Celestial Writes Medieval Fics

[Celestial]

A collab between me and Shinko featuring the tricky relations between Stallions and some of their minor nobles, the Allendales. Timejumps between 1254 in the beginning and 1259 later. Also, first apperance of Dionysis, and I realise, first canon appearance of House Allendale. x3

Building and Rebuilding

SPOILER: Click to show

It was not time for the Feast of St. Absolon. It was not the Summer Solstice, nor the Winter, and it being mid-July it certainly wasn’t the Spring or Autumnal Equinox. There were no weddings, no births, no comings-of-age. It was, by any metric, just another ordinary day in Destrier. The only thing that made it at all noteworthy was that there was a visitor in Destrier Castle from out of town, and he was there on decidedly grim business.

And someway or another, Grand Duke Stallion had found an excuse to throw a party.

The short notice meant not much of anyone of major import was there. Mostly high-brow members of the local guilds toadying for influence, high-ranked knights or cadet members of Bern’s various noble houses who lived in Destrier.

The guest of honor, however, was a noteworthy man indeed; the current ruling lord of House Allendale, Baron Eamon.

As the various guests were milling about the exquisite ballroom, drinking the wine that was flowing in copious supply and gorging on expensive banquet food lined up all-you-can-eat style along the far wall, Eamon was listening to the Grand Duke’s latest proposal with an expression of patent disbelief.

“You ah… want to arrange a hunt, your Grace? For the day after tomorrow?”

“Why not?” Dionysis’ loud voice rang out across the great hall, amplified more than a little by the wine he had already drunk. “You’re here, Eamon, and the deer certainly aren’t going to hunt themselves! Though there wouldn’t be much sport for us if they did!”

He laughed at this joke as though it was the funniest thing in the world and patted the Baron on the shoulder. “It will do you good. Trust me, on the back of a fine horse, with the forest around you and the wind in your hair, nothing seems to matter at all.”

“With all due respect, your Grace, I have to disagree,” Eamon said, the muscles in his back tensing at the uninvited touch. “You must understand, I can’t in good conscience make merry when my people are in desperate need of help. I know the theft of mere cattle seems inconsequential to one with your resources, but the cost of a single bull is close to two years wages for an average peasant- a cow even more, especially one that is in milk or has a calf at heel.”

“I know, Eamon, I know,” the Grand Duke waved his hand dismissively. “I’ll get your cow thieves or whatever it was sorted out in due time but there’s a time and place for everything. And right now, since you decided to grace us with your presence, it’s as good excuse as any to go out and have a little fun. You’re not in Destrier every day, after all, and I’m always happy to see one of my loyal lords!”

He swiped a nearby jug of deep red wine from the table and held it out to the Baron, hovering the spout over Eamon’s cup. “Want some more? It’s great!”

Eamon’s mouth thinned. Ignoring the offer for the wine, he murmured stiffly, “I should think Kinean thieves causing inter-regional dissension would be an issue that would warrant some priority. That would merit contacting Lord Boovean as soon as possible.”

“No-one is disputing that, and I’ll mention it to him as soon as I can,” Dionysis grinned. He swiped the jug away from the Baron and poured some wine into his own cup. Only after he had taken a sip and smacked his lips in contentment as he did so did he turn back to his guest. “But right now, there’s nothing I can do on that front, so like I said, why worry when we can instead have a little fun? This whole issue has clearly got you wound up tightly, Eamon. You need to relax a bit, and a hunt is just the thing for that!”

Eamon wanted to grind his teeth in frustration. He knew for a fact that House Stallion kept extensive dovecotes, and could have a message out to Hereford within a few days. There was no reason for Dionysis to put it off until he was physically seeing Lord Boovean. Not that this sort of thing was anything new- the Grand Duke was well documented for being a lazy, drunken spendthrift.

“I can’t help but feel,” Eamon said through gritted teeth, “like you aren’t taking this entirely seriously, your Grace.”

Dionysis recoiled slightly. “I am taking this very seriously, Eamon,” a lopsided smile returned to his face. “Just everything has its time, and a feast isn’t any place to be discussing such grim matters,” he patted the Baron on the back. “You’ve done your bit, so have some more food, have some wine and don’t get so wound up.”

Eamon closed his eyes for a moment, as if silently asking the Woo for patience. When he opened them again, he looked around the room, trying to distract himself from the Grand Duke so he could calm the anger that was fizzing just beneath the surface of his mind.

“Forgive me a moment, your Grace,” Eamon said turning back to Dionysis after a moment with a feigned smile pasted on his face. “I fear I’ve had too much wine already, and it is rather warm. Would you mind if I stepped for a little air? I’ll be but a moment.”

The Grand Duke took another swig of his wine and smiled at the Baron, waving his hand at him. “Of course, of course, be my guest. I’ll get that hunt arranged for us while you’re out.”

“You’re far too kind,” Eamon said, though his voice was flat and without affect. He turned towards the door, keeping his steps carefully measured and even. He was a nobleman- he would not stamp out like a petulant toddler, however much it would have been nice to smack his bootheels against the floor.

Once he made it out into the hallway, he turned off towards one of the doors that led out into the castle gardens. It was a balmy night, warm for Bern but not uncomfortably so, and not a cloud blotted out the stars high overhead. But the peace was a deceptive one, and the extravagance inside the ballroom a flimsy cover for the fact that Bern was falling down around Dionysis’ ears. He had simply chosen not to notice.

The sound of voices nearby caught Eamon’s attention, and he stiffened.

“Love, you’re drunk,” gently chided a smooth, sonorous male voice.

It was immediately followed by a raspy cackle, “Ach, aye- I mean yes, but sae what?” the other voice was the complete opposite of the first: heavily accented, coarse and female.

A sigh. “You’re going to regret it in the morning.”

Another cackle. “I’m not gonna regret any time I spend with you, my Wall,” the woman’s voice grew low. “Mmm, you’re so warm.”

The man sighed again but unlike before, it was not a sound of exasperation. “I never know what to do with you in such a state, Maura.”

“Take advantage of it and give us a kiss,” the woman remarked and laughed. “Isn’t that why you brought me out here?”

“Actually, it’s so you wouldn’t make a scene...but I suppose if we’re alone…”

“Aye?”

The voices ceased, replaced by a faint, almost inaudible sound that indicated the woman was getting the kiss she had asked for. Eamon pressed a hand to his forehead, having no desire to play peeping tom on whatever merchant or lordling had brought his wife along to the Grand Duke’s party and let her imbibe far too much wine. He turned, fully intending to leave the couple alone.

“Maura” though… that name sounded awfully familiar. It was a common name in Bern, very common, but-

There was an audible grating sound, loud against the evening silence, as one of the paving stones on the cobbled path popped loose under Eamon’s feet and slid against its mates.

There was a startled gasp from the man. “Who is there?” he called out, moving several steps closer towards the Baron’s location.

“Ach who cares?” the woman whined, her feets clicking against the path as she trailed after her husband. “It’s probably one of your servants. You have far too many anyway!”

“No. A servant wouldn’t be lingering, Maura,” he stated just as the couple turned the corner, coming into view. The man was tall with a broad frame, with golden hair, deep blue eyes and sharp, angular features which marked him as a scion of House Stallion. His wife was by his side, her arms around his neck and her fingers digging into his silken shirt. Dull, unfocused eyes peered from between locks of tawny hair had been jostled from her elaborate braided hairstyle, watching the person who had intruded upon their private moment.

