put a hand to her cheek as she felt her entire body burning up. “I’m...I’m not cold, no.”

A small chuckle escaped from him. “If you say so.”

He took a few steps forward, coming closer to her before stopping on her right side. He was so close to her. So close she could reach out and touch him if she wished. Margot felt her cheeks flushing even more at the thought. Oh Woo, what was wrong with her?

“Umm...I’m...” she felt around in her mind for something to say, anything, but her thoughts had completely fallen apart. She turned back to him, taking in his appearance once again.

Thankfully, he had turned away from her and was looking over the view of Destrier, allowing her to take him in once again. While he was tall, yes, his height was enhanced by the way he held himself; proudly, without even a hint of a doubt in his utter supremacy. Everything about him, from the way he stood with his feet apart and his hands behind his back to the intense look in his eyes which hinted at the unknown depths of his mind, proclaimed that he was utterly in control. Somebody could have told her he owned the world and she would have readily believed them.

And yet it struck her that despite his voice and the air of confidence he projected, he could not have possibly been older than her. His face was still too youthful.

“What do you think of it, Lady Margot?” he suddenly asked, shaking her out of her thoughts. “Since you were up here admiring Destrier.”

She blinked at the question and tried to gather her thoughts together but her tongue refused to cooperate. Margot wanted to give this man a proper answer but all she could focus on was the echo of his words in her mind and the image of him in front of her.

Eventually, however, she recovered enough to express one thought, though it was hardly the one he asked to hear. “How...how did you know my name?”

“So you are Margot Brachyura,” he looked at her, his mouth curling up into a smirk. “I knew it.”

“I...I am, yes,” she squeaked and gave him a hurried, messy bow, not even noticing that he had dodged her question. Out of the corner of her vision, she noticed a loose thread in her dress. Oh Woo, no doubt he saw it too. What was he going to think of her? But she could not do anything about it. Both her and her dress were falling apart at the seams.

“I thought you would be, that’s why I asked,” he replied, his voice still as even and calm as ever. If he had noticed how flustered she was, he gave no indication of it.

“And...and...and you?” Margot panted. “What's your name?”

“Forgive me, I should have introduced myself first,” the man turned on his heel, placed a hand on his chest and bowed. “I am Duke Alain Stallion. Your intended.”

Alain Stallion. Margot clapped her hands across her mouth in order not to cry out for joy. This was the man she was going to marry.

Oh Woo, how could she not have noticed? Upon closer inspection, the resemblance between him and his parents, especially Grand Duke Lachlan, was clear. And he was wearing the colours of House Stallion too. Of course, he could not have been anybody else.

Margot could hear her heart banging against her ribs, so loud that it would have been impossible for him not to pick up on it. She slowly removed her hands from her mouth but kept them clasped just below her chin. Once again, words eluded her but she felt a smile creep across her face, a smile that turned into a stupid grin before she could even stop it.

“You certainly seem pleased by this, Lady Margot,” Alain said, giving a soft laugh. She squeaked and immediately the grin on her face disappeared, though in reality it only sank beneath the surface.

“I...I am. It's...it's an honour to have you as my betrothed, my lo- your Grace,” she replied, lifting her head up to look at him, though she could not bring herself to meet his bright blue eyes. They still pierced her too easily.

“I'm glad,” he shot her another smile. “Then I hope our marriage is successful one, for our houses and ourselves.”

“Uhh, yes...me too,” Margot nodded eagerly. “Umm...I’ll be a good wife for you. I swear I will be!”

“I never said you wouldn’t be. But it’s good to know, Lady Margot,” Alain replied, his tone calm and even as the sea with no wind. He gave her a little bow again. “However, for now, I’m afraid I must leave you.”

“You won’t stay?” the woman asked, her voice hitching. “I thought we could... speak more, since we’re going to be married in a few...days.”

She swallowed at the thought and her breath grew more rapid. If anybody had told her that morning that she could look forward to her wedding as much as she did now, she would never have believed them. But now, the very thought of marrying the Stallion heir, of marrying Alain, made her heart race faster than a deer running from a hunter.

“We shall, but not now. My father requested my presence elsewhere,” he told her. “But we shall see each other again,” the smile appeared on his face again. “We are going to be husband and wife after all.”

“Yes... yes we are,” Margot forced herself to look away in case he caught sight of her smile. “Until...until we meet again then.”

He made a move as though to leave and, on impulse, she stretched out a hand towards him, trying to catch even the smallest shred of his clothes on her fingers. Alain stopped as he caught sight of this movement and smirked. In one smooth motion, he brought up his own hand, lightly balancing her palm against his, and touched his lips to her hand, just above her knuckles.

The kiss was a brief gesture that did not even last for a second. Furthermore, it was a perfectly acceptable way for a nobleman to greet a lady. But feeling the texture of his skin and having him be so close to her rooted Margot to the ground. Her stomach clenched inside her and her blood rushed to the surface of her skin, turning her as crimson as his clothes.

Her hand dropped as soon as he let her go and she stared at Alain, her mouth opening and closing like a fish as she tried to even speak a word. He gave her another smile and turned on his heel, heading down the steps of the battlements before either of them could get any more distracted.

Margot watched him leave, still fixed to the spot. Only when the last speck of his golden hair disappeared did she break out of her trance. A half-mad, hysterical burst of laughter escaped from her, completely improper for a lady, but she could barely contain herself right now. She threw her arms around her shoulders, worried that if she did not, she would fall apart into a puddle on the battlements of the castle.

For once in her life, nothing worried her at all. Not the wedding, not her upcoming life in Bern, not the alliance between their two houses. Why should she be when her future husband made her feel this way? Most nobles in Margot’s position were lucky to feel even a mild liking towards their intended but he inspired such absolute passion in her that pulled her to him, made her want to give her entire life to him. Maybe he even felt the same way. Oh Woo, she prayed he felt the same way. The smiles, the way he spoke with her, even that kiss...they had to mean something. Of course they meant something. And Llyr had said, she was beautiful enough. Surely he had to return her feelings.

Margot gave a contented sigh and turned back to look over Destrier. The dark grey city suddenly seemed so much more welcoming and alive to her than it had done before she had met her intended. The Cathedral especially, no longer loomed forebodingly as it had done before but instead called her to her new life.

In a few days, she was going to become Alain Stallion’s wife. And she was going to be so happy.

[Celestial]

And we pick up after the romance of Valentine's day with something a bit more...down to earth. It's a direct follow-up to the one above it.

Part two out of three. :333

The Truth Hurts

SPOILER: Click to show

The first thing Llyr had noticed about his sister when she arrived at breakfast on the day after her wedding was that Margot had arrived in the hall on her own. Which might have explained the second thing he had notice; the miserable look on her face. He frowned, which triggered a spike of pain inside his head, something the Brachyuran attempted to drown with willow extract. Not surprisingly, the castle physician had been distributing very freely after yesterday’s festivities, a fact that Llyr was intensely grateful for.

Once the pain had subsided, he turned his attention back to Margot, watching her as she picked at her food in a manner akin to a wading bird pecking at morsels in the sand. It was hard to believe this was the same woman who yesterday was beaming at the thought of marrying her dearly beloved. One she had only met a few days prior but was already completely smitten with, judging from the way she had spoken about him to Llyr and how she had looked at him whenever he was within sight of her.

It had been impossible to deny the positive effects of her passions on Margot. Whereas before she had simply accepted the marriage, after she had met Alain, she had begun to look forward to it. Even if it had been arranged for her, her excitement had built to the levels where it was easy to believe she had chosen her husband herself. Most importantly for her, she did not worry at all about her future. As far as she was concerned, she would be fine in his new land, with his new House, in this new life. As long as she had her beloved by her side, all her concerns were hidden by the soft blanket of her emotions that wrapped around her, blinding her.

As happy as he had been for her, Llyr was sceptical: people did not fall in love at first sight. They got infatuated, yes, but love? It was dangerous to think that you loved somebody after only knowing them for a few days. The naivety of his sister was bad enough but with the object of her affections being Alain Stallion, a man who Llyr could tell was far out of her intellectual range, he feared what he could do to her armed with the knowledge of her feelings towards him. Llyr was no stranger to the affections of women but he knew where he drew the line when it came to their emotions. The morality of the Stallion heir on the subject, however, was as unknown as the depths of the ocean.

Which is why Margot’s sudden turnaround, as though she had been pulled down from heaven and dragged through the mud of the earth, was so worrying for him. The fiasco with the mad Stallion, Alain’s brother if he recalled correctly, had disturbed her, yes, but even it by itself should not have broken through the daze she had been in for the past few days. Besides, that had been taken care of and the wedding had proceeded smoothly afterwards. No, this had something to do with Alain Stallion himself. Llyr felt a growl forming in his throat. Whatever it was, he had to know what that man had done to his sister.

It was why as soon as she had finished her food and he had taken enough of the willow extract to reduce his hangover to a dull throb, the Brachyuran had followed Margot out of the hall. He caught up with her just as she was about to head outside and gave her shoulder a quick tap. She gave a small squeak and turned around to face him.

“Jumpy as ever, little sis?” he asked with a smirk.

Margot relaxed when she saw him and gave him a weak smile. “Hello, Llyr. How is your head?”

“I’ve managed to kill some of the pain. Not surprisingly, Bern’s got good cures for hangovers,” he laughed and rubbed his temples.

“Yes,” Margot lowered her head. “Thank you for that, by the way. For the kiss.”

“Oh that? That was nothing. I overheard some of the servants discussing it as a wedding tradition here and thought you’d appreciate it,” Llyr laughed. “Or at least that’s what my drunken thoughts told me.”

“They were right, I did appreciate it. It was...wonderful,” Margot blushed and her shoulders stiffened before sagging. “Then everything went wrong.”

“Margot, you shouldn’t let one drunken madman ruin your wedding,” her brother said, trying to steer the conversation.

She shook her head. “It...it wasn’t that. That was horrible but...he was brought under control.”

“So if it’s not that, there’s something else,” Llyr’s tone became sharper and more pointed. “Something, perhaps, to do with your new husband?”

She flinched. “It’s...nothing is wrong with him.”

“Then why do you look so miserable?” her brother folded his arms. “Don’t lie to me, little sis. Tell me the truth,” a scowl appeared on his face. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No, no, he didn’t do anything like that!” Margot shook her head and sighed. “He’s...he’s nice enough to me, Llyr. Please don’t think badly of him.”

“And yet you’re still unhappy. Forgive me if I’m a little concerned, especially after the past few days you’ve spent fawning over him. Clearly something has happened,” Llyr’s face grew darker. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll beat it out of him.”

“NO!” Margot cried and grabbed her brother’s hand. “Please, don’t do anything like that, Llyr!”

“I won’t have anybody upsetting my sister,” he scowled. “And I don’t care what Webster thinks of me either. Or the Grand Duke.”

“I just don’t want you hurting Alain, or yourself!” tears began to appear in Margot’s eyes.

Llyr took a sharp breath and put his hands on her shoulders, remorse flooding over him immediately. “I’m sorry, Margot. But you’re upset and I don’t like seeing you upset. So unless you tell me why, I’m going to think the worst.”

Margot swallowed and sighed deeply, pulling her head into her shoulders. “I love him, Llyr. I have never felt this way about anybody else.”

“I think the whole castle knows about this, Margot. That hasn’t stopped you smiling the past few days,” Llyr raised an eyebrow.

A thought suddenly appeared in his mind and snapped into place like a key into a lock. Of course, it was the most obvious thing. How could he have not thought of this before?

“He doesn’t love you back, does he? And you’ve finally realised this?” he sighed.

“Yes,” Margot murmured, restraining a sob. “I feel so much for him but he...he feels nothing for me,” she brought her hand up to wipe her eyes.

Llyr winced. A part of him wanted to ask what she expected from a man she was marrying for politics that she had known only for a few days, except he knew exactly what the answer to that was. His sister had already been slapped in the face by reality; there was no need for him to rub salt on her wound. In some way, between the half-joking assurances and the kiss he had made them take part in, perhaps he was in some way responsible for getting her hopes up.

“I’m sorry, Margot,” Llyr put his hands on her shoulders, leaning down to look her in the eyes. He scoured his mind for any comforting words he could offer her but everything he could think of sounded hollow.

She sighed deeply, wrapping her arms around herself. “I...I suppose it doesn’t matter, does it? Love never matters in noble marriages. I didn’t come here expecting to be loved anyway...but it would have been nice...”

“I know, little sis, I know,” Llyr gave her an awkward smile. “I mean, I don’t, I’m not married myself but...well, I’ve had girls reject me. And I’ve been rejected a few times,” he sighed. “It’s not the same if you’re married though, is it?”

Margot sadly shook her head.

“Woo,” Llyr exclaimed. Carefully, he wrapped his arms around his sister and drew her into a hug. “You’ve never even known how to handle rejection by anybody.”

“No,” Margot whimpered. Llyr could feel a slight dampness spreading across his tunic where she had pressed her face into his shoulder. “Llyr, can you take it away from me?”

“I’m afraid not, little sister,” the Brachyuran sighed deeply. “Nobody can take it out of you, whether it is love or infatuation. You just have to wait until it lets you go.”

“How long will that take?” she murmured.

“Who knows? It could be months, years...or you could suffer this illness your whole life,” Llyr patted her back. “Maybe, you will get over it quickly. You fell in love with him in a matter of minutes, it might be just as easy to fall out of it?”

“But I have to remain married to him, and I have to please him. Webster expects it of me. Their Grand Duke expects it of me,” Margot wiped her eyes and took a few breaths to steady herself. “And...I don’t want to stop loving him.”

Llyr blinked and pulled his sister away from him, meeting her puffy eyes. “Why not? If he’s such a jerk to you, you don’t need to love him.”

“I’m his wife. Shouldn’t a wife love her husband?” Margot asked.

“Well, yes, but...” Llyr brought a hand up to his forehead. “This is politics. Nobody will blame you if you don’t. And frankly, if he’s making you unhappy-”

“I don’t mind,” Margot shook her head. “Even if he doesn’t love me, I’ll still be a good wife, and eventually a good mother. He is the lord, my lord, and that’s what I have to do.”

Llyr opened his mouth and then closed it again, gritting his teeth. It was not fair. He wanted to go up and talk to Webster, talk to the Grand Duke, persuade them to get Margot out of here but he knew that neither she nor they would agree with him. The wedding had happened, the alliance was secured, and they could not be so selfish and break that for what was, admittedly, the whim of a naive girl. He still wanted to shout at Alain Stallion, to make him be a bit gentler with his sister, since she was now his wife. Whether he felt anything for her or not, the least he could do was treat her well. But the Brachyuran knew this was also a very poor idea. Even if Llyr proved to be his equal, Margot would certainly not want her beloved to come to any harm.

She was too soft, too nice. That Stallion did not deserve her.

“It will be okay, Llyr,” Margot murmured, looking up at her brother and giving him a weak smile. “Maybe...maybe one day, he’ll also love me?”

Her brother closed his eyes and lowered his head. “Maybe, but don’t count on it, Margot.”

“You did say I was beautiful, that he would be a fool not to,” her voice trembled, and she sounded uncertain.

“Well he is, if you want my opinion but...” Llyr shook his head and patted her shoulder. “Don’t hold your breath. I don’t want you to get your hopes up again.”

She sighed deeply. “I’m not going to. But it doesn’t matter. I still have a duty to do, to both my Houses.”

“Oh Woo, little sister, in your position, I’d run away and never come back,” Llyr grinned at her. “I never thought I’d say this but you’re a far better person than I could ever be.”

“And you’re so much stronger and braver than me,” Margot smiled at that, though her smile was tinged with sadness. “I don’t see what other choice I have, Llyr. But thank you. For the comfort.”

“Will you be alright here?” Llyr looked around the grey stone of the castle. Despite the vastness of its halls, it suddenly seemed oppressive to him, and he was leaving tomorrow. Margot, on the other hand, was going to have to spend the rest of her life here.

“I’ll be fine,” Margot nodded, though she did not make eye contact with him. “I will just have to get used to it.”

Llyr growled. “If Alain Stallion ever hurts you-”

Margot bit her lip. “Then I will get used to that too.”

[Celestial]

And a final part, unrelated to the previous two in event but still keeping the theme. Now you can find out what has been punching me in the feels this past week.

Goodbye

SPOILER: Click to show

Destrier, Bern, 27th January 1323

From when he had first woken up early that morning, the sensation that Alain had come to know far too well as the powers of Cebeline had whispered one thing to him; it was going to be today.

It had been at the start of autumn when Margot had noticed the pain in her abdomen. She has borne it gamely while it was still only a dull ache, getting on with life around the castle with as little disturbance as she could manage, but he had noticed it anyway. The way she winced when she lay down or how her hand sometimes flew to her stomach or her back, it never escaped Alain’s attention. It had not been the only symptom either. He had noticed her bones becoming more prominent, a change coupled with the fact of her eating less at dinner and what she did eat she did not always keep down. It would have been a lie to say it had not worried him.

This was what had made her finally seek the aid of the physicians. They had examined her but no proper diagnosis could be established, at least not one they were sure of. The best they could do was to provide her with painkillers and concoctions to treat the nausea. But that had not helped to cure whatever disease had struck her down. She had kept deteriorating. The pain had turned from a drilling one in her stomach to one that gnawed at the insides of her bones. Her body had wasted away to a skeleton, with her now pale skin hanging off her like ragged sails off the mast of a ship. For the last two months, she had barely gotten out of bed. When January hit, with its snows and the cold that permeated every stone of the castle and every cell of its inhabitants, she was far too weak to even get up. With her symptoms building up, more physicians from the college came to see her and kept examining her, feeling around the sources of her pain like one would feel around in the dark. Eventually, one made a tentative diagnosis: cancer. A vast cancer that by this time was impossible to extract. The only thing they could do was alleviate her misery as she waited to die.

So in a way, this feeling he had was almost a relief. After all these months of suffering, it was time she got some peace.

However, it was not going to make what was going to happen any easier. He took a deep, measured breath and exhaled before getting up from the chair in which he had been sitting. As soon as word had spread of her sickness reaching its final stages, those who lived far away like Lucinda and Mayes had come and said their goodbyes to her, but the family who lived in the castle had held off on that. They did not want to tempt fate.