As his gaze settled on the Allendale man, the Stallion’s eyes widened in recognition. “Baron Eamon,” he bowed his head and hurriedly began trying to pry his wife off him, though she responded by giving off a low moan and clinging even harder. Her husband sighed with frustration. “Is everything alright?”

“Fine,” he replied stiffly. “Forgive me, Duke Lachlan, I merely needed a moment away from your father’s decadent celebration to clear my head. I hadn’t expected anyone else to be out here.”

“Neither did I, to be quite honest,” Lachlan’s cheeks reddened slightly as he dug his hand under Maura’s in his continued attempts to get her to let go. “I do apologise for my father, I’m sure you’re aware he can be-”

“Lachlaaan, why are you wasting time blethering with him?” Maura cried, sounding more like a spoiled child than a lady of Stallion. She pressed herself against his chest and glared out at Eamon. “Who is he anyway?”

Her husband closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. “Maura, this is Baron Eamon Allendale, one of Bern’s mino-”

“Allendale?” she grinned lopsidedly at Eamon. “As in…”

Coughing and hacking, Maura cleared her throat before bursting into song.

The flowers decked the mountainside,
And fragrance filled the vale,
By far the sweetest flowers there,
Were the roses of Allendale.

She would have continued but as she paused to take a breath, only raspy gasps emerged from her mouth. Lachlan stiffened and grabbed the pouch on her chest, bring it up to his wife’s mouth so she could breathe in its contents.

“...Yes, that one,” he replied flatly before looking back to the Baron. “I do apologise for this.”

Eamon normally didn’t mind hearing that song referenced. After all the flowers in Augeron were a point of pride for his house. But just now, watching Lachlan’s notorious peasant wife carrying on like a drunken wretch in a tavern, his already strained patience snapped.

“You need not trouble yourself over it, your Grace,” he said, his voice simmering with barely restrained anger. “Might as well have some fun while you can hm? Fiddling while Valla burns, isn’t that how the saying goes?”

Lachlan stiffened, his jaw grinding together as his eyes darkened. “I think, Baron Allendale, you’re mistaking me for my father,” he said quietly, his own voice acquiring an edge.

“Perhaps,” he said frostily. “But it seems to me tonight everyone in this castle is indulging their own vices, supposedly in my honor, instead of actually addressing the very serious problem I came here for.” He tilted his head. “Did your father even deign to tell you why I’m here? Did you ask?”

“I confess, I did not,” the Duke replied. “However, if it is serious enough to have brought you out here-”

There was a groan from Maura as she dropped her pouch and shakily got up. “Is this really the time to discuss this? We were having such a nice evening,” she nuzzled into Lachlan before her eyes dashed up to Eamon, glaring directly at him “Before we got interrupted.”

“Maura, if this is something the Baron is concerned about-”

“It can wait until morning, when my skull is cracking open,” she grabbed him by the collar, grinning widely. “Now, however, I have other plans.”

Lachlan winced, glancing between her and Eamon. “I really don’t think-”

“Oh by all means, don’t mind me,” Eamon interrupted scathingly. “I’ll deal with my inter-regional livestock thieves myself. You know with all that authority a mere baron has to appeal to Lord Boovean about his minor lords being incompetent do-nothings.” The man spun on his heel, hissing, “Enjoy your evening, your Grace, my lady.”

Maura cackled, clutching Lachlan closer to her. “Thank ya, we will!”

The uncomfortable expression on the Duke’s face, however, suggested anything but. “Livestock thieves?” his voice hitched. “Wait, Baron Eamon, please. I need to know more.”

“And you can find out more later, my Wall, but the Baron needs to leave now,” his wife stroked his cheek, running a finger along his jawline. “Ye’re always so concerned with business. Relax, take it slow. It will be there in the morning, when I won’t be.”

He swallowed, turning to her. “But this sounds important, Maura, I should address it as soon as I can.”

“Ach, let him cool off. Ye’ll both do better with a clear head,” she wrapped her arms around his neck, gazing into his eyes. “Relax now. Bern won’t fall apart because you’re taking an evening to see to your wife.”

Eamon was thoroughly done listening to this simpering peasant woman dismissing issues she had no concept of, and furthermore of the heir to House Stallion letting her stop him. Without another word he stalked back up the steps into the castle, closing the door behind him.

Drunkards. Irresponsible procrastinators. Ignorant peasants. House Stallion was going to the ‘Pit, and dragging the rest of Bern down with it.

***

One way or another, the thieves were eventually dealt with. A message was sent to Hereford in Dionysis’s name and the minor lords of Kine were alerted to deal with the unpleasant situation. Slowly but surely, the thieves who had been using the border as a way to get away without paying for their crimes found their sanctuary eroded away. From there, it was simply a matter of capturing them, trying them and hanging them.

Years later, the Baron once again called on the Grand Dukes of Bern, but this time, it was Stallion who came to him.

The pale grey Noblesse snorted as Lachlan pulled it to a halt in the courtyard outside the manor. He lifted himself up from the saddle and climbed off its back, the frost crunching sharply beneath his boots as he alighted on to the ground. It was early March, and though the spring thaw had begun, snow still lurked in the shadows where the light of the sun had not reached it yet. Even going via the Horseshoe road, the weather conditions meant that the journey to Augeron had taken five days instead of the usual two or three. However, it was a risk the Grand Duke considered well worth taking. He would rather brave the snows than delay this matter any further.

A groom in the colours of the ruling nobles rushed up and Lachlan handed him his horse’s reins. “Take Marble to the stables, and see that he is curried, fed and watered,” he ordered and glanced back to where his entourage, knights and a few servants, were entering behind him. “And see to it that them and their horses are also taken care of.”

The man bowed to him and did as he was ordered, heading in the direction of the stables with the Noblesse stallion keeping a fair pace behind him. With that taken care of, the Grand Duke dusted himself off, sweeping the excess dirt of the road off his cloak and tunic, and adjusted the circlet, the symbol of his new office, so that it sat straight upon his brow. Once he assured himself that he was suitably presentable, Lachlan directed his deep blue eyes straight ahead, waiting for the master of the manor to make his appearance. He felt that it would not be long; despite his misgivings, Baron Allendale would nevertheless not make his high lord wait.

Indeed, the newly minted Grand Duke was not kept waiting long. A slim blonde man who looked to be around Lachlan’s same age strode down the pebble laden path towards the Stallion entourage, his dark brown eyes and diplomatic expression revealing nothing of his thoughts. Trotting to keep up with the man was a boy who looked to be no more than nine or ten, with long pale brown hair tied back in a horse tail and eyes the same shade of brown as the elder man. The Allendales were dressed in their house colors of Magenta, purple, and cream, and as one they bowed their heads to Lachlan.

“Your Grace,” the man intoned formally. “I bid you welcome to Augeron. You already know me, but I thought this as good an opportunity as any to introduce you to my heir, Regan.”

“Good afternoon, your Grace,” the child said, dipping his head again, though his eyes kept flicking upwards and he looked not a little awed.

The Grand Duke’s expression did not shift yet his gaze softened a little as he gave the boy a little nod of acknowledgement. “Good afternoon, Regan,” his voice was neutral but hardly unkind, not wanting to spook the boy. However, as soon as he turned back to his father, both his eyes and his voice hardened into a diplomatic stoniness. “And a good day to you too, Baron Eamon.”

Lachlan held out his hand in the customary greeting. “It is good to see you again, and you must accept my apology for not being able to address your...concerns sooner.”

Eamon returned Lachlan’s handshake, his expression remaining equally flat. “Of course. None but fools travel in the heart of a Bernian winter. Though I confess myself surprised you deemed it worth addressing in the first place. Certainly any conversations I’ve had about issues in the past have been met with circular avoidance if not outright dismissal.”

“Yes, well…” Lachlan’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I am not my late father. Unlike him, I am not going to neglect my duty for the sake of a feast and a hunt, and I intend to prove it.”

He withdrew his hand, returning it to lie flat by his side and glanced at the manor behind the Baron. “Shall we go inside? I find it is best to discuss things when one is not surrounded by snowdrifts.”

“Certainly,” Eamon replied, though his eyes narrowed very slightly. Customarily it was for the host to invite the party inside- Lachlan’s comment was a clear assertion of dominance over the baron, a borderline rude one. Turning to his son Eamon said, “Regan, inform the servants waiting inside that we will be expecting them in the lesser meeting chamber with a wine service presently. Then you may have liberty until dinner- I expect you and Isolde to be on time and dressed appropriately.”

“Of course, Papa,” the child replied, before scurrying into the building. Eamon turned, leading his highlord inside at a more sedate pace.

“Her ladyship is due soon, is she not?” Eamon asked casually as they entered the warm interior of the manor.

Lachlan stiffened. “At the end of April. Until then, both the physician and the midwife are keeping her on bedrest. They are doing everything in their power to look after her and the child,” the Grand Duke’s words were conversational enough but there was a definite hard strain to his tone. “You can understand, however, why given the circumstances I did not want to delay my visit longer than I had to.”

“I lost my wife to childbirth, so given her ladyship’s… past difficulties, I can understand your anxiety,” Eamon replied, his voice still carefully neutral, but the tiniest hint of a downward curl ticking at the corners of his lips. “Hopefully the Woo will finally grant you the heir you have been seeking for so long.”

A muscle twitched in the corner of Lachlan’s jaw. “Thank you, Baron Eamon, but the Woo has nothing to do with it. I place my faith in my wife and those who have spent years of their lives training in medicine. There is nothing anybody else can do,” he stated, choosing his words carefully and slowly in order to not let any stray emotion sneak through with them. “It is best to focus on our more immediate problem. It shall soon be the growing season, will it not?”

Eamon’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “We will begin plowing just as soon as the ground has sufficiently thawed from the last of the snowmelt. Planting will begin two weeks later.” As the finally reached the office Eamon had been leading them towards, the baron opened the door to reveal a small but airy room, tapestries done with spring garden scenes hanging from the walls and a pair of plush armchairs situated on either side of a low table. A servant was already waiting inside, with a pair of goblets and two bottles on a tray. The man bowed as Eamon gestured for Lachlan to sit, adding, “Do you prefer red or white wine, your Grace?”

“I prefer not to drink at all, but I will not refuse your generosity, Baron. Red for me, please,” the Grand Duke said as she sat down in one of the armchairs, placing his arms squarely on the armrests. “After the planting, there are many challenges, are there not? Keeping the crops healthy, watered, free of pests...all are problems which need to be addressed.”

As the servant poured some red wine into a goblet for Lachlan, the baron of Allendale nodded. “Plants are quite delicate, your grace. Even something as simple as watering takes a very precise hand. Too much water and the plants will rot at the roots. Not enough, and they wither. Keeping maintenance over one’s crop yield requires constant vigilance and the initiative to act quickly when there is a perceived problem.”

“That is true of any endeavour. Moderation and an eye for any sign of trouble are required in all fields of life, whether it is farming or, indeed, politics,” Lachlan remarked, taking the goblet of wine from the servant once he had finished pouring it, though he did not take a drink just yet.

“Very true,” Eamon agreed, lifting his eyebrows in a silent acknowledgement of Lachlan’s immediate perception of the metaphor. The servant poured a second goblet, this one of white wine, which Eamon picked up and swirled in his hand absently. “We are often considered quite insignificant here in Augeron. In the grand scheme of things. Our political power is negligible compared to say, Bay or Sabino. We are not a major trade hub, nor do we mine for iron ore. Many have joked that we are a forgotten wasteland for the Bernian ideology of progress and industry. But everyone, from the miners toiling away deep in their mountain caves to lords in their castles needs grain, and cheese, and meat. It is often easy to feel like people have forgotten that.”

“You can rest assured that I have not. I understand the importance of food and the farmers who provide it to Bern. It is as essential to progress as iron or stone because it is what fuels people: the agents of that progress,” Lachlan met the Baron’s gaze. “Every one of Bern’s Houses, from Dun to Bay to my own House has its part to play in the grand scheme of things and I do not intend to neglect one part lest the entire structure breaks.”

His eyes hardened, along with the tiny muscles of his face. “Especially because my father had done enough of that already.”

Eamon took a sip of his wine, then nodded. “Very well, your Grace. If you are willing then- these are the issues that have plagued the farmers for some time, for which we have struggled to find a solution and appealed for help to little avail. The first; there has been a recent, increasing pressure from industrialists within both our territory and Stallion to turn over sizable tracts of designated grazing land for various projects of theirs. They argue that there is a great quantity of our land that at any given time is not in use. However, large grazing herds must be on the move constantly, lest they exhaust the resources in one area and leave totally barren. The common lands are held in trust by our house so that we may carefully monitor which herds from what areas may use them when. It is a delicate balance. But we have had tremendous frustrations getting the petitioners to take no for an answer.”

Lachlan placed his goblet down on the low table, leaning back in his chair to consider this. “Thanks to my wife, I am well aware of the needs of a livestock herd. However, industry is just as necessary for Bern as animals are and in order to satisfy both, more land is required. The hills of your territory are suitable for sheep, yes, but cattle need gentler terrain,” his eyes flickered up to the Baron. “What of the land covered by woods? They are not being used by farmers or industrialists, and their timber can be used by both.”

Eamon pursed his lips, considering it. “A reasonable compromise, I suppose, though if that is done there will need to be more hunters out and about. Destroying forests means more foxes raiding henhouses, wolves attacking the sheep, and bears feasting on cattle.”

“Then it means more money for hunters, and extra money for farmers hunting in common woods,” the Grand Duke remarked, picking his goblet up again and taking a small sip. “Do you have another solution to this problem, Baron Eamon?”

“No, that will suffice to satisfy all parties I believe,” Eamon agreed. “Although… I did mention the common lands are held in trust by my house? Yet some less than honest individuals apparently decided to ‘sell’ the lands regardless, to get rich quickly off of the equally unscrupulous industrialists who sought to go behind our backs. The farmers, of course have been dealt with internally, but seeing as some of the buyers are operating with companies within your territory, I thought it prudent to ask if you should rather we deal with them, or hand them over to Stallion justice.”

Lachlan’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “You deal with your people, Baron Eamon, and I shall deal with mine. I only need to know who it was that was profiteering off your lands and from there, I shall see to it that justice is done,” he swirled his cup around. “Any other concerns that I can help you with?”