Now, however, Alain knew they had no choice, not if this sensation in his heart was correct. Either they took the chance now or they let Margot slip away alone, which after all her agony was not something she deserved.

He went out into the corridor and caught the attention of a servant passing by. The man stopped in his tracks and bowed his head. “Your grace?”

“Find Isabelle and tell her to come to her mother’s room,” Alain’s finger twitched on his cane and he looked the servant right in the eye. “Alone.”

The man nodded and sped off down the hallway, his footsteps infected with extra haste by the Grand Duke’s glare. Alain watched him go for a brief moment before he turned in the other direction, heading towards the stairs that led to the upstairs level. From there, he turned down several corridors until he reached the door he was looking for. It looked like any other door in the castle, pale wood and dark iron to hold it together, but the aura of what lay beyond coloured it with a foreboding air.

He did not let himself hesitate for long in front of it in case his thoughts overtook him and rapped against it with the tip of his cane. Shortly, the door swung open, revealing the assistant to the physician who was assigned to Margot.

“Your grace,” he bowed his head in respect but Alain did not miss the look in his eyes the young man tried so desperately to hide.

The Grand Duke looked straight ahead of him, his expression remaining smoother than sea-worn glass. “She’s dying, isn’t she?”

“...Yes,” the other man nodded. “We’ve just stopped giving her anything for her pain. There’s no point anymore.”

So he had been correct. “May I see her?”

The physician nodded and stepped aside, allowing Alain to enter. He came into the room slowly and deliberately, not letting his pace change even as he approached Margot’s bed.

The spectre that lay under the heavy blanket was almost unrecognisable as his wife. Her white hair lay in a flat halo around her head, tangled into knots that she would never have allowed to occur had she had even a fraction of her health. Beads of sweat clung to her pale, waxy skin that was stretched to breaking point around her skull. Her chest convulsed as she sucked in shallow breaths, each one prolonging what little life she had left. Upon hearing his footsteps, however, her eyes snapped open. They rotated in their deep sockets to look up at Alain as he finally came to a stop by her side, straining to focus on his image through the dulling of her senses brought on by the painkillers.

“Thank the Woo,” she whispered. “You’re here.”

“I wanted to see you,” Alain replied, still keeping his tone even. His face betrayed nothing, not even as his eyes took in the state she was in. “I asked Isabelle to come down too.”

“Oh, good. Thank you. At least I can say goodbye,” Margot closed her eyes briefly. “They told you, right?”

“Yes,” he nodded.

“But you probably knew already. You always know everything,” she sighed, though calling that tiny release of air a sigh was generous.

There came another nod from Alain, prompting Margot’s mouth to curl up slightly. Behind them, there was a knock at the door and the same assistant who let Alain in also opened it. Isabelle rushed in, practically pushing past the man, but she stopped in her tracks as soon as she saw her mother. Her eyes widened and she pressed her arms into her sides, staring at her.

“Isabelle...” Margot whispered and her head lolled to the side so she could see her daughter.

The younger woman snapped out of her daze and immediately stood to attention. “Yes, mother?”

“Come here, please,” she asked.

Isabelle did as she was told, crossing the short distance to stand by her mother’s bedside. “What is it?”

“Closer,” Margot murmured. “So you can hear.”

Her skirts hitched up slightly as Isabelle got down on one knee beside her mother. She hesitated for a moment before bringing her other knee down and smoothing out her dress, as was proper of a lady. The approving look on Margot’s face did not escape Isabelle’s attention.

“I’m sorry we did not always agree. Your father was right and I was wrong,” the older woman’s voice hitched slightly as a wave of pain broke through the haze induced by her medicine. Isabelle let out a small gasp and Alain’s hands tightened on his cane. There was not much time.

“Mother...” Isabelle’s face began to fill with tears. “I’m sorry too. I was always such a brat to you. I just...I never wanted to be the person you wanted me to be.”

“I know. You’re more like your father than me,” despite her pain, the corners of Margot’s mouth twitched upwards. “For what it’s worth, I’m happy with you as you are. You’re a good wife to Sir Hector, and a wonderful mother to your children. And...” the woman slowly and agonisingly brought one hand out from under the covers, stretching it out to Isabelle. “You’re going to make an amazing Grand Duchess someday.”

The younger woman’s breathing grew more rapid and she closed her eyes, wincing with the effort to stop herself from crying. She reached out and wrapped her fingers around the hand her mother offered her, not even minding how clammy it was.

“Thank you,” Isabelle murmured, bowing her head to her before she looked back up. “Is there...is there anything you want me to tell Emil? Or Roslyn? Or even Viletta and Gwen. They won’t understand but...”

“Tell them I love them, very much,” Margot replied. Her eyes lit up as she spoke. “I’m glad I got to meet them. Let them know that.”

“I will,” Isabelle nodded, clenching her hand around her mother’s. A little too tightly. Margot’s face twitched in pain and immediately, Isabelle recoiled. Only the small shake of her mother’s head reassured her it was fine.

It was then that Margot’s gaze drifted away from her daughter to her husband standing behind her, watching all this with his usual impassive gaze. Alain gave her a small smile when he noticed her looking and she did her best to smile back. A moment passed before Margot tore her eyes away from him and glanced around at her daughter and the physicians who had been attending to her.

“Could you...could leave us?” she whispered. “Please?”

The physician frowned. “Your ladyship, we should be here-”

“You’ve done all you can. Please, go,” Margot’s voice spiked as desperation snuck into her words. The assistant looked over to the senior physician for guidance. The older man hesitated, deep in thought for a second, and then he pushed himself from his chair. He headed for the door, followed shortly by the younger one taking his cue from him. Isabelle let go of her mother’s hand and stood up, casting her eyes briefly over her father before she turned away, going after the two physicians out of the room. She turned back at the entrance and, as she put her hand on the doorknob, paused to take in one final image of her mother. Once that was done, she turned away and closed the door behind her, letting it shut with a click.

Alain had barely paid attention to this as it was happening. He had watched the two physicians and Isabelle leave, his eyes and expression giving away nothing, but as soon as they were gone, he turned back to Margot with a curious glint in his eyes.

“Why did you do that?” he remarked, folding his hands over his cane, only letting the mildest curiosity slip into his voice.

She closed her eyes briefly. “You’d never agree to what I’m going to ask unless we were alone,” Margot’s eyelids flickered open again and she turned back to him. His jaw tightened as he met her gaze, seeing the pain and sorrow filling her eyes.

Nevertheless, what she said was intriguing. “What is it that you want from me?”

“Come here,” she gestured weakly with the fingers of her exposed hand. Alain nodded and did as she asked, coming to a stop just an inch away from her bed. He bent down on one knee, leaning his cane against the nearby bedpost as he waited for her instruction.

“You know I love you. I loved you since I first saw you. You couldn’t have missed it,” Margot murmured, her eyes still firmly locked on to his.

“I didn’t. And I know you do,” Alain smiled at her.

“You didn’t feel the same way. But you were kind to me and you remained faithful. I appreciate that and I never asked for anything of you. You are the lord, it would not have been proper to-” Margot closed her eyes suddenly and took in several sharp gasps of air, her face twisting up in pain.

Alain watched her struggling, feeling his own stomach clench at the sight of his wife’s suffering. He did not miss the rattle in her breathing. It was coming, he couldn’t stop it. There was no stopping what was inevitable.

“Margot...”

She turned back to him once she had regained control of herself. The struggle to remain lucid was apparent in her eyes, which had begun to acquire a glassy sheen.

“I’m dying, Alain. But if you could do one thing for me...” her voice was faint; an echo had been in one place for too long.

“Anything, anything at all,” he replied, inching closer to his wife to hear her last request.

“Kiss me?” her eyes began to well up with tears. “Please?”

Alain barely hesitated as he nodded in response to her request. He cupped his face in her hands to keep it steady but barely applied any pressure to not cause her undue pain and leaned forward, pressing his lips against hers. Margot closed her eyes and Alain found himself doing the same.

This moment could have been any other. He could have just come back from the wars. She could have given birth to any of his children. He was trying to earn her forgiveness after the fiasco of Starmey’s wedding. Her brother had just gotten them to kiss at their own wedding. Or she had simply caught him in a rare, precious moment of tenderness. It could have been any one of those times gone by, had her lips not been cold and if she had even a little strength to return the gesture.

Finally, Alain broke the kiss and pulled away from Margot. Tears were pouring down her face. Straining from the effort, she held up the arm that was free of the blankets and ran a finger along one of his cheekbones. Her skin was waxy and damp and her hand shook but the gesture was still a tender one.

“Now I can die thinking you loved me,” she whispered. Even if her voice was barely audible, the happiness in it was unmistakable.

Margot’s eyes closed and she sank deep into the bed as her muscles relaxed completely. Her breath rattled against her ribs and then stopped completely. The hand that she had held aloft, despite the herculean effort required to do so, brushed against Alain’s cheek one last time before falling down limply beside her.

Alain remained perfectly still by Margot’s bed, still holding her face in his hands. Her last words still echoed in his ears, amplified beyond their original volume in his mind.

She had been right; it would have been much more difficult for him to kiss her like that if anybody else had been present. It was her last request and yet he would have hesitated, unwilling to break the eternal mask he wore.

It had been like that all their lives. She had grasped at every bit of affection he had given her like a beggar would have grasped at coins thrown at them by some passerby. Even at the end her life, all she had wanted was a small, simple gesture from him, but it had been one he so rarely provided for her. Now she was gone. He could never give her anything like that ever again, like he should have done as her husband.

His hands slipped from Margot’s cheeks and down her now prone body before coming to rest on the bed beside her. Alain gripped the covers in his hands, digging his fingers into them in a vain attempt to hold on. He shivered as he felt his eyes begin to sting and lowered his head, burying his face in the fabric of the sheets. A quiet sob followed by a whimper escaped from him. His shoulders shook.

Now I can die thinking you loved me.

“But I do.”

Commentary.

SPOILER: Click to show

The alternate title for this fic is "You Don't Have To Say You Love Me" but I thought it didn't fit in with the Isabelle bits (and gives away the ending.)

I also wrote up a bit of bonus content for the fic. It didn't fit in with the flow of things but I'm including it here anyway for the sake of feels.

SPOILER: Click to show

The winter finally ended and had turned into spring, which had eventually turned into summer. And with summer in Destrier, there came its usual visitor.

“Alain!” Ambrose smiled widely as he stepped out of the carriage and rushed over to where his brother was waiting for him.

“Hello, brother,” Alain smiled back and stepped forward, helping bridge the gap between them. “It’s good to see you.”

“I’m glad to see you too,” Ambrose looked up at him. “How is everyone? Isabelle and Hector? And their children?”

“They’re all doing well,” Alain nodded. “The twins especially, you’ll be glad to know.”

“And how is Margot?”

In an instant, Alain’s smile had disappeared. His hands tightened on his cane and he lowered his eyes.

“Margot died in late January, Ambrose,” he replied in the most neutral tone he could muster.

Ambrose’s eyes widened and his hand shot up, covering his mouth. “Oh Woo. I’m sorry, Alain,” he drew a little closer, tentatively holding his hands out in the direction of his brother. “But your letters had no mention of this. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you didn’t need to know,” despite the calm, there was a distinctive edge to Alain’s voice, an edge that did not escape Ambrose’s ears.

“...I’m sorry, Alain,” he murmured, drawing closer. His brother still refused to look him in the eye. “I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for you.”

“I’ll be fine, Ambrose,” the ice in Alain’s voice grew more pronounced. “With all due respect, little brother, I would rather not talk about it. Not even with you.”

Ambrose recoiled slightly at the unusual bluntness. He took another look at Alain’s face, trying to read the tiny cues contained within, but his brother’s mask was completely intact and Alain was looking away from him, deliberately obscuring his eyes. So it had to hurt, more than Alain would ever want to admit. And he knew there was nothing Ambrose could do to help mitigate his brother’s pain either. Except perhaps one thing.

Carefully, in case Alain did not want the physical contact, Ambrose put his arms around him and drew his brother into a hug.

There was no resistance from Alain. His breathing remained calm and measured. However, after a few moments, he lifted up his arms and pressed his brother closer, taking in whatever little comfort Ambrose could offer.

[Celestial]

I suck at writing fight scenes.

This is an idea I've had for a while (actually, it was Liou's) but Ranumgen decided that I should write it today. So, enjoy, I guess? xD
Content warning for attempted murder and some blood.

In the Night, the Tsar Hired an Assassin...

SPOILER: Click to show

The Langean front, Summer 1284

It was the sound of breathing above him that woke the Grand Duke up. Alain’s eyes flickered open and immediately landed on the point of the dagger right above his throat. Without even feeling the thought cross his mind, his left arm shot out and his hand wrapped around his attacker’s, stopping the fatal fall of the blade towards his exposed windpipe. His would-be assassin gasped in shock before gritting his teeth, trying to push the blade down and complete his task. For a moment, the two were locked in this stalemate.

What were the guards doing? How did he manage to sneak past them? Either they were asleep, or he had snuck past or he had killed them. Alain’s eyes landed on the man’s clean dagger. No blood. Which did not mean anything. He could have easily cleaned it.

He tried to push harder but the man’s muscles were locked in place. This was bad. He had been caught unprepared. Alain’s gaze flickered briefly to the armour that stood in the opposite corner of the tent and the sword beside it but they were useless to him here.

Until he got the dagger away from his throat, he could not get out of the prone position he was in. On his back was not the best fighting stance.

Alain pulled the man’s arm to his left side and rolled to his right, just barely feeling the blade fly past him. There was a puff of feathers as the dagger bit into his pillow but all his attention was focused firmly on the assassin that was now inches away from him. He brought one leg up, aiming for the man’s solar plexus, but the close quarters restricted his movement. His knee connected with assassin’s side, just by the other man’s liver.

Nevertheless, it had the intended the effect. The assassin gasped and the force of the momentum forced him away from the side of Alain’s bed. However, much to the Grand Duke’s annoyance, he did not let go of the dagger. In fact, as he moved away, the edge of the blade brushed against Alain’s left shoulder, just below where his training scar was. A sliver of pain passed across the spot and he could feel hot blood welling up where it has obviously grazed him. No matter. It was only a scratch.

Alain shot up into a sitting up position off his back, his heart racing as his eyes swept over again at the assassin. The man had recovered fairly quickly from the blow, far quicker than Alain would have liked, and was already making a move to advance at him. Without even thinking, Alain grabbed the blanket he had been covering himself with and threw it at the assassin. The man struggled as the cloth hit him, just buying Alain enough time to get up off the bed and into a stance more fitting for a fight.

The assassin’s eyes had gone wide as he realised the element of surprise had been lost. But he still had his weapon and while he did not wear heavy armour, it was still more than Alain, who was dressed in only a pair of trousers, had. Silently, the Grand Duke cursed the warmth of high summer.

He ducked aside as the other man lunged for him, just barely avoiding the sweeping blow of the assassin’s dagger. Alain tried to kick at the man’s knees in order to knock him off balance but the assassin spotted his move and easily moved aside, using the opportunity to try and bring his elbow down on Alain’s neck, a blow which the Grand Duke, however, avoided. He swept aside, away from the assassin, feeling his heart hammering in his chest.

There was no question that this man was a trained fighter. Nor did Alain have any doubts about who had sent him. Even in the darkness, the man’s facial features were distinctly Langean. Who else but they would benefit from killing one of the Kythian commanders?

He scowled. It did not matter who sent him, what mattered was that the man was going to kill him. But there was no way Alain was going to die.

The assassin lunged for him again and Alain moved to the left, grabbing his wrist and trying to turn his momentum against him. But the man was ready for such a move and kicked at Alain’s leg, knocking him momentarily off-balance while at the same time pulling his wrist out of the Grand Duke’s grip. Alain stumbled and the assassin saw his opportunity, moving forward and slashing downward as he aimed for Alain’s heart.

Alain barely had the time to move out of the way but he would not be fast enough. He took a step backwards and brought his left arm up to block the blow. His reward was an explosion of pain as the side of blade dug into the muscle of his arm. While the extra distance gained by his movement had saved his arm from being stabbed, he could nevertheless feel the injury was more than a scratch this time. He wondered if it would have made a difference if he had worn anything instead of having a bare arm. But the damage was done, it did not matter now.

The adrenaline drowned out the severity of the injury, only leaving the heat of the blood as it oozed out of the wound. Woo, he was hurt and the assassin barely had a scratch on him. While he had been taught hand-to-hand combat, he was far better with a weapon in hand.

Alain had to end this quickly. He could have gotten his sword but the large broadsword would not provide him with much of an advantage against an opponent wielding a dagger. So the only way was disarming him.

While the assassin was recovering from his failed killing blow, Alain sidestepped around him, moving closer to where his sword was standing, though there was deliberate slowness to his steps. He pressed his right hand to the slash wound, as though his lack of speed was caused by the pain. The assassin turned with him and smiled a little as he saw what Alain was going for. With a few quick, easy steps he moved forward, cutting him off from the armour and the sword as he prepared another killing strike.

But that was just what Alain needed. With a smirk, he picked up the pace and lunged at the would-be assassin. He barrelled into him, using all his strength to knock him into the heavy armour. It fell with a deafening clatter as bits of plate clanged against each other. The Langean cried out in pain as Alain landed on top of him and saw his chance.

He grabbed at the man’s right hand with the dagger with his left. His wounded muscle complained and he winced as he could the pain draining his strength. But instead, Alain dug his thumb and fingers into the bones of the man’s arm, prying between the tendons in the same way a seabird’s beak pries into the gaps in the shell of a stubborn oyster. The man tried to grab at his hair with his other hand but Alain caught it. Noticing one of his greaves lying face up nearby, he slammed the man’s arm across the metal to numb it before lifting it up and pressing it down in a space against the Langean’s head.

Once he was sure the man’s left would give him no trouble, Alain brought the man’s dagger-hand down on to the ground. The force, combined with the prying his fingers had already been doing, sent it clattering in amongst his plate armour. The Grand Duke smirked but the smirk turned into a grimace as the force travelled up his arm, making the gash sing with pain again.