Eamon seemed satisfied by this answer, nodding. “I shall have the men turned over to you, along with the information pertaining to whom they were working for and their appeals papers, as evidence that they did in fact know the land was not for those herdsmen to sell.” He took a sip of his wine. “There is one other issue. As you’ll know, normally it is the practice to keep food stored in coldsheds over winter, so that it does not go bad as quickly. However, here in the southern reaches we’ve had several unseasonably warm years, which have led to some pressing issues with keeping our larders stocked. Of course with the majority of the food we produce exported, this means hungry farmers over the winter. Hungry farmers who grumble about, to quote, ‘the food they break their backs to produce going into the bellies of everyone but them.’” Eamon quirked an eyebrow. “I don’t think I need to tell you that grumblings of dissension can… escalate if left unchecked.”

“No, you do not, and it is beneficial to all of us if these complaints are taken care of quickly. We cannot have men starving in the winters,” the Grand Duke placed his cup back on the table and lowered his eyes, sinking deep into thought. For a while, there was silence as Lachlan pondered the problem proposed to him before eventually, he looked up at the Baron sitting opposite him.

“As luck would have it, a year ago, we got a proposal from a guild engineer hoping to work on our castle’s storehouses. While I initially vetoed this as unnecessary, his idea was clever enough that we kept it for future consideration,” the Stallion spoke in a careful, measured voice. “If the problem is lack of cold, then I believe, with some modifications to make it more practical for widespread use, it will serve the purpose you seek?”

Eamon quirked an eyebrow. “You have my attention, your Grace, but you will need to elaborate before I can confirm or deny the practical application of this idea. Work what precisely on your storehouses?”

“His own design; he had designed a storehouse in which the roof has a complex cooling system inside it. Snow and ice is stored underground, along with the goods that need to be preserved, and the cold emanating from the former is kept inside the storehouse,” Lachlan explained. “The man boasted that it could keep ice frozen even in the midst of summer in Courdon. I do not believe such an exaggerated statement myself, but nevertheless, I think his work will suffice for your needs.”

He bowed his head slightly, the light glinting off the garnet inlaid in the silver circlet around his head. “It was too much work for not enough reward to modify the castle storehouses due to having to demolish the roofs and dig further down into the rock of the Horse’s Head. However,” the Grand Duke’s eyes met Eamon’s. “If you have this problem, it may be worth building these structures on your lands from scratch, Baron.”

Eamon stroked his chin, his eyes calculating. “It is an intriguing notion. And it would probably be possible to set up such storage chambers within our hill country without sacrificing their use for grazing goats and sheep. We would, of course, need to test it first, to see if it is feasible for widespread use, but I will admit the idea has merit.”

There was a small nod of acknowledgement from Lachlan. “Then if you will lend me use of a pigeon, I can write to the guild to put you in touch with the engineer in question. I’m sure he will be delighted to work for you,” he tapped a finger against the arm of his chair. “If this proves satisfactory for you...how well will you be able to handle the cost of this venture?”

“Hmm.” Eamon tapped his fingers absently on the arm of his chair. “Certainly we will finance the majority, since it would be our project in our territory, but if it proves as cost-intensive as you’ve implied, we may need to do a few favors for our neighbors to procure the funds.”

“Favours…” the Grand Duke pondered this word. “Since I suggested this to you, Baron Eamon, it is only right that House Stallion contributes to a portion of the costs. Money might be tight at the moment, but,” he leaned forward, looking Eamon in the eye. “I want to make it clear: my priority is making sure my people, peasant and noble, are taken care of.”

Eamon met Lachlan’s eyes squarely. “I shall hope devoutly that is indeed the case. But you’ll need to match words with deeds your Grace. The relationship between minor nobles and major ones is a relationship founded on mutual trust- and House Stallion has lost a very great deal of trust in the past twelve years.”

This caused the Grand Duke to scowl openly, the expression sharply transforming his normally stony face. “Thanks to my father, you mean?” he growled. “I have said this before, Baron Eamon: I am nothing like that old layabout who followed every single whim that came into his thick skull.”

The corners of Eamon’s mouth ticked upwards, very briefly but someone who was paying attention would have noticed. “At least you are willing to confront the harsh truth openly. That is certainly a good start.” The baron took a delicate sip of his wine before adding, “But bear in mind it is not simply your father’s legacy which you must overcome. You have your own share of controversy which hangs over you like choking cloud. I am not saying what you endeavor to do will be impossible- simply an uphill battle.”

Like the sun moving behind a cloud, Lachlan’s scowl disappeared and he lowered his gaze, sinking into his chair. “I am aware of that. But I want you to know this, and this is something I am trying to instill in all the lords who have questioned my decision,” he looked up, a fresh fire in his eyes. “My personal life has and will have no bearing on my effectiveness as Grand Duke. I will do my duty to Bern, come wind, rain or snow.”

Eamon sighed softly. “All of us would like to believe that. But in nobility, there is no ‘personal life.’ We live our lives on display, Grand Duke Lachlan. Every decision, every action, in every minute of every day is under scrutiny. Our families, though we love them, are foremost the vehicle of our legacies.” Meaningfully he added, “The future towards which Bern strives is dependant upon strong shoulders to carry that legacy.”

The Stallion paused for a minute before nodding slowly. “I know,” he murmured, his voice betraying a note of melancholy. “But losing children...it happens. It’s of no benefit to anyone but it happens. That is no reason to give up hope. Both me and my wife are still young. But if the worst comes to the worst...”

His jaw tightened a fraction. “You’re not the only minor House whose complaints about me have risen to a fever pitch. The Lords of Bay have also taken up your cause and to them, I have promised my younger sister,” Lachlan glanced away from Eamon briefly so that the Baron could not see the guilt in his eyes. “If we die childless, Bay will have a strong claim. Bern will not be left without a leader.”

He turned back, looking Eamon in the eye once again. “Does that satisfy you?”

The man nodded slowly. “That is an agreeable alternative. Not without its potential for strife, and certainly not an ideal situation, but with hope it will not come to that. Still it is good that at least the eventuality is addressed.” He bowed his head slightly. “I am not wholly without faith, your Grace. I have simply endured a very great deal of my needs and opinions being cast aside, and the reassurance that this isn’t going to remain the status quo is good.”

“I am just as tired of that status quo as you are, Baron Allendale, and rest assured, I do not intend to repeat my father’s mistakes. In fact, I wish to correct them,” Lachlan spoke, holding his head proudly up high. “I want to leave a good legacy for my heir when he is born, which means mending the wrongs of the past and improving them. Show the rest of Bern that my family have not forgotten their motto.”

His eyes flickered back to the Baron. “But for that, I will need all my nobles, including you, not to have faith in me but to trust me to make decisions to benefit this region. I hope today’s deal will be an example of why you should put that trust in me,” the Grand Duke held out his hand. “Do we have a deal, Baron Eamon Allendale?”

Eamon reached out to Lachlan, taking the man’s hand in his own. “We have a deal, your Grace.”

[Celestial]

So this was supposed to be my Valentine's Day fic last year but then Margot took over my brain with feels. However, I did finish it eventually. I guess it isn't too romantic but it does have to do with 'shipping so...I'll just post it. x3

More Than A Match

SPOILER: Click to show

Destrier, Bern, 1310

Isabelle exhaled and pointed her sword down, slamming it down into her scabbard so hard the steel almost tore through the leather. “With all due respect, Captain Arran, that was far too easy.”