He positioned himself into a sitting position on the Langean’s stomach, pinning him down, but he could not sustain the position forever, not with his own injury. He snatched the now abandoned dagger from where it had come to lie and pressed it against the man’s throat, not even flinching at the terrified look in his brown eyes.

“Move and I’ll cut your throat,” he hissed.

“You’ll do it anyway,” came the reply.

“How much agony you will be in as you die purely depends on what you do.”

He shifted his legs and at the risk of losing his balance, pressed one into the man’s stomach. The would-be assassin gasped for breath, trying to suck in air like a fish thrown out of the water. The desperate action, however, drove the dagger into his skin. A rivulet of blood ran down his throat. He tried to bring up his free arm and pull Alain away from him but to no avail.

Alain counted in his head, watching his opponent as the man struggled for breath before suddenly removing both his knee from the Langean’s stomach and the dagger from his throat. He had a second while the would-be assassin sucked in the air he desperately needed, a second that Alain used to stand up. But before the other man could recover enough to even consider countering him, he delivered a powerful kick right into his solar plexus. The man choked. Whatever air the assassin could have drawn in, it had been knocked out of him for certain.

Taking the time while the man was incapacitated, Alain pulled the man over on to his stomach and pressed down on the small of his back. At the same time, he grabbed his right arm with his own right hand and pulled it behind the man’s back, twisting it until he could feel the tendons in it screaming with the strain.

“Your Grace?” a senior knight suddenly burst in, panting, with several other men at his heels. His eyes widened as he saw Alain on top of the downed assassin.

“The commotion did not escape somebody’s notice, good” Alain smirked at him.

“What happened?” the knight frowned, coming into the tent and taking in the scattered armour as well as Alain’s state of undress. As he did, more and more confusion registered on his face.

“This man tried to kill me,” the Grand Duke said it in a tone that suggested he was saying that the sky was blue or that water was wet. “He got past the guards, somehow.”

“None of the guards reported anything, at least not to me,” the senior knight’s eyes widened in horror.

“A sneaky one then,” Alain remarked.

“It seems that way,” the knight approached him. “You’re...you’re not injured, are you, your Grace?”

Alain held up his arm and a few droplets of blood dripped on to the clothes of his would-be assassin. “He got me but it is a flesh wound. I’ll be fine.”

“Woo above,” the knight winced, his eyes gravitating towards the wound. “Your Grace, you should get that looked at.”

“Of course, I’m going to, as soon as this man is safely taken care of,” Alain gave the knight a pointed look. The other man did not need to be told twice. He gestured to the guards with him and the men walked into the tent, surrounding Alain and the Langean. Satisfied, the Grand Duke let go of his would-be assassin’s arm. It might have just been his imagination but he could have sworn the man gave off a gasp of relief when he did.

He climbed off the back of the Langean and stood up straight, giving the man one final look as he did. Contempt and triumph mixed in his eyes, eventually spreading across his face and manifesting in a small smile.

“Take him to the dungeons and make sure he does not get the chance to end his life before I interrogate him,” he ordered. “If they were foolish enough to send one of their own men to us, we should use the opportunity.”

He stepped through the circle of guards, heading towards a chest full of clothes that he kept at the head of his bed. Alain heard the clanking of their armour as they lifted the man up but paid them no attention. Instead, he opened the chest and dug through it, taking out a shirt and pulled it on over his head. He rolled the left sleeve back, not wanting the fabric to touch the gash on his arm, and turned back, just in time to watch the guards escort his would be assassin out.

“Until morning,” he called back to the man.

The Langean swore loudly at him, the words dripping with venom. Alain only smiled back before the guards took him away.

He dragged his boots out from under the bed. Slowly, in part to avoid panic and because his wound was beginning to throb with pain more now that the adrenaline had begun flowing away, he put them on. Once that was done, Alain turned back to the senior knight, who was the only one who remained once the guards had taken the Langean assassin away.

“I suppose I better go to the physician now,” he remarked and strolled past the knight out of his tent and into the warm, evening air.

He was not going to die. There was simply too much for him at stake to die. One way or another, this war was going to end and it would not end for him on the battlefield or on the receiving end of an assassin’s blade.

Alain had survived this one. The next one, should the Tsar decide to send another, would not catch him so unprepared.

[Celestial]

I wrote another thing, yay. ^^ This is more my usual sort of fics than the above. Tag for Kristykimmy for extensive use of Aveline but since she's little in this, I hope it's okay.

Bitter Introductions

SPOILER: Click to show

Destrier, Bern, April 1279

Aveline raised her hands up to her father as dipped his hands under her tiny body and lifted her out of the crib. He smiled down at the newborn baby and he rested her securely in his arms, stroking the soft blonde hair that covered her head like fine gold down. It still felt a little strange to think that the small girl swaddled in her blankets was his daughter, his own flesh and blood, but it hardly meant that she was unwelcome. He would get used to it very quickly. After all, even just yesterday, the emotions he had towards her had been very different to what he felt now.

Alain took his hand away and let the girl shift a little in his grasp, getting herself more comfortable. Her head now rested in the crook of his right elbow, supported by his left for now but it was free to move in case he needed it.

He turned around and looked back at Aveline’s nursemaid, who had been watching him out of the corner of her eye. “I’m taking my daughter with me for a bit.”

She looked up from the blanket she had been embroidering. “I see. May I ask where, yer Grace?” she bowed her head. “In case yer wife wakes and asks.”

Alain paused, gazing back down at baby that looked back at him with her soft blue eyes. “I’m just going to take her outside for some air. I won’t be too long,” he replied without a single waver in his voice.

“Ah, right. Ye look after her then, yer Grace, and have fun,” she replied, turning back to her sewing. Alain nodded and without another word, headed out of the door of the nursery, taking his child with him.

However, instead of turning left and walking in the direction of the courtyard or the gardens, he instead turned right, heading deeper into the castle. He ascended up the stairs to the next floor and walked down towards one particular door.

Margot did not need to know the truth about where he was taking Aveline. She could cope without the unnecessary stress that this would cause her; there was no harm in a little white lie to her or the nursemaid. It was much simpler to do as he wished without listening to their objections. Especially because in this case, he knew better than they did.

He finally stopped in front of one particular door and removed his hand from Aveline, knocking softly on it. There was no reply from the other side. This was not unexpected, but it nevertheless made Alain’s heart drop a little in his chest. Bracing himself, he lowered his hand to the door handle, testing it. The door was unlocked, but it was never locked anyway. His parents and the servants insisted on it. Just in case, they said.

Alain pushed the door slightly open and peered through the crack into the room beyond. The furniture on the right side that he could see stood in its proper place, untouched and unmoved. All over them, books and pieces of parchment lay scattered like autumn leaves, some lying across the surface of the desk while others were on the floor where they had fallen. Chests stood open, with red, silver and blue scraps of clothes spilling out in haphazard waterfalls over their edges, abandoned.

Could he have gone out? He sometimes left his room, it happened, but most of the time, he would be here.
“Ambrose?” Alain said gently, taking the chance to push the door even further and peered over at the other side of the room.

The left was completely occupied by a four-poster bed, its blanket thrown back and lying horizontally, one of its corners drooping down the side. There, perched on the edge and leaning against the headboard, was Alain’s brother. He was dressed plainly, the simple shirt and trousers indicating that he was only just getting out of bed. The blank stare and the way his entire body was rigid as though his bones had suddenly been replaced with iron bars indicated what had prevented him from completing his task. It also explained why he had not given any response to the knock on his door.

Alain turned away, tearing his gaze away from that horrible stare. He pulled the door back towards him, leaving it only slightly ajar, and glanced back down at Aveline. She had fallen asleep, her head pressed against his chest and her chubby fingers wrapped tightly around the edge of his tunic. He smiled down at her, securing his grip on his daughter and giving her head another gentle stroke before he leaned in towards the door, listening for any sound beyond.

Soon, he heard the sound he was on the alert for. From the direction of the bed there came a moan, followed by a whimper.

“Why? Why did they...why did they have to do that, why did they...” the cries were cut off by a gasp, followed by a rustling of sheets. Alain winced. Whatever it was Ambrose saw, it could not have been pleasant.

Taking a few moments, he continued to listen until the murmurs and whimpers faded in intensity. Then, when Alain was satisfied that his brother had recovered sufficiently from what he saw, he lifted up his arm and tapped at the door softly with his knuckles again.

There was a gasp from the other side and he could almost hear Ambrose’s back straighten up at the sudden sound.

“Brother? It’s me,” Alain said quietly and lowered his hand, resting it on the door handle. “May I come in?”

“If you want,” came the soft voice of the younger Stallion brother.

Alain lowered his eyes and took a deep breath before slowly opening the door. When it was completely ajar, he walked into the room and closed it behind him, giving the two brothers some privacy.

Ambrose had pulled his knees to his chest, huddling into himself as he sat on the bed. His eyes flickered briefly towards Alain before he turned back to stare down at the floor, his eyes seeming to focus intensely on the grain of the wooden boards that covered it.

“What is it?” he asked quietly, gripping his sleeves. His long hair hung down in strands down his back and across his eyes, hiding his face like a veil.

Alain crossed the distance between the door and Ambrose’s bed, coming to stand over his brother. Though his expression betrayed nothing, his heart gave a twinge at seeing him so miserable.

“I wanted you to meet somebody,” the older Stallion brother glanced down at the child sleeping in his arms. “My daughter, Aveline.”

Ambrose’s head turned to look up at his brother and for the first time he noticed the baby held in his arms. His eyes widened as he stared at her. Alain moved closer, sitting down on the bed beside Ambrose and holding his daughter forward slightly so that he could get a better look. All the while, he watched Ambrose carefully, gauging his reaction.

The younger Stallion brother did not uncurl from his position but turned his head to look down at Aveline. His eyes lingered on the girl, taking in her features and how peacefully she was sleeping in Alain’s arms. His jaw tightened and his fingers clenched tightly around the folds of his shirt as he drew in a sharp breath. He shut his eyes, wincing as though at a sudden pain, and turned away from them both.

A thought of concern manifested in Alain’s mind at his brother’s reaction. He frowned, drawing Aveline back.

“Are you alright, Ambrose?” he asked.

“...I’m fine,” his brother whispered. “She’s...you’re lucky. To have such a daughter.”

“I know,” Alain glanced down at Aveline, tucking in a bit of her swaddling around her to keep her arm. She was still peacefully sleeping, unaware of the conversation going on around her. Satisfied that she was comfortable, he turned back to his brother, studying his reaction. “Are you alright, Ambrose?”

“I’m fine. It’s nothing, really,” Ambrose shook his head and slowly lifted his head up to look at Alain, stiffening as though locking himself into place.

“It’s not, is it?” Alain’s frown grew slightly deeper. He could see the distress all over Ambrose, there was no need even for his skill at reading people to be able to tell. “What’s wrong? Is it the visions?”

“...yes, it is,” Ambrose swallowed and shook his head, giving Alain a weak smile. “Don’t worry about it. You shouldn’t worry about me, now that you have your daughter.”

“You’re still my brother, Ambrose,” Alain replied. “And my daughter is also your niece.”

“And what about your wife?” the younger Stallion brother murmured. “I bet she wasn’t happy about you wanting to bring her daughter up to see a ma- me.”

Alain flinched. Even though Ambrose had cut himself off, he knew exactly what he was going to say. The worst thing was, he would have been right. It was why he had not told Margot or the nursemaid his true destination. Ambrose was not mad and there was no danger to her from him. But they did not know that. He had not wanted to fight them for the ability to show his brother Aveline.

“I did not tell her,” he replied, his tone neutral.

Ambrose sighed, lowering his eyes away from his brother. “No, of course not. She does not need to know you’re here.”

The older Stallion brother leaned forward, resting a hand on Ambrose’s shoulder. With his other arm clutching Aveline, he brought the baby forward. “Would you like to hold her?”

Ambrose flinched away from his brother and stared at him in horror, as though this simple question had burned him. “N-no, Alain, I...I shouldn’t,” he bit his lip and clenched his eyes tightly shut, gripping his sleeves again.

“Why not?” Alain smiled a little at him. “I give you permission.”

Ambrose shook his head, choking back a sob. “I’ll only hurt her.”

“You won’t,” his brother replied.

“I will. If the visions come, I might drop her or scare her or-” the younger Stallion brother bit down on his tongue and held up a hand to his eyes. “I might even infect her with this, for all anybody knows.”

“I don’t think you will,” Alain said quietly, giving Ambrose a kind, patient look.

“You don’t know that,” Ambrose shook his head again.

Alain froze. It was true, he did not. All he had was a vague childhood memory, which for all he could figure out might not have had anything to do with Ambrose’s condition. He did not know how any of it worked.

Nevertheless, the notion of it being passed on to Aveline was ridiculous. That was he was convinced was true.

“Brother, I promise, it will be alright,” he tried to pull Ambrose closer to him by the shoulder, “She’s sleeping now. Just take her, and if anything happens I’ll be here. She’s your family.”

Ambrose roughly pulled himself out of his brother’s grasp, flinching away like a prey animal backing into a corner. From under the shroud of his hair, Alain could feel Ambrose’s eyes looking back at him.

“No. She’s your family, Alain, not mine,” he said, his voice acquiring a slight edge.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Alain replied, frowning.

“But it’s true,” Ambrose uncurled slightly and looked up at Alain. “You have your wife, and now you have your daughter. Why do you need me anymore?”

“Because you’re my brother, Ambrose,” Alain’s voice grew icier, though a look of horror had manifested in his eyes. “Now stop talking nonsense.”

“Isn’t that what madmen do, Alain? They talk nonsense?” Ambrose gave off a bitter laugh and glared at him. “You have the entire world at your feet-
”
“Ambrose-” Alain interjected but it was no good. Ambrose’s tone kept growing more and more strained and his words grew louder as he continued.

“You are everything I am never going to be-”

“Stop talking!” Alain shouted, just wanting his brother’s rant to end. The younger Stallion’s voice, however, only became more shrill and desperate.

“-and now you want to introduce me to your new family but you don’t even realise-”

There was a distressed whine from his arms before a startled shriek tore through the air, cutting Ambrose off as violently as a knife would have done. Alain’s head whipped down to Aveline, who had been sleeping peacefully just a few seconds ago but was now wide awake. Tears threatened to pour down her increasingly reddening cheeks and she wriggled in his grasp as she tried to press herself closer to her father.

“Oh Woo, Alain, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” Ambrose cried, clapping his hands over his mouth and moving away from the two, pressing himself against the head of his bed as though trying to fall right through it, away from them. “Please forgive me, Woo, forgive me, I didn’t mean to-”

Aveline’s crying grew more frantic. Alain’s heart beat faster in his chest in response to his daughter’s distress, forcing him to act in order to do something, anything to stop her crying.

“Quiet,” he hissed at Ambrose. His brother immediately bit his tongue and turned away, guilt spreading all across his face.

With Ambrose silenced, Alain stood up off his bed and cuddled his daughter closer. He stroked her head, murmuring comforting things in order to stop the crying that might as well have been shards of glass for how piercing and painful it was to him. Woo, he never thought a crying child would tug so much at him.

Thankfully, it did not take long before the little girl had been soothed by her father. She drew in a few small sobs before settling down against his chest, her breathing evening out into steady murmurs. Alain gave her a little smile as she closed her eyes, satisfied that his daughter had been calmed, before he looked back at his brother.

Ambrose had clasped his hands around his ears and pressed his knees to his chest, averting his face away from Alain. His shoulders shook slightly and as Aveline’s cries subsided, he hugged himself, trying to stop the shudders that ran through him.

Alain took a step closer. “Brother-”

“I’m sorry,” Ambrose murmured, his voice hitching with a barely repressed sob. “You should go now. Before I scare her more.”

“Ambrose-”

“Please, just go. I beg you,” he shook his head, not daring to turn and look Alain in the eye. “Leave me alo-”

He broke off and went completely stiff, cutting whatever more conversation that could have been had short. Alain stopped and turned away, knowing that there was no point anymore. The visions had stolen his brother away from him and who knew how long it would have been before they would give him back? It was safer to leave. Ambrose wanted him gone anyway.

With a heavy heart, he tightened his grip on Aveline and headed back towards the door. Taking one last look back at Ambrose, who was still tightly in the grip of whatever it was he was seeing, Alain exited the room. The door shut with a click of the latch behind him.

He should have known this was a bad idea. All he had wanted was to let Ambrose know about his daughter and her him see her, perhaps even to allow his brother to bond with his niece a little. Alain did not think that Ambrose would have been a danger to her, and even his waking of her had been an accident, but he should have realised how his brother would have felt about him having a daughter. The resentment that he should have anticipated bubbling over.

Alain did not need to have Ambrose finish what he was going to say before Aveline started crying; he knew exactly what his brother was going to say.

“I do realise, Ambrose,” he murmured, looking down at the child in his arms. “And I’m sorry you cannot share this with me.”

Even if Margot and the servants had protested, even if his parents had given up on his brother as a lost cause, Alain still wanted Ambrose as part of his family. But he could not do that if Ambrose himself did not want that.

He should have stopped that thing. That way he could have prevented his brother’s misery, given him a normal life with his own wife and children. But it was too late.

Aveline shifted in Alain’s arms and he cuddled her closer, making sure he would not lose his grip on him. He turned back down the corridor, heading towards the nursery again. It was high time he returned her from their illicit visit.

[Celestial]

The theme of the fic above is babies. The theme of the fic below is babies. All the babies. \o/ Also, so much pure fluff, to relieve all the sadness.

The title is a quote from this post that I've been wanting to use in connection with Stallionbros forever. <3

A Friend for the Rest of your Life

SPOILER: Click to show

Destrier, Bern, 1260

Destrier Castle was designed to keep the heat in during the frozen winter months, so the days of high summer often brought with them a particular stuffiness that settled in its stone rooms and long hallways. That was why the door and windows in Maura’s room had been partially opened, to let the air circulate. A cool breeze blew in from the northeast, skirting the city below and instead carrying in the clean atmosphere of the hills. She lay in bed under the covers, breathing in the fresh air as it flew into her room. It was one of the few things she had missed about her old life herding sheep, being out in the open wilds. But that was no longer a life she could sustain.

The baby inside her shifted, settling into a more comfortable position in the womb. Maura smiled and freed one hand from her knitting, putting over her swollen belly, stroking it with a gentle motion. At least she was sustaining this so far. Her first child had died so that she could live and her second two children had been too weak because of her own broken body. Despite the assurances of the physicians and midwives, there was no promise that this child would not follow his siblings to an early death. But nevertheless, Maura was far more hopeful now than she had been eighteen months ago. For one small reason.

There was a scuffle outside before she heard the slap of bare feet running unevenly against the corridor flagstones.

“Young laird, no-”

A small head decorated with fine strands of golden hair poked around the doorframe, looking around the room with a curious gaze. As soon as it alighted on Maura, the little toddler’s face was split by a huge smile and his blue eyes lit up as though the sun had come to rest on them. He tightened his grip on the little toy sheep in his hands, squeezing it against his chest.

“Mama!” he cried, running into the room as quickly as his little legs could carry him, just as an exasperated-looking nursemaid appeared in the door after him. She tried to scoop the little boy up in her arms, causing him to try and run faster towards his mother. However, he was still unsteady on his feet and as he picked up speed, he tripped and fell on the smooth floorboards, sending the sheep flying out of his hands.

Maura gasped and threw the blanket off herself as the toddler crashed into the floor and began to whimper, signalling that crying would soon follow. She moved herself off the bed as quickly as she could, which given the weight of her stomach was not as fast as she would have liked. Carefully, leaning on the bed for support, she lowered herself down on to her knees beside him, her heart leaping into her throat as she examined him. However, it appeared only his pride was injured.

“Don’t cry, Alain, you’ll be fine,” she murmured, putting her hands under his body as she attempted to lift him up. The boy glanced up at her and sniffled before pulling himself towards her on his hands and knees. Maura pulled him closer to her and as soon as he was in range, his little arms wrapped around her and he clung to her nightclothes like a limpet.

“I am so sorry, yer ladyship, ‘e wriggled out of my grasp as soon as ‘e saw the open door,” the nursemaid bowed, reaching for the toddler. She grasped him under the arms and tried to lift him up but Alain gave a loud whine and his grip on his mother tightened.

“No! No!” he shouted, trying to worm his way of out her grasp. Maura sighed and put her arms around him, giving the nursemaid an apologetic look.

“I don’t think he wants to leave, Marcie,” she replied, stroking the boy’s hair. Alain pouted at the nursemaid before turning back to his mother, burying his face into her clothes.

“Aye, so I see, yer ladyship,” Marcie sighed, “I’m sorry, ya need yer rest too.”

“He’s not going to interrupt it,” Maura smiled down at her son. “Do you promise to be good?” she asked him quietly. “If you’re good, you can stay with mama.”

The toddler blinked up at her with his big blue eyes and nodded, giving off snatches of babble to reinforce his point. Maura smiled and cuddled him before slowly prying his fingers off her. Alain whimpered and clung tighter, pressing himself against her belly and making his mother wince.

“No, off,” she told him firmly, taking his hands and pulling him off her. The toddler gave off a piercing whine, threatening her with impending tears.

Maura sighed and looked up at the nursemaid. “Marcie, could you pick him up and put him on the bed for me?”

The nursemaid nodded and once again put her hands under the little boy’s arms, lifting him up off his mother. Alain’s face twisted up into an exaggerated miserable expression and he squirmed in Marcie’s grasp.

“No! No! Mama!” he whined. Marcie sighed and put him down on the bed, unable to keep a grasp on the energetic boy. As soon as he had been deposited, he crawled to the edge of the bed as quickly as his little limbs could carry him, reaching out to his mother.

“No, back, young laird,” the nursemaid instructed him, pulling him away and forcing him into a sitting position. Alain tried to push himself to stand up but the soft surface gave him no stability and he toppled back down.

Maura, meanwhile, put her hand on the edge of the bed again, supporting her swollen stomach with the other. She tried to lift herself up using the bed as a crutch but her belly was like a lead weight holding her down. Nevertheless, she tried to push harder but as she did, the tight knot began to form in her lungs that signalled that she was pushing herself too far. She did not want to risk it, not with the baby so far along.

“Marcie, could you help me up?” she croaked, fumbling for the pouch at her neck just in case. The nursemaid obeyed, taking Maura’s right hand while putting an arm around her waist and carefully lifting her up on to the bed.

As soon as his mother had sat down beside him, Alain crawled over to her and gripped her arm, practically wrapping himself around it. A contented grin spread across his face. He got what he wanted. Maura smiled down at him and brought her other hand around to stroke his blonde hair.

“It’s fine, Marcie, you can leave us now,” she told the nursemaid hovering over them.

“Will ye be alright, yer ladyship?” Marcie asked, glancing between her and the toddler that was clinging to her arm.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll call if I need anything,” Maura replied, shifting herself slowly on to the bed along with Alain, who still held on to her as though his life depended on it. With one hand, however, she carefully took the knitting and needles she had left behind on the covers and put it in a drawer out of the sight of the toddler before he could investigate. You never could be too careful around Alain.

She glanced down at the plush sheep that had been abandoned on the floorboards. “Actually, Marcie?”

The nursemaid stopped and turned around, looking at Maura enquiringly.

“Could you get Bonny for him? I think he’ll want it as soon as he lets go of me,” she grinned.

Marcie nodded scooped the toy sheep the toddler had dropped off the floor, smacking it a few times to get the dust off. Maura stretched her hand out to the nursemaid and she placed the toy in her palm. Alain’s eyes lit up at the sight of Bonny and he unwrapped one of his arm from around Maura, reaching towards the plush toy with grasping fingers.

“Fine, fine, here,” Maura said with a smile, pushing Bonny into Alain’s hand. He grabbed it by one of its legs and pulled it to him, pressing it between himself and Maura in a desperate attempt to cling to both.

She smiled down at him and then turned back to the nursemaid with a nod. “You can go now. He’ll be fine with me.”

Marcie bowed to Maura and then turned around, walking out of the open door. Alain watched her leave, and as soon as she had disappeared out of view, he uncurled himself from Maura and grinned up at her.

“There, now nobody is taking you away, little foal,” she remarked, giving him a slightly scathing look before resting her hands on her belly. The baby beneath them shifted and Maura smiled at the feeling of the life growing inside her.

Her motion, however, did not escape her older child’s attention. Alain had crawled across the bed and was now staring curiously at her swollen stomach, still holding his toy by the leg. Maura watched him carefully as he examined her. They had not had many opportunities to see each other since she had been confined to her bed. It was no wonder he seemed so baffled by the change.

The boy crawled closer and put his hands on her belly, gripping at her nightclothes with his chubby fingers. Only when he lifted up his legs and began climbing up on to her did Maura realise what he was doing. Alain was one now and he had gained plenty of weight since he had been born, weight that was now spreading itself across her stomach.

“No,” she told him firmly, wincing at the pressure but the boy paid her no attention, too curious to climb up the mountain that his mother had become.

Without waiting for him to climb any further, Maura put her hands underneath his arms and dragged him off, immediately glad for the relief from the exploring child. “Dinnae do that,” she stated, switching to her rougher Bernian accent for emphasis. “Ye’ll hurt me.”

Alain gave a little whimper as he stated up at her, wide eyed, not fully realising what he had done. Maura sighed in response to his distressed cries and stroked his head, running her fingers through his thin, blonde hair.

“Mama has a baby inside her so it hurts if you climb on her,” she told him and picked up his free hand. “You have to be gentle.”

The toddler watched her carefully as she put the hand she had taken on her belly, resting her own hand opposite as an example. He turned back and looked intensely at the spot where she had placed his palm, trying to do it right so that his mother would not get angry at him.

The baby inside Maura gave a kick. Alain immediately tore his hand away with a surprised squeal and stared, wide eyed, at her belly. His mother gave off a soft laugh.

“That’s the baby moving around,” she explained.

The toddler tilted his head and hugged Bonny closer. “Ba-by?” he asked, rolling the syllables over his tongue.

Maura smiled and nodded, stroking her stomach some more. “Yes. A baby like you. You’re going to get a little brother or sister.”

Alain’s bright blue eyes widened to the size of saucers and he turned to stare at Maura’s belly. An enormous smile spread across his face.

“Ba-by pway?” he asked.

It took a moment for her to understand what he was asking but as soon as she did, Maura nodded again in response. “Yes, baby will play with you. But only when they’re older.”

Quietly, she prayed to the Woo that this was going to be so. Another healthy child like her son in front of her, for him to spend time with, would be the most wonderful thing. There was no guarantee that this child was going to live to get to the age when they and Alain could play together. But he had survived, even though his other siblings had died. Right now she was doing everything that she had done during her last pregnancy, and the physicians and midwives were hopeful for her. Perhaps Alain would get his playmate after all.

Out of the corner of her eye, Maura noticed the toddler pouting and clutching his plush toy closer. He looked at her belly and dug his fingers into the sheep’s off-white fluff. “Bonny mine,” he said with a finality that made his mother grin.

“Fine, Bonny will be yours,” she patted his head, admiring his attachment to that little sheep. There was no point arguing. Hopefully he would learn to share when the baby was born.

Alain smiled widely and clutched it to his chest. He shifted about on the bed but as he did, his mouth opened into a gaping yawn and his eyes fluttered as he tried to keep them open.

“Sleepy?” Maura asked him.

“No,” the toddler shook his head vigorously just before another yawn caught up with him.

His mother smiled. “You are, little foal.”

“No!” Alain rocked back and forth, shaking his head.

Maura’s smile grew wider and she slowly drew him into a hug. The toddler tried to struggle against her but the comforting presence of his mother was too much. He leaned his head on her chest, putting a hand on her belly again.

“Do you want a song?” she murmured, stroking his hair with one hand.

The toddler mumbled something in between another yawn. Maura took that as her cue to go ahead. She took a few deep breaths, gathering enough air to keep a song going, even if it had to be quiet. Her songs usually were, but it was sufficient to soothe an unruly child.

As she had predicted, Alain was asleep before she even got to the third verse, still resting one hand on her stomach with another around Bonny. Maura shifted him carefully to a more comfortable position for them both and put an arm around him to keep the boy cosy. With her other hand, she reached back into the drawer for her knitting.

For a while, the only sound in the room was the clicking of the needles until there was the sound of heavy footsteps outside. Maura looked up, a fond smile forming across her face as she recognised that gait. Sure enough, within a few moments, Lachlan had appeared at her door and walked into the room.

“How are you doi-”

“Shh,” Maura brought her finger up to her lips before pointing to the sleeping Alain, still cuddled up to her.

A smile crept across Lachlan’s face as he took in the sight of the boy, looking angelic beside his mother. He gave a small nod of understanding to Maura and his tread immediately became much lighter until he had come to stand by her bed.

“Are you feeling well?” he whispered, sitting down next to her.

“I am, Lachlan, don’t worry,” she replied, stretching one hand out to him. “Everything is fine so far.”

“Good,” the Grand Duke picked her hand up in his, running his thumb gently over her palm.

“Why shouldn’t I be fine? I have my little good luck charm,” Maura grinned down at the toddler next to her, giving him a little squeeze.

“You know there’s no such thing as good luck charms,” Lachlan sighed.

“I know,” she gave him a sideways look. “But can’t you let a silly peasant woman keep some of her superstitions, my lord?”

Lachlan’s stoic face was broken by a smile and a small laugh escaped from his mouth before he stopped himself, glancing at the sleeping boy. He leaned forward towards his wife, kissing her lips.

“No. You are the most intelligent peasant woman I know, Maura,” he told her, his voice overflowing with affection as he gazed into her eyes.

“Flatterer,” she replied in a sarcastic tone that hardly matched her gentle expression. Carefully, Maura removed Alain from her, leaving the boy lying on the bed. “Then if I don’t need a good luck charm, maybe you could take him back to his crib? I don’t think I’ll have the energy to keep up with him when he wakes up.”

“Of course,” Lachlan carefully reached over and scooped the toddler up from where he was lying, putting one hand under his head as a pillow while lifting his little body up with the other.

“Make sure he doesn’t drop his toy,” Maura reached out to help but he shook his head and she withdrew her arms.

“I won’t, Maura,” almost effortlessly, the tall Stallion lifted his son up, leaning him against his shoulder and checking that Bonny was still safely in Alain’s hand.

There was a soft moan from Alain as he wriggled in Lachlan’s grasp before opening his eyes.

“Papa?” he murmured, his voice still heavy with sleep.

“Yes, Alain, it’s me,” Lachlan smiled, balancing the toddler on his arms. The little boy yawned and leaned against him, reaching out and holding on to his father’s cloak with his free hand.

“He’s not going to let go of you now,” Maura chuckled softly.

Lachlan turned his head towards Alain. “Let go.”

“No,” the little boy said, tightening his grip. From the bed, Maura gave Lachlan a triumphant smirk.

“Too late. You have a hanger-on. I’m sorry, Lachlan,” she remarked and turned back to her knitting. “He’s going to want to stay with you now, even if you do take him back to Marcie.”

“I’ll manage, somehow,” the Grand Duke replied, his tone neutral.

Maura sighed and put her hand on her stomach again. “Let’s pray this one won’t be as clingy.”

***

Alain was sent out to the gardens to play under the supervision of his nursemaid on that hectic September day. The only thing the toddler thought about it was how best the mud from the recent rain could cover him. Afterwards, he barely noticed anything different. It was only when the door to the nursery opened sometime in early October that he got to learn what had happened.

Marcie had been spinning him around by the hands when she froze in place, noticing the visitor. The toddler giggled loudly as she played with him but as soon as she stopped, he blinked and tugged at her hands.

“Play mo’e Mawcie!” he cried, looking up at her.

The nursemaid smiled and shook her head. “No, young laird, not now.”

The toddler pouted, trying to shake the hand that he had been gripping. “No?”

She turned him around by the shoulders to face the door. Alain’s face broke out into a grin as he spotted the tall man with the deep blue eyes and the circlet on his head.

“Papa!” the boy shrieked, running as quickly towards his father as he could. Lachlan crossed the distance between them with a few easy, long strides, scooping up his son in his arms and bringing him up to his eye level as though he barely weighted anything.

“Hello, Alain,” he said, returning his son’s broad smile with a more subdued but equally warm one. “Do you want to go with papa?”

The toddler’s smile turned into a frown and he titled his head. “Go?”

“Yes, go with me. To see your mama,” Lachlan’s eyes acquired a fond look. “And your baby brother.”

“Mama! Go see mama!” Alain cried, completely ignoring his father’s second statement. The Grand Duke gave a soft sigh but nevertheless turned to go out of the room. The toddler, however, wriggled and wormed in his grasp.

“Bonny!” he reached over to the sheep that was lying neglected on a chair.

Lachlan stopped and turned, looking over at the nursemaid. She bowed her head and went over to where the toy was, picking it up and handing it back to Alain. He clung to it tightly, rubbing his face into the now even grubbier fluff of the plush sheep. However, before his father could even take a step, the toddler continued to wriggle in his grasp.

“What now?” his father asked, struggling to keep hold of him.

“Walk! Walk!”Alain cried. “Down!”

Carefully, Lachlan took the boy by the sides and put him down on the ground, taking the hand that was not holding Bonny. Alain grinned widely, letting his father take him and strolled out of the room along with him. Lachlan followed on, taking short, small steps in order to let his son keep up with him.

It took them a while to walk through the castle that way, the adult man matching the slow, unsure pace of the toddler who insisted on getting no help but still clung on to his hand. Finally, however, they arrived at a particular room into which Lachlan entered without knocking.

Maura looked up at them from her bed as they entered, in particular giving Alain a smile. She tightened her grip on the blanket-wrapped bundle, clutching it closer. The toddler broke out into a grin and let go of his father, running up to the edge of the bed and peering over it at his mother.

“Hi mama!” he cried.

“Shh,” she hissed at him before turning to Lachlan. “Took you two long enough. He’s fallen asleep.”

“Alain insisted on walking by himself,” he replied, coming up behind the little boy and gave his head a pat, leaning down to him.”Do you want to see your brother?”

“Bwuder?” Alain blinked as he rolled the word around his tongue and stared up at Maura. She nodded.

“Your baby brother, Ambrose,” she carefully shifted a fold of the blanket around the child in her arms.

The toddler tightened his grip on his toy and stared at this new person that had come into his life, his eyes wide as he processed the new information. Lachlan glanced down and lifted Alain up, depositing him on the bed by Maura.

He grinned and crawled over to where his mother was holding the baby, continuing to stare down at him. His eyes were closed, hiding their colour, and he dozed contentedly as his mother held him. On his head was a thin fuzz of golden hair and Alain removed a hand from Bonny, reaching out to touch it.

“It’s like your hair,” Maura commented with a smile. Alain laughed, patting his brother’s head.

“Play? Bwuder play?!” he cried, his hand moving up and down against Ambrose’s.

“Later, Alain. And careful, be more gentle!” Maura chided but the little toddler barely paid her more attention. He crawled on to her, closer to his little brother, and grabbed him by the shoulder, his fingers clawing into his brother’s arm.

“Play! Play!” he shouted, grinning widely, oblivious to anything he was doing wrong.

The baby gave off a whimper as the rough shaking woke him, followed by a loud scream as he awoke from his nap. Alain’s eyes widened and he snatched his hands away, only for Lachlan to grab him under the arms and lift him up, far from any further mischief. He gave a startled cry as he was lifted up, the sudden motion making him drop Bonny.

“Alain! No,” Maura cried at him, rocking Ambrose to soothe him.

“Sowwy! Sowwy mama!” Alain sobbed and wriggled in his father’s arms, trying to get back over to where his mother and brother were.

Thankfully, it did not take long before the baby had quietened down. He settled in his mother’s arms, wide awake but peaceful.

“Are you going to behave?” his father asked Alain sharply. The boy nodded and Lachlan put him down beside Maura and the baby again. As soon as his feet hit the sheets, he crawled over to grab the dropped toy before moving over to sit beside Maura and Ambrose again. His mother watched the boy warily, looking for any sign of trouble, but Alain was careful this time.