“Ach, I apologise, yer ladyship,” the old knight wiped his brow and got up from his knees on to his feet, rubbing them in the process. “I am not as young as I used tae be, and ye’ve learned a lot over all tae years I’ve taught ya.”

“You’ve been teaching me since my father named me as his heir, Captain,” Isabelle folded her arms. “It would be very poor form of me if I had learned nothing.”

“Aye, and ye’re also a talented lass, yer ladyship, more talented than any squire I’ve had,” the Captain bowed his head to her. “But, if I may, why d’ya say this was tae easy for ya?”

Isabelle’s head snapped to attention and she held up one hand, counting out one finger. “Firstly, Captain, you have gotten slower and are now relying more on strength to block me, something you discourage me to do by the way,” she raised a second finger. “Secondly, I have sparred with you since the beginning of my education, I can predict and counter your defensive moves, especially because I know enough to not have to rely solely on the techniques you have taught me. Thirdly-”

“Ach, yer ladyship, leave an old man a scrap o’ pride, will ya?” Arran smiled awkwardly, an action which made the scar across his brow crumple, and bowed his head. “Ye’re quite right though. I’ve also been noticing yer beating me very easily, and that’s a good thing, dinnae get me wrong, but...”

“But, Captain Arran?” Isabelle shifted her balance from her left to her right foot, eagerly awaiting the continuation of that sentence.

“I feel like I should step back as yer sparring partner. I’m not doing ya any good, fighting me,” the old knight shook his head.

The Duchess frowned. “Then how will I keep learning, Captain?”

“Ach, yer ladyship, I’ll still remain yer instructor in the theory but in practice, you’ll need tae find somebody else,” the Captain save a soft chuckle that sounded like a raven with a sore throat. “Beat some younger, fitter man with the things I’ve taught ya.”

Isabelle gave a slow nod. It was not like she disagreed, far from it. In fact, the old knight had picked up on the exact concerns she had not wished to bring up to him. After nine years, telling a tutor he was not good enough for her seemed ungrateful. Besides, it was up to either him or her father to make that judgement.

Her father. Isabelle wished she had more of a chance to try her skills against him. She would lose, of course she would; despite his age the Grand Duke was still an experienced and formidable fighter but she could at least learn from her mistakes and his skills. However, that was impossible to do on any kind of regular basis. Her father was too occupied with the running of Bern to indulge his daughter’s selfish desires.

Which did not solve the problem of her having nobody to practice with.

The Duchess turned to her instructor. “I trust your expertise, Captain Arran. Is there anybody you could recommend to me?”

“Nah,” The old knight waved his hand dismissively and shook his head. “Ye’re a smart lass, yer ladyship, ya should choose and decide for yerself what kinda person ya need.”

Isabelle’s jaw tightened a little at that but nevertheless, she gave her instructor a curt bow, hiding her irritation. “Very well then. I shall find somebody myself.”

“Good. I have faith in ya,” Captain Arran smiled and raised up his sword. “Now, one last time? See if I can still stand any chance against ya, yer ladyship?”

Isabelle did not need to be asked twice. Her sword easily slid out of her scabbard and she shifted her feet, balancing on them almost reflexively now like a cat about to leap on its prey. If a knight as experienced as Captain Arran was acknowledging her as his superior, whoever followed him had a high bar set for them. Indeed, the only thing holding the captain back was his age and her familiarity with him. She needed somebody who had neither quality.

The Duchess quietly smiled to herself. She knew exactly where to find such people. The question was whether they would ever accept her challenge.

The old knight lunged forward but Isabelle caught the strike with the flat of her blade, moving aside to let it slide harmlessly downward. She had to focus. Her new partner was going to be a thought for another time.

***

A few days later, the Duchess found herself making her way from the main keep across the courtyard, covered in light leather armour and her blunt training sword hanging from her hip. Since her last spar with Captain Arran, she had given some thought to who her next opponent could be. Not any of the Icehounds; they would obey if given a direct command by her father but she did not want to bother him with such a small thing, nor did she want to fight against any of them on a regular basis. The Hounds’ speciality was subterfuge and winter warfare, a fact that made them far too specialised to employ as sparring partners. Furthermore, she has no doubt they would show her no mercy. Good as she was, Isabelle was only so much of a match against the elite forces of Bern.

Another other option was the ordinary knights. Their way of fighting was closer to that which she was looking to learn than that of the Hounds. However, there was the same problem as Arran: the man she finds may not be around within the next few years due to retirement or worse. Even if she got lucky, she did fear having a partner who was far too out of her experience range. Captain Arran was a good instructor, he did not go easy on her but on her father’s orders he tempered his ability to better match the level she was at. A stranger without such instructions might not be so kind to her, especially, Isabelle thought with a scowl, if they wanted to put a girl in what they saw as her place.

As far as she was concerned, there was only once choice.

Without a second of hesitation, the Duchess went through the gates and entered into the quadrangle. A dozen pairs of eyes immediately turned to her and a whisper ran like a wave through the ranks of young men that stood assembled in rows in front of her.

Isabelle’s blue-grey eyes met their gazes, projecting a cool, impassive air like her father would have done in her place as she examined the people in front of her. Most, if not all of them, were around her age, as would be expected of trainees. She recognised a few as the sons of various minor nobles who had been here as squires; it would have been odd if she had not seen them around here and there. The new faces were most likely commoners trained up by knights in Konik and Tersk, sent to serve their lord until they became fully-fledged knights themselves.

And before that happened, one of them was going to be her sparring partner.

“Your Grace?” sounded a gruff voice beside her. Isabelle’s head whipped around to face the man who had spoken to her, the single pale red bar above the badge pinned to his chest immediately clueing her in on to his identity.

“Captain,” she gave him a nod of acknowledgement.

“Can I help you with anything?” the knight asked, keeping his hands by his sides and his spine straight as a board, as he was supposed to in front of a superior, something Isabelle noticed with some satisfaction.

“I’m looking for a sparring partner, and I thought I would try to pick one out from among your men,” the Duchess replied coolly.

He blinked, raising an eyebrow. “This is an odd request, your Grace. Do these orders come from your father?”

“No, but he entrusted me with the task of finding somebody to train with. Therefore, Captain, these orders come from me,” she put her hands on her hips. “Do you have a problem with that?”

The knight’s back stiffened even further. “Certainly not, your Grace. However,” he narrowed his eyes. “These men are rookies, requiring strict discipline and training. I worry what taking one aside will do, not just to him but to the rest of them.”

“I am not planning on interfering with their training. This would be a good way to keep one of them occupied during their free time,” Isabelle said, narrowing her eyes and glancing between the captain and the trainee knights, who were still gossiping amongst themselves. “In fact, these men are supposed to be learning to be loyal to the House, are they not? Would helping the heir of House Stallion not increase that loyalty?”

Silence settled over the captain and he gave a single, reluctant nod. Not even waiting for confirmation that she had won, the Duchess turned back to the trainees, examining them with a critical eye.

“I’m looking for a man to train with as my sparring partner. That means fighting me with the sword, regularly,” she stated, looking over the men. “Therefore, I need a volunteer.”

A murmur ran through the young men, followed by a shuffling of feet as they tried to hide from the steely gaze of the woman in front of them. A few glanced back and forth between themselves, trying to see if anybody was going to take her up on her offer but found their comrades to be just as lacking in enthusiasm as they were.