“Bwuder want Bonny?” he murmured, holding the little sheep out towards Ambrose as a peace offering. The baby did not react but that did not discourage Alain. Carefully, he crept forward and put the plush toy near his brother.

Maura smiled warmly and picked it up, carefully bringing the toy closer to Ambrose. He blinked and reached out towards the plush sheep, pulling it closer to him and wrapping his arms around it.

Alain grinned widely and shuffled over on his knees, reaching out again to stroke his little brother’s hair. This time, however, he was careful, not wanting to startle his brother again.

“Bwuder like Bonny?” he asked quietly.

“I think he does, Alain,” Maura leaned down and kissed his head. “Well done.”

“Are you going to be a good big brother?” Lachlan asked, sitting down on the other side of the bed from Maura and looking over his boys.

Alain froze in place and stared up at his father before giving a vigorous nod.

“Good big bwuder,” he said, smiling widely. “Bwuder play?”

“When he’s older,” Lachlan told him, putting one hand around Maura’s shoulder and looking lovingly over his now two sons. He picked Alain up and placed him on his lap, holding the boy in case he decided to cause further mischief. “Let him sleep for now.”

Alain nodded again and leaned against his father, watching Ambrose with eagle eyes as his little brother clutched his toy close and once again began to doze.

[Celestial]

I am on a little kid kick, yes. And it's not *gasp* little Stallionbros! But this will later have a point. Margot-fics have a habit of...expanding out into multiple parts. This is another three parter, stay tuned.

By the Sea

SPOILER: Click to show

The great castle of Websteros stood tall on the shores of the Stormwatch Sea, its walls blending with the rough grey stone of the cliffs that jutted out of the waves. Their sheer surface had been scoured clean of any handholds by the salty waters, making the place almost impregnable by sea. Only looking closer, from a certain angle, was it possible to see something out that looked like steps carved into the rock. They wound down to a small scrap of sand, trapped by the rocks that radiated out from the land only to sink down under the silvery surface.

For most of the year, this tiny private beach was inaccessible due to the wind that assaulted the coast and the cold that settled across the entire north. But in the summer, when the winds were calm and the sun warmed the sea through, the castle’s inhabitants crawled down the stone steps and stretched out their limbs by the shore below the castle.

It was on one such a day that two children and their minder crept through the small doorway in the walls and down the steps, heading towards the beach. The sun shone brightly down on Websteros, making the water shimmer like the scales of an enchanted fish. Above them, seagulls called out screechy words in their indecipherable tongue as they soared against a backdrop of blue and white. One of the children, a sandy-haired boy no older than twelve, was practically bouncing on his toes, grinning widely as his nimble feet found their way down the cliff. A little girl followed gingerly behind him, taking each dainty little step as though the stone below her could collapse at any minute. In her hands he clutched a doll almost as delicate as she was. Trailing behind them was one of the castle servants, who kept one hand on the girl’s shoulder but her eyes were firmly focused on the boy.

“Come on, little sis!” he yelled once he realised he had gotten far ahead of the other two members of the party. “Don’t be shy!”

“But what if I fall?” the girl cried.

“You won’t! The Narrow Stairs are completely safe!” he turned around and jumped, landing perfectly on his two feet on the flight between the sets of steps.

“But Llyr,” she glanced back at the castle. “Isn’t anybody else coming? Webster or-”

“Nah, they won’t. Webster is busy with his lord duties,” the boy wrinkled his nose. “And the others aren’t interested in going down to the beach today. Now come on, Margot, or we won’t have any time to spend here before it gets dark!”

She gave off a little whimper, making the servant trailing behind her sigh.

“Don’t pay your brother any attention,” the older servant woman told her. “You can go as slowly or as quickly as you want, your ladyship.”

Margot nodded and grasped the hand that the older woman placed on her shoulders, continuing to walk down.

Llyr reached the beach just as she reached the halfway point, avoiding the last few steps by turning towards the sea and leaping down the cliff face. He grinned as his feet impacted with the sand, sending a spray of it in all directions.

“There, made it,” he lifted his head up and stretched a hand out to Margot. “Hurry up, little sis!”

“I’m coming,” she called back and let go of the servant, lifting up her dress and holding the doll with one hand as she tried to match her brother’s previously fast pace. Llyr watched her patiently at first but soon grew tired of waiting for his sister. The waves beckoned to him and he ran towards them, stopping only to tug off his shoes and pull up his trousers to prevent them from getting soaked in the water. As soon as he had stepped in, the cold that the Stormwatch Sea kept inside it, even in summer, permeated his skin and made him shiver.

“It’s freezing!” he cried, grinning as he stepped further in. “It feels great!”

Meanwhile, Margot had at last managed to get down on to the beach as well. She clutched the doll she carried around with her even tighter as she watched her brother flirt with the sea.

“It doesn’t sound great, if it’s cold,” she murmured and headed closer to where he was.

Llyr smiled widely as he saw Margot approaching along with their minder. The servant woman, however, sat down on a rock a short distance away from where the sea met the beach, watching Llyr splash about. Margot stopped when she sat down and turned to look at her, blinking as if waiting for further instructions.

“It’s alright, Lady Margot, you can go closer,” the woman smiled at her, gently pushing her forward.

“I don’t want to go in the sea,” Margot said quietly.

“You don’t have to, just because your brother wants to,” she laughed softly. “But you don’t have to stick so close to me.”

The little girl turned around, watching Llyr as he held on to his trousers to keep the water from seeping into them. She carefully took a few steps closer, though she kept out of reach of the waves as they lapped back and forth gently against the shore. Her eyes turned towards the horizon as though searching for a distant ship somewhere.

She took a breath of the fresh air, though living so close to the shore, she barely felt the salt in it. As much as she liked her family and her other brothers, this was still nice, to have a moment of time in relative peace.

Her thoughts were interrupted as cold water splashed against her dress, a few droplets landing on her face. Margot gave off a squeak of surprise and shook herself off. She lifted up her doll to examine it and cried out in distress when she saw that water had landed on her dress too.

There was a raucous laughter from Llyr near her. While she had drifted off, he had snuck closer and thrown some of the sea water on to her.

“Llyr, why?” she whimpered, brushing the water off herself and off her toy.

“If you’re not going into the water, little sis, the water has to come to you,” he smiled. “It’s fun, you should try it. You can swim as well, so there’s nothing to be afraid of”

“I don’t really want to,” Margot clutched the doll tighter for comfort and looked up at her brother.

“You do sometimes,” he frowned. “Then why did you come down to the beach if not to swim?”

“I...I just like being here,” she murmured. “I like listening to the waves and watching the sea.”

“That’s dull,” Llyr stuck out his tongue. “The sea is fun. You can swim and dig your toes into the sand and find little animals and all sorts of things. I can even teach you a game or we can see who can hold their breath the longest. One of the servant boys showed it to me.”

Margot quietly bowed her head and looked down at the sand, sketching a formless design into it with her toe. Though no answer came from her, Llyr could tell just by looking that she was not interested in any of those things. He sighed. His little sister was never very good at expressing her opinions, nor did she enjoy the games that he tended to like.

The boy waded out of the sea, the sand of the beach mixing in with the water dripping off his legs to stick to his skin wherever he touched it. Nevertheless, Llyr ignored it as he approached the girl. He did not mind the sand clinging to him; he could always wash it off in the sea later.

“Okay then, little sis, what do you want to do?” he asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.

She glanced up at him shyly before looking around at the beach around him. “Could we just...sit together, Llyr?”

He grinned and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Sure, anything you want, little sis,” he turned his head, scouting the beach around him. “I know a nice place on the rocks? It requires some climbing but I’ll help you up. You’ll get a nice view that way.”

Margot smiled, looking up at him with her dark blue eyes and holding her doll. “Will there be space for Rillie too?”

“Of course, come on,” Llyr unwrapped one of her hands and took it, practically dragging Margot behind him. She stumbled slightly as she lost her footing in the shifting sand but quickly managed to regain it and followed her brother towards the rocks.

“Where are you two going?” the servant woman stood up as she watched the two.

Llyr stopped and turned back to her, looking as innocent as possible. He pointed over to the far side of the beach. “I’m just taking Margot over to sit on the rocks over there, Tasha. We won’t go far.”

She glanced over at Margot. “Will you be alright with that?”

The little girl nodded. “I will. Llyr will help me.”

Tasha nodded, leaning back to sit down in her space. The boy, however, did not even wait for her to get off her feet before he dashed off on his original trajectory, towards the rocky ridges jutting out into the sea.

Llyr clambered up on to it as soon as they reached it, holding his hand out for Margot and helping her up. Her feet with their soft-soled shoes struggled to find purchase on the smooth stone, especially as she held on to her doll, but the rock was not too steep and she soon managed to clamber up to the top. The wind pulled at her dress and she had to use Rillie to press it down.

He waited until he was sure she had a secure footing and had wrestled her dress under control before Llyr guided her slowly over the rocks further along. The tide had flowed in, covering up most of the seaweed that clung to it, leaving only smooth waves to cover most of the outcropping, but he took her out over the few which were permanently exposed. There, he found the flat spot that he remembered looked out over the sea and dusted the stray particles of sand off it.

“There, what do you think?” Llyr gestured to the stone seat as though it was a throne. Margot carefully tip-toed over to it and lowered herself down on to her knees. Only then did she let go of his hand and put her doll down beside her, positioning her so that she too was looking out over the water.

“I like it. It’s nice,” she murmured and smiled at her older brother. “Thank you, Llyr.”

“Anything for you, little sis,” Llyr perched down beside her, letting his feet swing over the edge, dipping his toes into the rogue waves that rose high enough up lap at them. He glanced over at her and brushed aside a lock of her sandy hair that had been tousled out by the breeze. “Careful, or it will fly away.”

Realising that it had come loose, she squeaked and grabbed the few hairs that were still fluttering in front of her. Margot attempted to brush them futilely back behind her ears but it fluttered back with each gust. Nevertheless, she kept trying, growing more and more flustered as the wind kept teasing it out.

“Don’t bother. Ask Tasha to fix it for you later,” Llyr sighed and shook his head.

She stopped struggling with her hair and gave him a nod before looking back out over the waves. For a while, the only sound around them was the lapping of the waves and the shrieks of the seagulls. Occasionally, the girl reached over to her doll, frightened that it would fall off the rocks, while the boy kicked at the waters below them as if trying to stir up their tops into the foamy crests that the wind sometimes created.

“...Llyr, can I ask something?” Margot murmured.

“What?” Llyr leaned back towards her.

The little girl turned back to him, looking at her brother with curious eyes. “Is there anything beyond the sea?”

“Hmm...” he frowned, lying back on the rock and watching the sky above them. “I know there are other kingdoms, like Dormor. You can see that on a map.”

“What is it like?” Margot continued to gaze at him.

“It’s several islands, and it has a king and lords, like we do, but dad says they also keep slaves, like Courdon,” Llyr wrinkled his nose. “They also don’t worship the Woo but they have lots of gods. But apparently it’s really pretty too. Lots of columns and marble.”

The girl’s eyes had widened to the size of saucers. She stopped playing with her doll as she listened to her brother talking. “...Wow. That sounds amazing.” Margot murmured, even though Llyr had not told her much. Her imagination had already run away with it. “Do you think...there are mermaids?”

“Yep,” Llyr nodded.

Her jaw dropped open. “And...and unicorns?”

“Of course!” the boy grinned at his sister’s growing wonderment. He spread out his arms. “There’s all sorts of things! Like sea monsters and giants and...and pirates!”

Margot seemed to shrink a little. She drew Rillie closer to her. “Those sound scary.”

“I bet they are but I don’t care,” Llyr grinned. “I want to see them someday. The world is huge, little sis, and I want to see it all, even the scary parts! Especially the scary parts!”

Margot stared at her brother, mouth open, but she smiled. “You’re so brave, Llyr.”

“Brave?” he stuck his tongue out at her. “Dad and Webster say I’m stupid.”

She shook her head. “I think you’re brave.”

“And you’re sweet, little sis,” Llyr patted her on the back before smiling back at her. “You should come with me.”

“Where?” Margot asked, staring up at him.

“Beyond the sea. You can see everything with me,” he looked out across the horizon with her. “Dormor, mermaids, unicorns, whatever you want.”

Margot remained silent, bowing her head and drawing her doll closer to her, hugging her tightly. “But I want to stay here. With mummy and daddy.”

Llyr laughed. “You don’t have to go now, Margot. You can go when you’re older.”

She pondered this. “But when I’m older...won’t I need to do things? Mummy says I need to learn to be a proper lady like her, and mummy doesn’t go out to sea.”

“Do you want to me like mummy?” her brother asked her, tilting his head.

“I do,” Margot nodded.

“You’re boring, little sis,” the boy laughed and grinned at her, shoving her affectionately by the shoulder.

She cuddled Rillie close, shuffling one of her feet against the rock. “I’m sorry, Llyr.”

“Nah, I’m joking. It’s fine,” he gave her shoulder a squeeze. “As long as you’re happy, Margot, that’s all that matters.”

Margot smiled widely at him and edged closer, putting her arms and the arms of her doll around her brother, hugging them both.

“Thank you, Llyr,” she murmured.

Her brother grinned and put his own arm around her. “That’s what big brothers are for, little sis.”

[Celestial]

Second part of the three-parter. More exploration of the relationship between Llyr and Margot. \o/ Alternate title for this was "Mare Liberum and Mare Clausum" buuut I figured maybe I should get a title which does not require extensive knowledge of legal Latin maritime terms. xD

Another tag for Kristykimmy because I wrote little-Aveline again. ^^ Please, please poke me if you mind.

The Land and the Sea

SPOILER: Click to show

Destrier, Bern, July 1279

The Mistral shuddered to a halt as it came to rest by the pier on the bank of the Ursine River. Dockworkers shouted to the crew to throw down the mooring ropes, which the sailors on board were more than happy to do. As they scrambled to tie it down, the men on the ship began to lower the gangplank, but one of them, a sandy blond-haired young man dressed in finer clothes than the rest, instead of waiting grabbed the rail of the deck and swung himself over it on to the dock. He landed on his feet, bending his knees to absorb the force of the impact like a spring before straightening up.

The same scent of the river still hung over the docks, swarming with merchants as they had last year. Different ships were tied to the docks, and while he did not recognise the men who were now mooring up the Mistral as the same ones who had taken care of the Brachyura ship, there was no doubt they followed the same procedures. Life had continued on as it always had since the day of Margot’s wedding. And yet, Llyr still felt like he was seeing it all over again.

“All good, captain?” one of the men on the ship called down to him, He was less richly clothed than the young man but nevertheless neater than the other sailors

“Yes, Davis,” Llyr shouted back up, lifting up his hand to indicate an all clear. “I’ll register her with the harbourmaster. You start getting her all stocked and if that’s done before I return, tell the crew they’re on shore leave for today. But we sail in the morning for the Courdonian coast so make sure they don’t get too cosy.”

“Aye, captain,” the first mate saluted him. “Will you be staying at the castle?”

“No. I just wanted to visit, I don’t want to stay there longer than it takes,” there was a slight edge to Llyr’s voice before he smiled and glanced up at his crew. “So you better not be slacking.”

“I’ll make sure they don’t, captain,” the other man grinned back. “You give your sister my regards.”

“I will,” Llyr turned around and started walking away from the docks towards where he remembered the harbourmaster kept his office. Once the Mistral was safely logged with him, the Brachyuran headed south, winding through the city streets until he reached the High Street. From there, it was simply a matter of going uphill until the great dark stone building that was Destrier Castle.

As usual for this time of day, the great wood and iron gates that stood embedded into the outer walls were open, and Llyr made a beeline for them. But no sooner had he taken a step into the archway that he was stopped by a round-faced young guard in a maroon and grey uniform.

“Halt. State your business in the castle,” he asked, a hand hovering over the hilt of his sword.

Llyr stopped in his tracks and looked the guard in the eye. “I’m Llyr Brachyura, Lady Margot’s brother. I’ve come to see my sister,” he flipped a lock of hair out of his eyes and put a hand on his hip. “Is that such a crime?”

“We were told you were coming,” The other man frowned, looking sceptical. “But anybody can come up here and claim that they are Lord Brachyura. Do you have proof?”

He smiled with the air of a satisfied cat that had just seen its owner leave a whole fish unattended and reached into the inside of his jerkin. From a hidden pocket he produced a leather folio, undoing the clasp on it and withdrawing the parchment that was neatly folded inside. Carefully, Llyr opened it up, his eyes lingering fondly over the words written on it, and especially the seal that had been affixed next to the signature of the royal admiral of Kyth. It was amazing how one single piece of paper could change so much. Without it, what he did would be a crime.

“I assume you can read?” he held the letter out in front of the guard’s face, letting him clearly see everything that was written. “If not, the seal should be enough proof that even if I’m not who I say I am, I’m not just some common vagrant trying to sneak in.”

The other man regarded it, glancing over the text of the letter, then down to the seal and then finally back at Llyr’s face. He gave the nobleman a bow and turned towards the guardhouse.

“Wait here, please. I shall ask for a message to be sent to Lady Margot to tell her you’ve arrived,” he told him and, with a nod from Llyr, paced over to a small door set into the interior wall. He entered inside and after a short while, a servant came out of it, heading towards the main castle. Within a minute after that, the guard re-emerged, followed by another. His cloak and the finer make of his gambeson suggested a higher rank than the guard who met Llyr.

While the previous man took up his position by the castle gate, this new one smiled at him and gestured with his hand towards the courtyard. “Shall I escort you to the castle, Lord Brachyura?”

“Fine,” Llyr smirked. It was best to accept this common courtesy. Failing to do so often aroused suspicion.

The man turned and headed up ahead of him and the Brachyuran followed. They walked out of the arch of the gate and past the guardhouses, into the main courtyard that was buzzing with the activity that accompanied daily life in the castle. Horses were being led back to the stables, servants dashed to and fro on various errands and the knights milled around by the barracks, freed from their morning training and seeming to have a short bit of time to relax before the work of the afternoon consumed them.

Really, the only thing that was different this time was that there was nobody to greet them by the steps of the main keep. Of course, the messenger would not have gotten to Margot yet. Llyr would just have to be patient.

His escort climbed the steps up ahead and pushed open the double doors of the keep, holding it open for the nobleman. Llyr walked inside, glancing around the main entrance hall that greeted him. Stone columns rose up to support the enormous ceiling like giants holding up the sky, whilst armour and tapestries stood side by side to decorate the walls. He noticed a few new pieces he did not recognise hanging amidst the old as if hiding, trying to pretend they were always there. But they could not hide from his keen eyes.

Briefly, he hoped he would not have to encounter any of the other castle inhabitants before Margot. He would not know what to say to Grand Duke Lachlan or his wife aside from polite small talk, and whilst he knew exactly what he would want to say to Alain Stallion, it was probably best he did not.

Perhaps things had improved. Perhaps she had gotten over her infatuation, or somehow Alain had found it somewhere in him to at least treat her well enough not to upset her. However, Llyr knew both notions were ridiculous. He knew his sister too well to know that it would not be so easy of her to let go of her love, and if his judgement of the Stallion heir had been correct, that man’s heart was far too frozen to ever feel anything. There was the child, of course, and they would have been born by now, but he could not imagine them changing anything. After all, nothing had changed. Why should this have done?

The sound of a door opening forced him to look up, immediately catching the swirl of a skirt, crimson in colour but accented with the teal of Brachyura. Margot softly closed the door behind her before looking up. Her eyes lit up as soon as they landed on her brother.

“Llyr!” she cried, hitching up her dress and running towards him as fast as she could manage. He grinned widely and threw open his arms, wrapping them around her as soon a she got close.

“Hello little sis!” he laughed, smiling down as he examined her. “You’re looking well.”

“Thank you. I hope you’re well too,” Margot replied before clearing her throat and pulling herself out of his hug, taking his hand. “I’m glad you could come and visit. I have so much to tell you, and to show you.”

“I have something to show you too,” Llyr gave her hand a squeeze. “But it can wait. What is it that you have for me?”

His sister’s eyes twinkled. “Do you want to meet your niece?”

“Niece?” Llyr tilted his head. “You had a daughter then?”

“Yes. She was born in April,” Margot frowned slightly. “I had a messenger send you a letter about it; surely it would have gotten to you?”

Llyr glanced away, swallowing his guilt. “I’m sorry, Margot. I’ve been...busy, this past year.”

“I thought this was why you came to see me,” his sister’s voice hitched slightly.

He sighed deeply, feeling his heart grow heavier. However, he shook his head, trying to dismiss the thought, and grinned up at Margot. “I’m here now and I can meet her. Come on, show me. I would love to see her, and to hear about her. What is she like? What is her name?”

“It’s Aveline,” a smile appeared on her face again and she began moving in the direction of the door. “She’s a wonderful girl. She’s still quite young, so she mostly eats and sleeps, but she’s been good. Very healthy too so far, thankfully.”

“Good. May she stay that way,” Llyr told her as they exited the room and made their way up the stairs. “And it’s nice to see you so happy too, little sis.”

Margot lowered her eyes and her joyful expression seemed to fade but she still continued to smile at her brother. “I’m happy as long as I have my baby, Llyr.”

His eyes narrowed as the sudden darkening of her mood but he decided not to comment on it. At least she was genuinely happy with Aveline, far happier than she had been when they left her behind here after her wedding. As long as she had something to live for besides her futile love, that was good. But Llyr could tell by her words and her body language that the child was the only thing that did make her truly happy. Beneath that joy flowed undercurrents of the same misery that she had developed a year ago.

His thoughts were interrupted as his sister came to a door and pushed it open. A nursemaid looked up from where she was gently rocking a crib, smiling and bowing her head when she recognised Margot.

“Yer ladyship,” she said in greeting all the while glancing suspiciously behind the noblewoman at the strange man who had entered the nursery with her.

“My brother, Llyr. Llyr, this is Frieda, Aveline’s nursemaid,” Margot said, gesturing between them.

Frieda stood up and bowed. “Pleased tae meet ya, Lord Brachyura.”

“Likewise,” Llyr gave her a polite nod. Lord Brachyura. That form of address seemed so wrong now. However, he did not want to correct the woman, not yet. It was best he break the news to Margot when they were alone.

“Frieda, I can watch Aveline for now. I’d like to show her to my brother,” his sister said, going up to the crib.

The servant woman nodded. “Of course, Lady Margot,” she began moving towards the door. “Ya call me if ya need me.”

“Thank you,” she replied before turning back to where her daughter lay. Gazing at her fondly, she lifted the baby up into her arms, allowing the girl to settle. Once Aveline was calm, Margot sat down in the chair that Frieda occupied before, sitting the girl up and leaning her against her chest so that her brother could see her face better.

Llyr, meanwhile, pulled a chair from another corner of the room and aligned it with the seat facing away from Margot. He sat down in it, resting his arms on the wooden back, gazing at his sister and niece.

“Aveline, look, this is your uncle Llyr,” Margot murmured to the girl, trying to direct her attention to him.

He gave her an awkward smile and a wave. “Hello Aveline. It’s nice to finally get to meet you.”

The baby blinked, regarding him with wide-eyed confusion, not sure what to think about this strange man.

Her mother smiled. “If you turn your chair around, Llyr, would you like to hold her?”

He nodded and, with a scrape of wood against the polished floorboards, rotated his chair around and sat down properly in it, holding out his arms as if to receive a present. Margot smiled and stood up, walking over to him and placing the infant gently into them.

“Her neck is strong enough to support her by now, but you should still hold up her head,” she told him, positioning his arms around Aveline for the best hold. It took a short while before she was fully satisfied and then let go, allowing Llyr to hold the girl fully.

It was strange, holding this delicate but heavy thing in his arms, and the grip itself felt uncomfortable to Llyr, but he managed to ignore it enough to try to better examine his niece. She squirmed slightly and lifted her head up, giving him a good look at her face. Aveline’s blonde hair and blue eyes were unsurprising, considering her parentage, but what intrigued him were her features. At first glance, he could easily see her resemblance to Margot. Yet there were others scattered here and there, small things which nevertheless brought to mind her other parent.

There was no doubt that this was Alain Stallion’s daughter.

“Margot?” Llyr asked, his tone quiet and edged.

“Hmm?” she leaned closer to hear what he had to say.

“Tell me,” he turned his eyes to look at her. “Her father...does he treat her as coldly as he treats you?”

“He...” Margot sighed deeply. “No. He’s-”

The latch of the door clicked as it swung open. Llyr turned his head towards the door and immediately, his eyes narrowed. Speak of the ‘Pit.

“I’m not interrupting, am I?” came Alain’s smooth, calm tone as he strode into the room.

Llyr looked directly up at the Stallion, feeling the sweep of his eyes pass over him and rest on the baby in his arms. Even though he was not particularly comfortable with holding Aveline, he nevertheless felt an odd thrill at being seen by Alain holding his child. He wanted him to see, and if possible, get angry.

To his disappointment, however, all the Duke did was give him that small, smug smile of his before turning to Margot.

“If this is a bad time, I can always come back later,” he said to her.

She swallowed. “Well, n-”

“It is a bad time so maybe yes, you should,” Llyr blurted out, staring right at Alain.

“I only came in to see my daughter, since I have time now to do so,” the Stallion replied, still remaining perfectly serene.

“Can’t imagine why you’d want to do that,” the Brachyuran growled.

“Because she’s my daughter,” Alain stated before turning his head slightly to look down at Margot. “But if this is inconvenient, I can always just take her with me and return her later.”

“How kind of you, to care about her enough to want to spend time with her,” Llyr glared right up at him. “Nice to know you have at least some decency in your icy heart to-”

“Llyr, stop, please!” Margot cried out, clenching her fists before looking up at her husband. “Of course you can take her. She’s your child; you’re allowed to do whatever you want with her.”

“Thank you,” Alain replied and stepped towards Llyr, who was still holding Aveline. He held out his arms. “So, may I take her then?” he smirked and lowered his voice, “Captain?”

Llyr’s eyes bulged at the last word. How could he know? There was no way for him to see the letter in his pocket, nor could the guards have told him anything. Why should they have done? And Woo, he had wanted to spring the news on Margot by himself. The Brachyuran glanced over to her, trying to gauge her reaction, but he barely had time to do that before he felt Alain lifting Aveline out of his arms.

Reluctantly, he lowered them, allowing the Stallion to take his daughter. Unlike Llyr’s clumsy hold, Alain lifted her up with a practiced motion, letting her lean against him. The baby lifted her head up towards him, reaching out to her father with her chubby arms, and for a moment, his eyes softened from their harsh gaze into something far more tender. But that look only lasted a moment before the Stallion lifted up his head towards his wife. He gave her the barest nod of acknowledgment then spared Llyr only a brief glance before turning and leaving.

Margot’s eyes did not tear away from Alain until the door had closed behind him, sadness and longing reflecting in them in equal measure. Llyr’s scowl returned as he watched his sister’s expression. Even though she had given him a child, her relationship with Alain Stallion had not changed at all.

“You shouldn’t have to put up with that,” he hissed, leaning back in his chair and lowering his arms now that he did not have to hold the baby.

His sister sighed deeply, folding her hands in her lap. “I can’t blame him if he doesn’t return my feelings, Llyr.”

“Not returning feelings is one thing, but you’re his wife and he knows exactly how you feel, yet he still treats you so coldly,” he clenched his fists. “You deserve so much better, Margot.”

“I have what I have. That’s not going to change,” she sighed.

Llyr gritted his teeth, looking away from her in order not to see the painful expression on her face. The ‘Pit take that stupid alliance. He did not care about the politics behind it; those were always Webster’s concerns. If only he could free Margot, take her away from all this, beyond the sea with him, but even Llyr realised that was impossible. She was stuck here, alone and unloved.

A wicked thought entered into his head and he turned back to his sister.

“Cheat on him,” Llyr hissed.

Margot stared at him. “What?”

“You heard me. You should cheat on him,” her brother smiled fiendishly.

“I...” Margot closed her eyes as though blinking back tears. “I can’t.”

“Of course you can, it’s easy,” Llyr leaned forward, his smile growing wider. “Show him the consequences of treating you so badly. Even if he doesn’t feel anything for you, he can’t ignore the loss of honour,” he folded his arms. “You’re beautiful, Margot, I’m sure there’s somebody in this castle who woul-”

“No!” she cried, burying her face in her hands. “No, Llyr...”

“Why not?” he frowned, leaning forward to her.

“It won’t solve anything. It will just make it worse,” Margot murmured, “The alliance will be broken, I’ll be punished, and there’s Aveline...”

“Not if you don’t get caught,” Llyr remarked. His smile disappeared as he noticed Margot’s distress and he reached out, putting one hand on her shoulder. “And this way, you’ll get somebody who loves you. You deserve that.”

Margot looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears. “I don’t want just somebody to love me, I want him to love me.”

He stared at her, dumbstruck by her words. Slowly, Llyr put his other hand on her shoulder and sighed deeply.

“Woo, little sis, what do you see in him that makes him worth sacrificing yourself for?” he asked quietly.

“I love him. I can’t help but love him,” she gave a deep sigh, wiping her tears. “Besides, I’m his wife. I want to be a good wife and a good mother for his children. What else am I supposed to do?”

Llyr removed his hands from her shoulders and put a hand to his temple. He scowled again. “It’s not fair. You shouldn’t be trapped like this.”

“It’s fine, Llyr,” Margot shook her head and smiled weakly at him. “This is what I expected my life to be.”

“It doesn’t make it right. I want you to be happy,” her brother said.

“I’ll...I’ll be fine,” she reached out to take his hand. “And please, don’t hate Alain.”

Llyr turned away from her. “You can’t help but love him, so I can’t help but hate him.”

Margot winced. Silence settled over the two Brachyuran siblings before she spoke again. “He...he called you ‘Captain’. What did he mean?”

Llyr gritted his teeth. So she had heard Alain Stallion’s strange remark. This was the reason he had come to see her, to tell her about his new vocation. Even though he knew Margot would not take it well, he did not want to leave without telling her. Llyr had hoped to break the news to her gently. But there was no hiding it now.

He reached into his jerkin and took out the leather folio. Resting on his knees, he opened it up and took out the parchment inside, handing it to Margot.

His sister silently took it and held it between her fingers, reading the whorled handwriting that covered it. A frown crossed her face as she got further and further into the letter.

“Llyr, what is this?” she asked, lowering the parchment on to her lap.

“That, little sis, is what I have been so busy trying to acquire this past year,” Llyr replied, his voice quiet as though he was a small child apologising for a transgression. “It’s a letter of marque. I am now an official, licensed privateer in the king’s navy.”

Margot gasped and stared at him. Llyr averted his gaze. Of course she understood exactly what that meant. There was not a single Albion native who did not understand what that meant.

“Why, Llyr?” she asked, looking down at the letter again with horrified eyes. “Why do something like this?”

He snorted. “You know me, little sis; I love adventures. This is a pretty good way for me to have a few.”

“I know...but this is so dangerous, Llyr. What if something happens to you?” Margot swallowed nervously.

“Whatever happens, happens,” he shrugged and gave her a smile. “At least this way I’ll be free. I’ll see the world, I’ll get to experience the wild sea. I’ll live like I want to.”

“...yes, you will...” she murmured and shivered. Llyr sighed. She was still not convinced.

He carefully removed one of her hands from the letter, holding it. “You know me, little sis, I’m not suited for the kind of life typical noblemen lead. I don’t want to get married or have a family or further some political goals. You might be able to stand it but I can’t.”

“No, Llyr, I know you hate it,” Margot lowered her head. “But I’m still so scared for you. You’re strong, maybe nobody can beat you in a fight, but the sea-”

“I grew up on the shores of the Stormwatch with you, Margot, I know what the sea is like,” he gave her hand a squeeze. “But this is my life and my choice. However long I have, I want to live it to the fullest.”

Llyr gave off a weak laugh. “And I can’t renege on this anyway. I have a ship and a crew waiting for me to set sail tomorrow.”

“You won’t stay?” she looked up at him.

“I’m afraid not,” he shook his head. “But I wanted to come see you before I left into the blue. I knew you wouldn’t like it, but I wanted you to know.”

“...what is your ship called?” Margot asked quietly.

Llyr smiled. “Mistral.It took a lot of thought but I eventually settled on that name. Fast and free, like the wind.”

She nodded. “It is a good name.”

“Glad you think so,” he squeezed her hand again.

She lowered her eyes. “Be careful, Llyr,” Margot returned the squeeze of the hand he had given her. “Please, be careful.”

“I will be, I promise. I’ll come visit too, as often as I can,” he grinned. “And you pray for me while I’m out there?”

“Of course. Anything to keep you safe,” she smiled back at him. “Go see all the things you’ve always wanted to see, Llyr. Even if I’m scared, you’re not. This is the life that suits you best.”

“Oh Woo, it is,” Llyr laughed, glad that Margot had come around to this. “And you...take care of yourself. And your daughter.”

“I will,” she handed the letter back to him. Llyr took it, putting it back into its protective shell before stuffing the leather folio back into his pocket. He then put his hands on his knees and pushed himself up off the chair.

“Are you leaving now?” Margot asked, looking up at him.

“I am. I need to get ready to sail tomorrow,” he told her.

“You won’t even come by for dinner?”

He snorted. “Dinner with the Stallions, I’d rather avoid the awkwardness. I hope you understand.”

She sighed deeply but nodded. Relieved, Llyr threw his arms around her, hugging her tightly.

“I’ll be thinking about you, little sis,” he said.

“And I’ll be thinking of you, Llyr,” Margot hugged him back. “Stay safe. Please.”

“I will do my best.”

[Celestial]

And the last of the Llyr-fics, and the one that was actually supposed to be written instead of the previous two. :3

The Sea Takes Its Own

SPOILER: Click to show

Destrier, Bern, 1303

Letters from Llyr were always scarce. The large amount of time he spent at sea and the difficulty of sending any correspondence from a foreign port meant that months, sometimes even years passed between any contact he had with Margot. It had bothered her at the start, and she spent long nights fretting about him, but by now she had accepted the reality of not always hearing regularly from her brother. This was why she did not think much of the fact that, after his last visit in the summer of 1302, there had been no word from him. The worry remained, it never went away, but she did not dwell on it. Her youngest son’s health was still poor. Her older son, despite being disinherited the previous year, was still a handful to say the least. There were also the two girls to look after. The castle still needed managing. Margot had other, far more immediate things for her to worry about than her brother.

It was late afternoon on a warm late spring day. She was sitting on a sofa in one of the smaller drawing rooms, basking in the warmth of the sun streaming in from the window as she worked on the embroidery hoop in her lap. Her tasks for the day had been finished. Isabelle was at her training while Garrick was at his dance lessons and Lucinda was with tutors. Mayes had been left to sleep off his latest fit of cold in his room nearby with a nursemaid watching him should he wake up and need her.

A knock sounded off the door. Margot looked up, frowning slightly.

“Come in,” she called out.

The door opened and a servant walked in. “Lady Margot?” he walked up to her and held out a letter. “This is for you.”

The noblewoman stretched out her hand and took the envelope, examining the seal on it. From amidst the teal wax, the grey crab of Brachyura gazed out at her. That was strange. She rarely received correspondence from her native House. Only when it was something important did the Brachyurans write to her.

Her heart began to beat faster as she broke the seal and unfolded the letter.

It was from Webster. The battered wreck of the Mistral had washed ashore in southern Veresia. All of the crew were lost at sea, presumed dead, including the captain.

Margot’s breath caught in her throat, trapped by the lump that suddenly formed inside it. Her entire body shook as numbness crept through it, infecting her fingers and spreading up her legs. Shudders ran through her body and her eyes began to sting with the pain of impending tears, tears which she did not even attempt to hold back.

“Llyr...” she murmured and doubled over with an agonised wail. The letter floated out of her hands, falling down on the flagstones with barely a whisper. Ordinarily, Margot would have picked it up but her grief had come down like a veil across her eyes, blinding her to everything except the agony of it.

All the worries she had felt ever since she found out he was going off to sea suddenly flooded back in full force. All the desperate attempts to convince herself during dark, rainy nights that her brother was going to be perfectly safe seemed naive and foolish now. Her fears had come true.