Isabelle gritted her teeth together, trying to hide her irritation. “Anyone?” she barked.

A hand suddenly shot up from the back of the crowd. “I’ll do it!” came a joyful cry.

His arm was immediately pulled back down but it was too late. Her eyes snapped towards the voice, narrowing in on the person who had called out to her. It would have been difficult not to spot him amongst the gathering of trainees: his fiery red hair was so bright it could almost be called offensive. Isabelle narrowed her eyes at him and took several steps forward towards the young man, the crowd parting in front of her as she did so.

As she came closer, she got to examine the person who had answered her challenge in more detail. He certainly did not seem like someone who was about to become a Stallion knight. His ginger hair hung down in messy locks and a stupid grin was plastered across his freckled face. He seemed undeterred by another squire with much darker, raven-black, hair by his side frantically talking to him and, by the evil look in his eyes, resisting the urge to slap him in the face.

“...the Duchess? Are you insane, Hector?!” he cried, barely biting back the panic in his voice.

Still smiling, the redhead shrugged. “She asked, Lin. I don’t see the harm in-”

Isabelle cleared her throat. The dark-haired man’s back immediately stiffened as if yanked up by a wire. He turned towards her, bowing deeply, though she did not miss the trace of a scowl crossing his face. The redhead, however, turned to her with the same stupid smile on his face. Did he not have any other facial expression?!

She growled, folding her arms in front of herself. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” he replied.

“Then why are you smiling?”

“Why not?” the trainee shrugged.

Isabelle narrowed her eyes, grinding her teeth together. “Have you no respect? Don’t you know who I am?”

“I do; you’re Lady-”

“Duchess,” she snarled. “I am the heir of House Stallion.”

“Oh, right, sorry. I didn’t know. Duchess Isabelle Stallion it is,” the redhead continued to smile as though nothing was wrong. Was he mocking her?

Before she could snap at him, however, there was a cough from the dark-haired man, snapping Isabelle’s attention to him. “Forgive him, your Grace. He is what is commonly referred to as an idiot. He really means no offence.”

The woman closed her eyes, lowering her arms to her side and unclenching her fists. She was not going to let her temper get the better of her, especially over something this stupid. “Thank you, squire,” she said, her voice far more even as she turned to the other trainee. “What is your name?”

“Burns,” he stated, standing up ramrod-straight again. “Lindsey.”

“Lindsey Burns...I applaud you for standing up for your comrade, however,” Isabelle looked him right in the eye, “I would prefer if potential knights of Stallion were able to answer for themselves, and for potential knights of Stallion to speak to their superiors only if addressed first.”

Lindsey narrowed his eyes at her, his jaw tightening as he bit back his tongue. Nevertheless, he bowed deeply to her. “Yes, your Grace,” he muttered before stepping away.

Satisfied with that answer, the Duchess turned back to the redhead. “Regardless, you want to spar with me, squire Hector?”

“Yes,” he shrugged. “Why not?”

“And you think you can beat me?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

“I dunno? I never fought a woman before, at least not with a sword,” Hector replied, still in that irritating, cheery tone.

He was definitely an idiot. That or he was mocking her. It almost reminded her of her brother, except without the deliberate malice and condescension Garrick oozed. It did not matter, however; all he did was make Isabelle want to fight him even more, just to wipe that grin off his face.

Isabelle turned around sharply, peering across the crowd back at the captain of the trainees. “What is their schedule now?”

“Nothing at the moment, your Grace. I just finished drilling them and was about to have them practice combat,” the senior knight told her. “Do you wish to take him now?”

“Yes,” the Duchess replied instantly and glanced around at the dozen trainees whose eyes were now focused on her. Once she had completed her gaze, she turned back to the senior knight. “You can even make an example of us two. It would be a good experience for them to see how a Stallion heir fights.”

The man lowered his head, considering her proposal, before looking up and giving a nod. “Alright, your Grace, as you wish,” he stated. “Will you be sparring here?”

“Why not? This is a fine courtyard, and there is plenty of room for us and your rookies,” Isabelle turned to Hector. “Assuming that is fine with you?”

He shrugged. “You’re the boss,” the redhead replied with a grin. “I’ll do as you say.”

For a moment, Isabelle stared, dumbstruck, before narrowing her eyes. “Don’t address me with such a casual tone either, trainee.”

“Got it. I won’t...your Grace,” he said, still smiling at her. She was beginning to suspect that she could order him to run naked through a blizzard and it still would not wipe away that smile. In a way, it was almost admirable though it begged the question of how anybody with this much cheer could ever get this far in his training. Woo only knew whether he would even be a match for her in a spar.

She shook her head, dismissing the thought; if he was no good, she’d simply pick another one of these boys. “We fight until one of us is disarmed. No holding back.”

“Sure,” Hector said with a salute and a grin.

Isabelle rolled her eyes and turned to the knight captain. “Get your boys to form a ring around us.”

The man gave an obliging nod and turned to the trainees, bellowing orders to the young men around him. As they slowly encircled them, Isabelle drew her sword and held it in both hands in front of her, keeping her elbows close to her body. She put one foot out, balanced on the balls of her feet, ready to strike at any time. Seeing this, Hector drew his own sword, also blunted for training purposes, and assumed a defensive stance, holding it in front of him. The smile still tugged at the corners of his mouth but his eyes had adopted a steely, harsh look, betraying his concentration. Isabelle could tell he was watching her, trying to anticipate her moves.

Good. Maybe he would be a challenge after all.

The Duchess took several deep breaths, forcing herself to concentrate. Gradually, she felt her limbs loosen and her focus zero in on her opponent. There was no way she would ever lose to that idiot.

She took a step forward and feinted back when she saw Hector bracing himself for the attack. The second time, however, she lunged forward, aiming her sword for an opening by his shoulder. However, any thoughts of a quick victory were dashed by a loud clang of steel as their blades met. Before she could leave herself vulnerable to a counterattack, Isabelle slid her sword off his, forcing a sharp hiss out of their weapons, and moved backwards, out of his reach.

Hector brought his sword back into a defensive position, staying on the balls of his feet as he moved right, edging towards her. For every step he took, however, she matched him, wandering around the edge of the circle as the two sized each other up.

What did she know about her opponent? Isabelle kept her eyes on him, scanning the knight’s movements for clues as to what he was thinking. He was tall and well-muscled; in brute strength, he would most likely outmatch her, but she was more than used to fighting opponents stronger than her. What she needed to know was how he thought; if she knew that, she could easily predict his moves.

If their previous interactions taught her anything it was that he was not the brightest spark in the fire. It was possible she could use that.

The Duchess stopped in her tracks, deliberately opening up her side for attack. It took Hector only a moment to register it and she could see him bracing himself for the attack a few seconds before he lunged. However, he found himself swinging only at air as Isabelle casually side-stepped him, bringing her sword around to attempt to go for his sword. She had him!

There was a clash of metal again as Hector turned, just barely bringing his blade around to meet hers. Isabelle could only register surprise for a single moment before he swung his blade off her own, attempting to wrench it out of her hand. For a moment, she could feel his strength pushing against her blade and she gritted her teeth in an attempt to keep a hold of it before suddenly yanking it out from under him, moving back. Hector stumbled forward, losing his balance but there was no time for Isabelle to take advantage of his opening; she had moved too far back and he quickly found his feet, restoring his defences and looking up to face her. Their eyes locked on each other.

For a few moments, nothing happened and then Hector lunged forward, bringing his sword out to strike her. Isabelle weaved out of the way but he suddenly turned on his heel and his sword lashed out, striking against her right. Pain flared beneath the leather rerebraces on her shoulder; there was going to be a bruise there later. Grinding her teeth together, she struck his blade with hers, knocking it away and stepping backwards, out of his reach.

Her neck prickled as she felt all the eyes of the trainees on them but Isabelle did not let herself be distracted by it. If she was being watched, it was even more motivation not to lose. However, she had to give the man credit; she had not expected him to strike her.

He had begun to circle her again and she once again engaged him in that same dance, watching his eyes in an attempt to predict where he would go for next. She attempted to open her side again but he ignored it, obviously learning the lesson from last time. Maybe he was not so stupid, at least when it came to combat.

“What’s the matter?” Isabelle called out to him. “Scared of being beaten by a girl?”

“No, not really,” Hector replied, smiling widely at her. “I just don’t want to lose.”

You’re going to, the Duchess thought to herself as they continued to pace around each other, looking for holes in their defences. He lunged forward suddenly at her but she easily sidestepped his attack, though she did not take the chance to make a counter-attack, instead moving away to continue circling him like a wolf around a deer. She too, had learned her lesson; this boy was not going to be brought down by just striking at him without a plan.

Isabelle took a deep breath and exhaled, pausing for a moment to narrow her thoughts. She shifted on her feet, moving her elbows in closer to her body and then charged right at him. It was a seemingly reckless move, and he easily blocked it, but that was just what she was looking for. She struck again, letting him parry and then again, raining down a relentless amount of blows on her opponent, forcing him to focus only on repelling her strikes. All the while, Isabelle kept moving forward, forcing Hector back into the crowd of trainees that flanked him.

Both their breaths became heavier and more rapid as the assault continued, but despite his exhaustion, Isabelle could see that Hector was growing accustomed to the flow of the battle. His parries were just a fraction quicker than before and she could see that ever-present smile on his face grow. Perfect.

He blocked one more blow of hers, but instead of landing another, Isabelle rapidly ducked down and struck at his ankles. Hector gasped as he stumbled off balance and she took the opportunity to strike at his sword again, this time succeeding in knocking it out of his hand. He fell down on one knee and in one smooth motion she swung her blade around, pointing its tip at his throat.

“I win,” the Duchess stated, her words heavy as her grey-blue eyes bored into the top of his skull. “What do you say to that?”

“Congratulations!” Hector exclaimed. Isabelle blinked, stiffening at the sudden praise.

“You...you’re congratulating me?” she frowned slightly, still holding her sword to his throat.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he lifted his head up, meeting her gaze. His usual, exuberant smile was plastered all across his face, lifting up the corners of his mouth and eyes. “You are a really good fighter. Probably even better than Lin!”

Isabelle’s mouth flew open and even though she immediately forced it shut, she could not help but stare. It seemed like he was mocking her, but his expression, his voice, even his pose suggested nothing but sincerity. She had defeated him and he was still paying her a compliment!

Despite herself, Isabelle found her own expression morphing into a smile to match his. “Well...thank you,” she said, any earlier ferocity disappearing as though it was smoke in the breeze. Her sword flew away from where it had been hovering near his throat and she withdrew it back into her scabbard. “You fight well too, Hector. I didn’t think I’d find a worthy match in you.”

The Duchess held her hand out to him and he gratefully accepted it. With her help, he got back up on to his feet and smiled down at her. “Thanks,” he stated cheerily. For a moment, Hector held her hand still and then shook it, a gesture which she gladly returned. They held each other’s gaze for a moment before he turned away, looking out into the crowd of trainees.

“See, Lin, everything was fine!” he called. Isabelle turned her head sideways just in time to see his friend with dark hair rubbing his temples.

“Because you got lucky, idiot,” he grumbled, refusing to look up at Hector. He shot Duchess a glance but, remembering her words, kept his mouth shut.

“At ease, Squire Burns, your friend is in the clear. Nothing will happen to either you or him,” Isabelle said, folding her arms and smiling. “In fact...” she turned back to Hector. “How about we do this again? What do you say; do you want to become my sparring partner permanently?”

“If you want me, your Grace, sure!” he exclaimed, grinning widely. “I enjoyed that.”

“Good,” she smiled back at him for the second time today. Woo, it really was infectious. “Then I shall arrange it with your captain. I look forward to a long and fruitful association, Squire.”

“So do I,” Hector nodded.

[Celestial]

In which Celes explains how canon roleplay roster came to be.

Come With Me

SPOILER: Click to show

Destrier, Bern, June 1314

The Grand Duke stopped, his left hand just barely hovering over the wooden beams that made up the door in front of him. Behind it, there were only the faintest trilling notes of metal clinking against metal. Good, that meant he was available to talk to.

No doubt, of all four of them, this was going to be the hardest case to argue. Unlike the others, manipulation would not be as effective, nor did Alain want to turn what was to be a request into an order. His brother was someone he did not wish to annoy. Nevertheless, they had not known each other all their lives for nothing; he could handle Ambrose, no matter what happened.

His gloved knuckles made contact with the door, knocking against it three times. Taking a step back, Alain struck the metal point of his cane against the flagstones, the sound ringing out through the corridor: a bell to announce his arrival.

“Alain?” Ambrose’s voice called out to him from behind the door. “Come in.”

Never needing to be told twice, the Grand Duke pushed the entrance to his brother’s room open and strode in. One of the many chests that stood around his room had been roughly opened and now clothes formed a localised spillage on the floor around it. Various books on engineering and construction, as well as others on miscellaneous topics that had caught Ambrose’s attention lay around his bed in rough stacks, with a few resting against the sides of his workbench. Tools and spare parts littered its surface, almost covering the piece of parchment that lay on it. An inky outline was drawn over the now-washed out charcoal of the latest device that the unofficial Stallion inventor had seen in his visions.

Right now, however, Ambrose’s blue eyes were perfectly clear and utterly lucid. Though he did not turn his head, his gaze drifted subtly over to his brother before immediately dashing back; no doubt trying to figure out why he was here. However, Alain’s impassive gaze gave away nothing and finally, his brother decided to be straightforward.

“What is it?” he murmured.

Alain struck his cane against the floor again and folded his hands over the silver horse head that decorated it, fixating his icy blue eyes on his brother. It would be cruel to keep him in suspense.

“King Starmey is dead,” he said, his tone bearing no emotion, as though he simply said the sky was blue.

Ambrose’s eyes bulged out of their sockets. He hugged his arms around him as though holding himself together, lifting one hand up to cover his open mouth. “So it came true...”

“Yes. It was you saw,” Alain nodded, taking a few steps closer to his brother. “He died suddenly, and young too. Now his daughter is poised to take over.”

There was a deep, melancholy sigh from Ambrose. “I see...” his shoulders slumped. “I feel sorry for her. It has to be a shock, losing her father so young and having to ascend to the throne at the same time.”

“That’s how it is, not just for royals but for the nobility too,” a hint of a smirk tweaked at the corner of Alain’s face. “I’m sure you remember what happened the year I became Grand Duke.”