It was her fault. She should have tried to convince him not to go. Her brother would not have listened to her but she should have at least tried harder. Now she would never see him again. Llyr was gone, taken by the sea as she had thought he would be.

Another sob escaped from Margot She buried her face in her hands, tears pouring from her eyes. There was no strength anywhere in her to hold back her sadness so she simply let it spill out, wrapping herself in it like in a blanket, cutting herself off from the world.

She barely heard the door opening. Only the heavy footsteps and the sound of metal tapping rhythmically against the flagstones made her aware that somebody else was in the room with her.

“Margot?”

Alain’s deep voice cut her sobs off. Margot’s head snapped up as her eyes met the piercing gaze of her husband. His face remained impassive as he looked down at her but his eyes contained a hint of what could easily have been concern. They flickered over to the letter lying by her feet and he stooped down, picking it up from the floor. She looked away as he read it, feeling the sadness weighting in her heart again.

As soon as he was done reading, he folded the letter up, letting it slip back into its natural creases. Wordlessly, he sat down beside her, putting the parchment on the sofa next to him.

“I am sorry,” he said quietly.

Margot wiped the tears from her cheeks with her fingers and tried to restore her breathing to normal. Alain did not need to see her like this, no matter how much she wanted to cry right now.

“It's...it's fine, Alain,” she gasped through barely repressed sobs.

“He was your brother,” he stated as easily as though he was saying the sky was blue.

“...yes,” she nodded, bowing her head.

“I know he also cared a lot about you,” Alain told her with a smirk.

“He did,” Margot glanced at him from the side. “I'm sorry. I always tried to tell him to be polite to you but Llyr is- was...”

Was. Such a familiar word, and yet using it to refer to Llyr felt so wrong.

“You are not responsible for his actions, Margot. Your brother knew his mind and he was not afraid to speak it,” Alain replied, his voice calm as usual, giving away nothing. “And I will not deny that he was not, on occasion, entirely without a point.”

She gave off an undignified sniffle. Even though normally, such words from him would give her some solace, the weight in her heart refused to lift even a fraction. Images of her brother flooded her mind. His smiling face, beaten and worn by the sea air, his sandy blonde hair with its flecks of grey, his ever-proud and cocky stance, they all came back to her all at once, assaulting her senses and overpowering her emotions.

She doubled over again but her breath caught in her throat mid-sob, forcing an undignified choke out of Margot. Llyr was gone and the only way she would ever see him again was in those memories. Preserved forever like that while she grew older.

Unless...

“It...it didn't say they found his body,” her eyes grew wide and a demented smile appeared on her face. “He could still be alive. Shipwrecked somewhere, or, or he washed up on the coast or- or-”

“Margot,” Alain’s sharp voice cut her off.

Her head snapped up to look at him. “He has to be alive...please, tell me he is alive,” Margot began to shake.

His hands tightened around his cane. “It is almost impossible that he survived but none of his crew did. Nor would Webster have written to you if he was not sure,” he blinked once and then looked her in the eye. “Do not delude yourself.”

“But...but...what am I...” Margot buried her face in her hands, fresh tears streaming from her eyes and through her fingers. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Endure it,” Alain replied in a neutral tone as he continued to watch her.

“I’m not strong enough,” she whispered as though she was confessing a mortal sin. “I’m not like you.”

“I know,” for a moment, a note of sympathy slipped into his voice.

Margot wanted to say something, to reply to her husband, but her mind remained completely blank, sucked dry of a response by the overwhelming sadness that had settled over her, permeating her every cell. She quivered in her place. Even as she tried to bite her tongue to stop them, the sobs welled up in her throat and burst out uncontrollably in convulsive fits of weeping. Her eyes hurt from the tears that had swelled out of them, no doubt turning them red and puffy. Part of her wished she could stop herself, to try to present a dignified face in front of her husband beside her. But even as she tried, the pain of her loss continued to assault her, forcing her to continue crying.

As she bowed her head, turning away from him, Margot felt a weight settle on her and strong fingers grip her left shoulder, trying to steady her. Alain had put his arm around her. Her breath froze at the gesture. Like a child risking being caught peeking, she took her hands away from her eyes and looked sideways in his direction. Her tentative gaze met his unreadable one...except as she looked closer, she saw in them something else: concern. Perhaps, unless her eyes were playing tricks on her, even empathy.

It was too much.

Margot gave off an anguished whimper and slumped to her right, burying her face in his chest as she continued to sob with renewed vigour. After a few seconds, she felt his right hand also take hold of her. She froze, and for a moment the woman was convinced that he was going to pull her away from him. Instead, however, all he did was keep steadying her, his arms absorbing the worst of her shaking.

Maybe she should move away herself, to not assume he would care for such intimate familiarity. And yet, she could not summon even the tiniest amount of will to break out of his grip. On the contrary, despite the agony of losing her brother still as raw as an open wound, she found herself relishing it, as if drawing on Alain’s strength to supplement her.

Margot closed her eyes, though she did not stop crying into his chest, feeling the dampness spread into the fine fabric of his tunic. Presently, her senses, recovering from their numbness, began to pick up on other things; the warmth of his body, the rhythm of his heartbeat and the steadiness of his breath. All of which she drank in, soothing her pain.

It was not going to stop hurting. Llyr, adventurous, protective, carefree Llyr, had meant so much to her. But maybe, just maybe, she would find enough strength in herself to endure it, as Alain had said.

At least she was not completely alone.

[Celestial]

I realise this might be a rather redundant fic, given 'The Truth Hurts' up above there, but the feels, they would not leave. D= So...here. This takes place between 'Drowning My Sorrows' and 'The Truth Hurts'.

Shattered Heart

SPOILER: Click to show

The wedding drew to a close as the night infiltrated Destrier Castle, its spreading tendril only held back by the candles the servant had lit in the corridors. Whatever remained of the feast was being cleared by the servants, the dishes taken to the washhouses to be scrubbed and the leftovers were carried to the kitchens to be dealt with at a later date. Guests dissipated from the Great Hall, some walking, some staggering and some being carried, depending on how much wine they had indulged in. But no matter what their way of locomotion was, one thing was clear; everyone was heading back to their rooms. Including the groom and his bride.

Margot could barely contain her smile as she walked beside her beloved, her eyes occasionally darting up to steal a glimpse of his face. The candlelight cast his features into sharp relief while his golden hair shimmered as though embedded with a thousand precious stones. Yet what she lingered most on were his eyes. Though his gaze was not focused on her, instead looking straight ahead at the corridor they were walking through, their colour still leapt out at her; pale blue, like shards of ice and just as piercing too. Occasionally, the light caught in them, enhancing their hue even further.

She had married him! Woo, she could barely believe it. This man, who made her heart quicken even at the sight of him, was her husband now. Even his mad brother having those fits at their wedding feast had not been enough to distract her from the happiness that coursed through her.

But...Margot glanced up at him again, once again focusing on his eyes, trying to catch even a scrap of his thoughts. They were closed off to her, betraying nothing of the mind of her new husband. Despite them being bound together for the rest of their lives, he was still as unknown and mysterious to her as the mountains of her new homeland. A tiny frown crossed Margot’s face.

“My lord?” she murmured quietly. He turned his head a fraction, his eyes meeting hers.

“Yes, Lady Margot?” his tone was even and measured, giving away as much as his expression.

Inwardly, she shivered, both from his gaze resting on her and his voice reverberating through her bones. Nevertheless, the woman forced herself to look up at her husband.

“Are you...are you alright?” she asked, bowing her head immediately. That seemed like such a silly question.

“I am fine,” he replied. A slight smile crept across his face, “Why the sudden question?”

“I was just wondering. You seem...distracted,” Margot swallowed. “Is it because...of what happened at the feast? With...”

“Yes?” a curious tone entered his voice.

“With...” she tried to find a way to phrase this politely. “With your...relation? And his madness?”

“Ambrose?” Alain’s expression seemed to darken for a second before he gave a tiny shake of his head. “No. He was taken care of and everything continued uninterrupted. My brother did not ruin anything.”

“Oh,” Margot smiled. “Good. I’m glad. I didn’t...want anything to ruin this.”

The woman wound her arm around his left, slipping her fingers into his hand. A part of her seized up at the contact, of having him so close. She wondered if she was even allowed.

Of course she was! Was she not his wife now? Surely she of all people was allowed to touch him.

But aside from a brief flicker of surprise and the slight twitch of his fingers as she clasped his palm, he barely reacted to the gesture. Was he not supposed to hold her hand in return? The thought briefly crossed Margot’s mind before she tossed it aside. It had a long day, no doubt they were both tired, and besides, he was not pushing her away, was he? He would have done something to show her that he did not enjoy the gesture but he was not doing anything. So he had to like it...and by extension, her.

Even if she only knew him for a few days, she already knew in every fibre of her being that she loved him, completely and totally. Nobody else made her so happy with just their presence, forced her mind to focus only on them and caused her heart to beat so loudly, sending warm flushes all throughout her body. There was no one else so handsome, so confident and as wonderful as Alain Stallion, not to her anyway. Right now, holding on to his arm and walking side by side with him towards the beginning of their wedded life, Margot was convinced that the Woo had blessed her more than anybody else in the world.

She rested her head against Alain’s shoulder, a contented smile slowly spreading across her face as the warmth of his body seeped into her cheek. Margot had not drunk much at the wedding, certainly not enough to be anything but sober; yet having him so close and touching her was almost as overwhelming as wine could have been.

“You are quite affectionate, Lady Margot,” Alain remarked, glancing down at her.

“I...I apologise. Is that improper?” Margot murmured, though she could not bring herself to pull away from him. “I thought...since we are husband and wife...”

“We are,” a small smile spread across his face. “But that is not why you are doing it.”

Before the woman could open her mouth to reply, however, Alain stopped in front of a particular door. He slipped his arm out of her grip and turned the handle with his left, letting them in to the room beyond. Margot followed him and once they were inside, he closed the door behind them. Immediately, she recognised it; the room she had been given upon arrival in the castle. Here, it was darker than the corridor outside, only illuminated by one candle stand.

Her heart skipped a beat before it began to pound in her chest as though it was working to make up for lost time. They were alone.

Margot took a deep breath to compose herself before turning to Alain, clasping her hands over her chest. First she had to answer his question, though that might lead to other things. She forced herself to look up at him and meet his icy gaze, which had acquired a slightly questioning air, or at least, that was what she assumed it was. A blush spread across her cheeks, dying them scarlet. She prayed that in the low light, he would not be able to see.

“I...” she swallowed, trying to find the words to say why she enjoyed his touch and why she acted as she did. But her tongue refused to form into the shapes needed for them. “It...it was not the reason why...I took your hand.”

“Then what was it?” the smirk on his face deepened and his eyes acquiring a knowing look that seemed to stare right through her.

She gave a little squeak and glanced down at the floor. He knew. Of course he knew. He knew her name before she had even told him and she has barely been able to hide her feelings for him. Not on the battlements of the castle when they met, or during the few days of wedding preparation, let alone the ceremony and the feast.

There was no point in hiding it.

“It’s because...I love you, my lord,” she said, a wide smile forming on her face.

“I thought as much,” his expression shifted as the smirk faded. “In that case, there is something you must know.”

“What is it?” she murmured.

“I don’t love you back,” Alain replied in a voice as smooth and neutral as a slab of grey stone.

Margot stared up at him, his eyes widening and her breath catching in her throat. An uncomfortable weight settled in the pit of her stomach. She scanned his face for any sign of emotion, looking for anything to latch on to except his words but there was nothing. Her mouth opened and closed as her mind mulled over words but nothing seemed adequate. Eventually, however, she forced herself to spit out a phrase.

“...What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said,” unlike her, Alain did not hesitate. “I don’t feel the same way towards you as you clearly do towards me.”

A stinging sensation began to prickle at her eyes and Margot forced herself to breathe deeply in order to suppress it. This was not real. It could not be real. It had to be a trick or a joke or something. But looking at his expressionless face, at his ramrod-straight stance with his hands behind his back, there was no indicator to say he was telling anything but the truth.

No. She did not want to believe. There had to be something else, some proof that he did love her. Anything at all.

“What about...what about...the kiss! The kiss at the feast?” she looked up at him, clutching her hands together as though in prayer. “You kissed me at the feast...and during the ceremony. And then...on the parapets, you kissed my hand.”

“I was playing with you parapets, but that kiss on the hand was a polite gesture, nothing more. The kiss during our wedding was part of the ritual. As for the feast, I could hardly refuse you after your brother set it up, especially not in front of everyone,” the smirk appeared on his face again. “And you were far more enthusiastic about them than I was.”

It was true. Thinking back on it, he had been restrained, always keeping a polite, cool distance between them. She had ignored it for the chance to be close to her beloved but now, it made itself painfully obvious in her mind, taunting her with how clear it had been. Margot bit her tongue and closed her eyes, looking down at the floor.

“...What’s wrong with me?” she could not stop her voice from becoming a whimper. “Am I not beautiful enough? Am I not good enough?”

“You are a very beautiful woman, there can be no question about that,” Alain replied, continuing to look down at her dispassionately. “But I have only known you for a few days. You’re practically a stranger to me, Lady Margot, I do not see how I could love you.”

She was shaking. Her legs seemed to have turned into liquid, barely holding her up.

“Why?” Margot had to struggle to not make her words turn into a sob. “Why would you tell me this?”

Alain tilted his head, the tiniest of frowns appearing on his face. “Because this is how it is, Margot. I have no reason to lie to you, nor should you delude yourself.”

The woman bit her lip, trying to stop herself from openly crying, no matter how badly she wanted to. He was right. No matter what way she looked at it, he was right. She had been lying to herself in thinking that he ever loved her. That she could marry for politics and end up as happy as she imagined. The joy she had been feeling ever since she met him had evaporated, disappearing into thin air like the smoke trail from a dead candle.

Somehow, Margot forced herself to look up at him. Alain’s expression had returned to the same impassive one he always wore as he watched her, waiting for her next move. A chill ran down her spine as she met his gaze, feeling it staring right through her. Despite the thick layer of misery that had settled on her skin, weighing her down, she was still hypnotised by the colour and intensity of his eyes. His features too, from his golden hair to his sharp, high cheekbones, had lost none of their handsomeness. Even though his coldness now permeated his presence, she could nevertheless sense the charisma and confidence that had hypnotised her on the parapets a few days ago.

The fact that he didn't love her changed nothing. And it was that thought that hammered in the spike that his words had sent through her heart. Margot still loved him.

[Celestial]

I blame Avery for this entirely. So, once upon a time, King Falcon had an uncle who plotted to overthrow him. Said uncle was married to Lachlan's aunt and one day, came over to Lachlan's...

The Traitor

SPOILER: Click to show

Destrier, Bern, early winter of 1265

Lachlan closed the door of his office behind him and closed his eyes, gritting his teeth together. Had he not heard those words come out of his uncle’s mouth, he would have barely believed it

It started off simply. He had hinted at it ever since he had arrived in Destrier castle back in November, just before the snows had cut them off. Small jabs against the newly crowned King Falcon, pokes and pecks at the Grand Duke’s loyalty, all perfectly innocuous to anybody who was not willing to read too deep into them. But as Woomas passed, the days grew longer and the snows became deeper, Icey’s words began to have more purpose behind them. Lachlan had tried his best to ignore them, along with the chill down his spine and the sense that there was a wolf watching him in the forest that he could not necessarily see.

However, a wolf could not stalk forever before it leapt on to its prey. At last, Icey had finally come out and said it: the new king was young and incompetent, and that the kingdom would be better served by a man who was older and more experienced. Somebody like him. And in order to secure that place, he needed the military and political support of House Stallion.

There was no other way to interpret it: Icey, his own uncle by marriage, was proposing they rebel against the king.

Lachlan said he needed time to think, and Icey had given it to him, poisoned honey dripping from his words as he had done so. As though he expected the Grand Duke to say yes.

He went over to his desk and sat down in his chair. A deep sigh escaped him and Lachlan rested his forehead in the palm of his hand, just barely touching the silver circlet on his brow. It would have been such an easy decision had him and Icey existed in a vacuum. But there were others to consider, others which made his choice an almost impossible one.

A knock resonated against his door and Lachlan looked up, straightening his back in his chair, his ears sharpening in order to hear the identity of his visitor. If it was his uncle, even though he had asked for time alone-

“Lachlan?” a female voice called out to him, harsh and rough with the traces of a Bernian accent around the edges. A smile spread across the Grand Duke’s face and the concern that weighted so heavily on his heart seemed to lighten. If there was one person who he wanted to see right now, it was her.

“Come in, Maura,” he called out. The door opened and a richly-dressed woman stepped inside. Her tawny hair, woven into a tight plait, was barely concealed by the thin veil she wore, and even from here, he could see the concern on her face. She shut the door behind herself and walked over to Lachlan, resting one hand on her hip.

“It’s not like you to just pass me by without even a word or a look,” Maura looked down at him from the advantage of her standing position. “What happened? Did that Vulture get on yer nerves again?”

“You could say that,” he remarked with some bitterness and sighed. “Icey is proposing treason against the king.”

Maura’s eyes narrowed and she folded her arms. “Cannae claim to be all that surprised. He seems like the sort to backstab his own family,” her gaze softened slightly. “I dinnae know why you’re not more angry about this."

“I am. The king might be young but youth is a flaw that is easily fixed. Falcon has given me no reason to doubt him,” there was a slight growl in Lachlan’s voice. “Besides, he is seventeen. I practically ran Bern when I was sixteen.”

“So why do you sit there looking so gloomy? A man who is plotting against the king is a traitor and must be dealt with,” she raised an eyebrow. “Or it that not the way of the nobility?”

“No, it is. Loyalty to our king is expected and I will not be a traitor with him,” Lachlan clenched his fist. “

The woman sighed and took a few steps forward, resting her hand on Lachlan’s, working her fingers in between his in order to loosen it. “Then it sounds to me like you only have one choice, love,” Maura lifted up his hand, rubbing her thumb against the folds of his palm. “You cannot be a part of this. I know you and you’re no traitor.”

“No I am not,” he brought his free arm in around her waist, holding his wife closer and resting his head against her shoulder. Lachlan closed his eyes, drawing on her warmth and her scent. She responded by letting go of his hand and wrapping her arms around his shoulders, in particular digging her fingers into his silky blond hair.

“So what are your options?” Maura murmured. In this position, he could hear and feel the slight rattle in her lungs every time she took a breath. A reminder of his illness but even so, it soothed Lachlan to hear it. It was her own unique pattern and right now, he wanted all the comfort that he could get from his wife’s presence.

“You were wrong earlier. Right now, I have two choices, Maura: I can send Icey away without another word as soon as I can and support the king. Or I can tell the king what has been happening in my castle and have him come to deal with his traitorous uncle himself,” he paused, pondering the two options. “If I let him go, there is no telling who else he will tell this to. And which other lords will support him.”

“That sounds dangerous,” she frowned, glancing down at him. “It is a poor thing indeed when the lords fight and the kingdom is divided.”

“Yes. At worst, Icey could create a civil war. And if we lose, he will make sure we lose everything,” Lachlan scowled and clutched her tighter. “I don’t want that to happen. I have been working too hard, and too much to let that happen.”

“Oh I know. Sometimes I have to be the one to remind you to take a break, my Wall,” Maura grinned at his nickname and brought a hand around to caress his cheek bone. “You are not going to throw all that away. And you’re no soldier either. I don’t want you to go away to war.”

“I don’t want to fight a war either, especially not now with the furnaces getting close to finished. I’ve put too much effort into it to let it be disrupted by war,” Lachlan winced. “And to say nothing of what would happen to the boys...”

Maura’s face darkened. “So you must tell the king. Tell him and may the ‘Pit take Icey and his glaikit ideas,” she hissed.

“I know I must. That is the only sensible choice I have,” Lachlan closed his eyes. “And yet...”

“What can be more important than protecting your House and your sons?” his wife inquired, her tone almost accusing.

“I worry what will happen to Yvette. Or her children.”

“Ah,” Maura’s eyes acquired a look of understanding before she frowned. “The king would surely not punish an innocent woman and her girls, would he?”

“I don’t know. But the family of a crown traitor would not fare well no matter how it unfolds,” Lachlan closed his eyes, drawing on the warmth and strength of his wife. “She is practically my sister, Maura. If I tell the king about Icey, I must also sacrifice Yvette.”

“I see...” she muttered, “Yvette is a good woman, and her girls are sweet. But-”

The sound of feet against the stones outside made her look up and grin. Maura looked down at Lachlan.

“Stay here,” she untangled herself from his arms and as quickly as she could. The Grand Duke watched her, wondering what she was going to do.

Maura strode over to the door and opened it, peeking out into the corridor. “Alain, Ambrose, come here for a moment,” she called out.

There was a small, startled cry and a few seconds of hesitation before two boys with identical golden hair shuffled into the room, glancing at each other before. The older boy had his left hand in his pocket but his right was flat, palm facing downwards, to which the younger one responded by twitching his hand twice and looking up at his mother.

“Are we in trouble?” Ambrose asked, his wide blue eyes painting him as the very picture of innocence.

“We didn’t do anything, mum, honest,” Alain piped up, also adopting that same look, as though he was a small puppy begging for a treat. His hand in his pocket shifted.

Maura let out a harsh laugh. “I wasn’t accusing you of anything, little foals. I was just wondering...” she glanced at Alain, “Since you will eventually be Grand Duke, do you want try on your dad’s crown?”

The little boy’s jaw dropped open and he turned to stare at his father, his eyes lighting up.

“Oh can I, dad? Please, can I? Please?” he cried, clapping his hands excitedly together.

Lachlan raised an eyebrow, looking between Maura and Alain before he pushed himself away from his desk and stood up from his chair. As he walked over to where his wife and sons were, he removed the silver circlet from his head. The boy’s grin grew wider as he was approached and he straightened himself out, trying to look as proud and dignified as possible. Lachlan smiled, amused by his son’s show, and placed the circlet on Alain’s head. It slid down his forehead and over his eyes but that did not wipe out the boy’s grin. He pushed it up, holding it place by the tips of his fingers, and turned to his brother.

“Now I’m Grand Duke and you have to bow to me,” he declared, puffing his chest out.

Ambrose giggled. “No you’re not. And I’m your brother so I don’t have to bow to you.”

“You do. Everyone has to bow to the Grand Duke, except the king,” Alain stuck out his tongue and folded his arms, causing the circlet to slip again. He held it back up, grinning.

“What about papa?” Ambrose stuck out his tongue and turned his eyes up towards Lachlan. “Papa, do I have to bow to Alain?”

Lachlan laughed. “No. But if he is going to abuse his power so much...” he reached out a hand to pluck the circlet out of his son’s grip.

Alain gasped, holding it tightly to his head. “I’ll be good, I promise! I’ll be the best Grand Duke ever,” he smiled at Ambrose. “And you can be my advisor.”

The younger boy nodded vigorously. “I’ll advise you well, Alain, I will.”

“I’m sure, boys,” Maura laughed, “But you have to give your father his circlet back. He is Grand Duke for now.”

“But dad gave me the crown so it means I’m Grand Duke,” Alain stuck out his tongue, still clinging hard to the silver band that was falling over his eyes.

“Brother would be a really, really good Grand Duke, he would be,” Ambrose piped up, smiling at his mother.

“He will be, someday, but right now, I’m reclaiming my title,” Lachlan remarked and slowly worked Alain’s fingers off the circlet. He put it back on and gave the boy a pat on the head. “One day, Alain.”

“...Fine,” the defeated boy sighed but then grinned up at his father. “But who is your advisor?”

“I am. Sorry, boys, but the position is taken,” Maura put her hands on both their shoulders. “You’re going to have to wait your turn.”

“Aww. But I bet it’s boring anyway,” Ambrose said, tugging on his brother’s sleeve.

“You’re right,” Alain nodded and took his brother’s hand, extending his index finger out as though to point. “Let’s go. We have things to do.”

“We do,” the younger boy smiled mischievously, putting his other hand in his pocket again. Linked together, the two headed towards the door.

Maura stepped forward, blocking their exit. “Before you go anywhere, you wee menaces, what is it you’re hiding there?”

Both brothers glanced at each other and then down at their hands before smiling at their mother. “Nothing,” they chorused in unison.

She sighed and held out her hands, giving them an accusing look. Alain bowed his head and withdrew his hand from his pocket, placing an egg into Maura’s palm. Giving a shake of her head, she turned her gaze on to Ambrose, repeating the gesture and eyeing him with expectation. The younger Stallion brother’s shoulders slumped and he too, took out the egg he had hidden and gave it to their mother.

“And what were ye gonna do wit’ these?” she asked, looking down at them accusingly.

“...Put them into the Vulture’s shoes,” Ambrose murmured.

Maura’s eyes hardened and she put one hand on her hip. “Dinnae do that. Ya ken he disnae like it when ya do.”

“But that’s what makes it fun,” Alain folded his arms and stuck his tongue out. “And he’s weird anyway. I don’t like him.”

“Nevertheless, he is our guest and you will both be nice to him,” Lachlan interjected, looking down at the boys. “Do you understand me?”

Both brothers bowed their heads, cowed by their father telling them off. “Yes, dad,” they said together, nodding.

Ambrose turned to Alain, tugging at his hand. “Let’s go play in the snow instead,” he looked back at his parents. “If we can?”

“Of course. Just ask the girls if they want to play too,” Maura told them.

The two brothers made disgusted faces, as though somebody had just told them to make their snowballs with bird droppings instead. “Do we have to? They’re girls!”

“Yes, and?” their mother smirked.

“Girls that are are boring and gross,” Alain said, sticking his nose up in the air.

“Nevertheless, you will ask them. Try to be nice,” she pulled them both into a hug. “I love you, little foals. Even if you are wee menaces sometimes.”

“Me too, mum,” Alain said quietly, returning the hug.

“And me,” Ambrose followed, doing the same.

Maura gave a contented sigh, stroking the boys’ golden blond hair before looking up at Lachlan. His eyes were firmly fixed on his two sons, the small smile that had appeared on his face unmatched by the intensity of the love in his deep blue eyes. His wife gave him a wry smirk before turning back to the two boys.

“Off you go now. Wrap up warm, alright? Get Marcie or somebody to dress you before you step outside. And remember, be nice to Cosmos, Astra and Luna,” she instructed, looking them in the eye as she did. “Because if you’re not-”

“We will!” they both cried, untangling themselves from her and running off into the corridor, their footsteps clattering down the long hallway. Maura closed the door behind him and turned to Lachlan, who was looking at her with a raised eyebrow and the corner of his mouth twisted up into a smirk.

“You are a sly woman, my dearest,” he said, shaking his head.

“I’ve made my point,” she smirked back at him and approached Lachlan, taking his hand. “You love your boys, Lachlan?”

“What kind of question is that?” he stared at her, “Of course I love them. Ambrose and Alain mean the world to me.”

“And you want them to have a bright future?” Maura’s gaze became more accusing. She ran a finger over the silver horses that decorated Lachlan’s forehead. “Do you want Alain to wear that circlet one day?”

“I do. And I want him to take over a House that is powerful and prosperous,” Lachlan’s eyes hardened. He took a deep breath and glanced downwards.

“Then you know what you have to do. For their sakes,” Maura put her hands on his face, bringing his gaze to meet hers.

“I wish I did not have to choose,” he murmured.

“You are the Grand Duke of Bern. As I understand, sometimes the position requires tough decisions,” she caressed the sharp edge of his cheekbone. “It’s either our sons or Yvette and her children. I know who I would choose, but I am not the one making that choice.”

Lachlan sighed deeply, closing his eyes as his mind buzzed with thoughts like an angry hive. He knew what he had to do. He knew what he wanted to do.

“Everyone has to bow to the Grand Duke, except the king,” he repeated with a humourless smirk, “Sometimes children say the truth without even realising.”

“They do, my love. But what will you do with that truth?” Maura continued to run her fingers across his cheek and down his angular chin.

He continued to think. Yvette was a grown woman, and she was innocent in this whole affair. Perhaps the king would be merciful enough to spare her. But he could not risk the ruin of his House, not after he had worked so hard to keep it afloat and to restore it to prosperity. And should anything happen to his children...

Lachlan pushed the thought away and hugged Maura closer. Her eyelids lowered as she pressed herself against his chest, listening to the beating of his heart.

“What would I do without you?” he whispered to her, clenching his hands around her shoulders.

“You would not have an advisor,” she replied with a sly smile.

Reluctantly, Lachlan pulled his wife away from him and went back over to his desk. From a drawer he pulled out a thin strip of parchment, one used for the writing of courier pigeon messages, and opened the inkwell that sat on his desk. He reached for a quill and dipped it into the ink but before he put it to the paper, he looked up at Maura.

“Will you stay with me as I write this?” Lachlan asked. The woman nodded and walked over to him, resting her hands on his broad shoulders.

“I shall. I know this must be hard for you. But it has to be done,” she leaned closer to him. “You are a good man, Lachlan. This is the right thing.”

***
It was the right thing. As soon as Lachlan had taken the message to the dovecot and they had released the dove into the calm, frosty air that normally follows a snowstorm, he felt the weight of what he knew lift off his chest. It would be a while before the snows cleared enough for the Horseshoe road to be open but as soon as it did, the King’s forces would no doubt come for Icey. His plot would be over before it could even begin, and the future of Lachlan’s land and his family, especially his family, would be secure. The traitor was going to get his dues.

But that was going to be no comfort to Yvette or her girls.

The Grand Duke exited the dovecot and proceeded inside the main keep of the castle, heading upstairs to where the private quarters were. She usually spent her time in her room, where the fireplace provided her with enough warmth and light to guard against the dark Bernian winter. Ever since they were children, she had disliked it and usually stayed inside while Lachlan and his sisters had played in the snow. But whether she liked it or not, she could not hide inside forever. As soon as spring came, things were going to get very dark indeed.

Finally, he stopped by a door and knocked softly on it. Maura had advised against this. But he had already done what he had to do and with the snow continuing to pile up, there was no escape. She deserved to know that she had been thrown to the wolves.

The door opened and the smiling face of his aunt appeared beyond. She looked up at Lachlan, putting her hands over her heart.

“This is a pleasant surprise. What brings you to visit me?” Yvette piped up.

The Grand Duke sighed. Whatever weight had been lifted by him sending that message came back twofold. He glanced up and down the corridor, looking for any sign of Icey, but there was nobody around, not even a servant.

“Evie, can we talk privately?” he asked quietly. “I don’t want anybody overhearing us.”

Yvette’s face fell and her eyes darkened. Nevertheless, she gave a small nod and stepped aside, letting Lachlan into her room. Once they were both inside, she shut the door behind him.

“What is it?” she murmured, still trying to smile at him but her smile was tainted now with hints of worry. “What is so secretive that you need to speak to me alone about it?”

The Grand Duke paced over to the window, shut to keep the cold air out, but it was clear enough that he could see the pale snow blanketing the ground below. Occasional footprints broke up the monotony of white, creating aimless patterns in the fallen flurry. His eyes traced them, meditating on their contours and their regularity as the words he needed to say formed in his mind.

It had been so easy to write it all down and send the message to the king. But here, being faced with the sweet face of his aunt, who in reality was only younger than him by a mere year, it suddenly got very difficult indeed. As with all things, however, it was best to start from the beginning.

“Has Icey spoken to you of what he plans to do after the spring melt?”Lachlan asked her quietly, his eyes still on the view outside.

Yvette shook her head. “Not really. I simply assumed we were going back home with the girls,” she frowned. “Has something come up?”

“...Yes,” he continued to stare at the snow, examining the tracks left behind by a hound intently. “Did you ever wonder why he came here?”

“He said because he wanted us all to visit my family,” Yvette fidgeted with the edge of her dress. “But I do not understand why he had to go in winter when summer would be better.”

Lachlan’s eyes had now jumped to the prints of a horse. Not a Noblesse, there would not be any Noblesses in this part of the castle, but smaller. “And has he spoken to you on the subject of King Falcon?”

“He has mentioned him, and I don’t think he has a high opinion of him, but he never speaks much about it,” the woman’s frown grew deeper and carefully tiptoed towards Lachlan. “Why are you asking me all these things? What happened?”

Lachlan lifted up his head and turned, forcing himself to look her in the eye. “Icey has proposed that we rebel against the king together. That I should help him take the throne from Falcon.”

Yvette’s eyes widened. “He would nev-” she bit her lip, swallowing the rest of her words. Her breathing grew far more agitated. “What...what did you say?”

“I have not given him my decision. But I am not helping him, Yvette. I am going to remain loyal to the king,” Lachlan replied.

“I thought so. Icey might be the sort but you are not,” Yvette swallowed and reached her hands out towards him. “Let me speak to him. Let me try to convince him that such an undertaking is madness.”

“It’s too late for that,” the Grand Duke’s voice remained perfectly even as he suppressed every scrap of emotion in it. “I have informed the king. In the spring, his forces will come to arrest Icey for treason.”

“You did what?!” she stared at him.

“I have told the king about your husband and the rebellion he has been plotting,” Lachlan repeated, closing his eyes and taking a breath.

“How could you?!” Yvette shrieked. She swung a feeble punch at him, which he easily caught and grabbed her other wrist before she could try to strike him.

“I did what I had to, as a loyal subject of the king,” Lachlan told her, still keeping his tone as neutral as he could. But it was much easier now. He had told her the harsh truth and now, where there was a weight of guilt and fear, there was nothing except a tranquil numbness.

“You betrayed us!” his aunt cried, struggling in his grip while hysterical tears built up in her eyes. “You should not have said anything!”

“I could not have Icey plunge the kingdom into a civil war, Yvette, nor could I have the king believe I had any part in this plot,” he replied far more calmly than he felt. “I did what I had to.”

“The ‘Pit you had to! I’m your family, Lachlan!” her legs went limp and she fell down on to the floor, sobbing. “Now what will happen to me? What will happen to my girls?”

Lachlan kneeled down beside her. “You are innocent of this, Yvette, and so are your children. I will do everything in my power to take care of them, and of you. Since I have proven my loyalty to him, perhaps the king will grant me that.”

“Perhaps. You don’t know how much mercy Falcon will be inclined to show,” she murmured, all energy drained from her. “You really shouldn’t have said anything.”

“I could not be quiet. You have your children to look after. And I have mine,” Lachlan put a hand on her shoulder, a gesture she did not resist. “I didn’t want to lose Alain and Ambrose. Not after all the other children I have lost.”

Yvette remained silent, save for an occasional, mournful sob. After a while, however, she looked up at him, her eyes red. “Then look after us too. Please.”

“I will. After betraying you like that, of course I will,” he turned towards the window again and saw a snowflake flutter past it. “We have until spring to decide what to do.”

“What am I going to tell Icey?” Yvette whispered, shuddering.

Lachlan’s eyes suddenly widened with horror at the thought of Icey finding out about his betrayal.

“Don’t tell him anything,” he was unable to stop the scrap of pleading from escaping out of his mouth and latching on to his words. “I don’t know what he will do.”

“So you want me to stand by quietly, all the while I know my husband’s doom is coming?” Yvette dug her fingers into the folds of her dress.

“Yes I do, Evie,” Lachlan replied, “For the sake of the kingdom, for the sake of my family and yours, you cannot tell Icey anything until the king’s forces arrive in the spring.”

Yvette turned her eyes away from him and Lachlan took her by both shoulders.

“Please, Yvette. Everything depends on this,” he told her. “Do this for me.”

“...Alright, Lachlan, I won’t tell him,” the woman’s voice was barely above a whisper. She slowly lifted her head back to face Lachlan. “But in exchange, you have to promise that you will do everything in your power to save me and the girls after Falcon comes for my husband.”

“You have my word,” Lachlan let go of her and stood up, glancing back out of the window again. The one stray snowflake had now turned into a soft flurry of snow that was now falling down upon the courtyard, no doubt covering the footprints below.

They were all trapped here. Him, Icey, Yvette, her children, Maura and the boys, they could not leave until spring had arrived. Normally, winters in Bern were long, but Lachlan suspected that this one would be the longest yet.