Ambrose’s eyes became glassy as he recalled it. “I remember,” his voice was barely above a whisper. Immediately, however, he blinked, shaking his head slightly to get rid of the memory. “I just...hope she’ll manage. With the burden of rulership.”

“Oh, she will,” the smirk that had merely been a suggestion earlier emerged in full force as Alain lifted up his cane as though to examine its handle. “I am going to make sure of it.”

His brother’s head whipped around, eyes bulging as he stared at Alain with a mixture of shock and disbelief. “W-what do you mean?”

This earned a soft chuckle from the Grand Duke. “It’s nothing sordid, don’t worry,” he carefully wiped a speck of dust off the silver horse’s eye with his thumb. “The queen will keep her throne; I’m just going to be making all her decisions for her.”

Ambrose’s face did not lose its panicked look. His mouth opened and closed as his mind ran through several questions which he wanted to ask, deciding even if he should ask them. Eventually, he lowered his head as he settled on one: “Why?”

“You must have heard of the Destiney’s...character? I have mentioned it once or twice,” Alain remarked, his gaze still on his cane. “Such a vapid, shallow, air-headed girl should not be in charge of a kingdom.”

“Well...” his brother’s jaw twitched as he bit his tongue. “I’m sure it annoys you but...I still don’t understand what you are planning to do.”

“Come now, brother, you should be able to work it out,” seemingly satisfied with whatever he was looking at, the Grand Duke lowered his cane, folding his hands over its silver handle. “Queen Destiney is unmarried, yet. If she marries an individual from our House, that should open her up to all sorts of influences, including, most importantly, mine.”

“But who do you intend to-” Ambrose’s head suddenly shot up, unrestrained horror dawning across him. “Garrick?!”

A soft chuckle emerged from Alain. “Well, he has to be good for something.”

“But he’s...he’s...”

“Even worse than the queen in some respects, yes, but easy enough to manipulate if you know how,” he remarked as one would remark about the weather. “He has a pretty enough face and is too full of himself to realise when he is being used a puppet,” Alain smiled a little. “Admittedly, I would have preferred a better candidate, but life does not always give you what you want.”

“No, it does not...” Ambrose murmured softly, slumping in his chair. Alain frowned slightly as he watched his brother seem to drift away. If he had doubts about what he was doing, it would be even harder to convince him.

“I would not do this unless it was for the best, brother,” he took several steps closer to Ambrose. “And I do believe that with our House on the throne, we can do some good. Bern has flourished under House Stallion’s care; Kyth will too.”

“I know. And I have faith in you, Alain,” Ambrose spoke softly, giving a tiny nod, though he refused to meet his brother’s gaze.

Alain smiled a little at his words, though he had some reservations about the tone in which they were said and pose from which they were delivered. No matter, it could be addressed later. He continued to walk past Ambrose, stopping not far from him. “Not to mention that, according to...rumours from the capital, House Jade has the exact same idea,” the Grand Duke laughed softly, looking out of the window. “And having a Jade on the throne would be...very bad for us. I cannot let that happen.”

“No...but...” his brother brought his arms in around himself and gripped his sleeves, glancing up at Alain. “What are you going to do about the Jades?”

“Not much. I like Everett; I do not want our House rivalry to devolve into bloodshed as it has done in the past,” Alain turned his head back to look at Ambrose. “I will not strike first, but I am taking precautions.”

His brother’s expression shifted as his blue eyes widened and he stared up at him, mouth open. “Precautions?”

“Little things. Simply preparations to fight while showing we are not a threat,” Alain remarked, walking towards the window, his cane clicking against the floorboards. “As well as Garrick, I’m bringing Lucinda. I doubt House Jade will want to attack a young girl.” he smiled slightly, his eyes softening for a moment. “Not to mention she will enjoy the trip. Perhaps find herself a suitor, now that she has long been of age.”

This earned a similar smile from Ambrose. “Fall in love like her mother?”

“Perhaps,” the Grand Duke stared out into the outside world for a second, thinking of Aveline, before snapping awake from the thoughts. They were gone in a blink and he turned on his heel, back towards his brother. “I am also taking Master Mao as an assistant; with his abilities, he will be handy in a crisis if it comes to pass. But there is one more person I want to ask along.”

“Oh?” Ambrose blinked. He pondered for a second before shaking his head and turning his eyes to Alain. “Who?”

The Grand Duke folded his hands over his cane, his icy blue gaze fixated on his brother. “You, Ambrose. I want you to come with me to Medieville.”

Ambrose stared, looking as lost as a rabbit that had stumbled out in the middle of the road. Alain, meanwhile, remained stony and still, meeting his brother’s stare. A pregnant silence filled the air around the two Stallions.

“Why, Alain?” the younger brother finally gasped. “Why do you want me?”

A smile curled Alain’s lips. “Because of your skills, Ambrose,” he gestured with his cane down at the parchment that rested on the desk. “I feel I am going to need them, to impress the queen and...guard anything else.”

“You have the choice of anybody else: the guilds, the university, even the monastery. They are trained men who have dedicated their lives to this,” Ambrose’s gaze fell and his shoulders drooped. “And they are not mad either.”

His brother’s posture stiffened a fraction. “Despite what happened in Kine, despite Starmey’s death, do you still believe that?”

There was a deep sigh from Ambrose as he gazed down at his worn hands, flexing his fingers as though testing whether they were broken. “What other explanation is there?”

Neither Alain’s breath not his face betrayed any kind of reaction to that question and yet, his fingers around his cane momentarily twitched as though he had been stabbed with a needle.
He turned away from his brother, staring out the window in case Ambrose decided to look up and glimpse his eyes. There was another explanation, the question was whether to say anything about it.

He could think of many reasons to stay silent. Ambrose was not stupid; he would not believe such a far-fetched story about a curse of a pagan deity without some evidence. While Alain had plenty, there were still questions that were left unanswered: would a deity of time and the seasons even curse somebody with visions? How did the curse actually function? Most importantly, why was anybody unable to do anything about it?

Such questions could not be answered at this time, if ever. If they were to get to Medieville in time for the funeral, they had to leave tomorrow at the latest, nor could he have Ambrose be distracted by such a sudden revelation. He did not need to know yet.

Alain turned back to his brother. “It is true, I can get an inventor from anywhere in Bern,” he replied calmly. “But why should I put out the call and waste time when I have a perfectly good one at my disposal?”

His brother shook his head. “I’m nowhere as good as a trained inventor. All I do is copy, and even then a large part of my inventions never end up being made. I’m no use to you.”

“I disagree,” Alain shifted his cane up into his hand, gripping it around its black, polished middle. “You made this, and it works as beautifully as any trained engineer’s creation, not to mention it was all your own too. It is not the only invention of yours that you made, correct?”

Ambrose nodded.

His brother smiled. “Clearly whatever you lack in formal training you have more than made up for in experience. That by itself is good enough for me,” he lowered his cane down again and folded his hands over the silver horse. “But there is one more thing that sets you apart from any trained men.”

“What is it?”

Alain lowered his head to look squarely into Ambrose’s eyes. “I trust you more than I would trust any of them,” he said before his gaze hardened. “And given how sensitive this trip is going to be, that is something I am going to need.”

The younger Stallion looked away, unable to endure his brother’s piercing gaze. Slowly, his hands floated up to his sleeves, digging his fingers into their folds. Sometimes his mouth opened before immediately closing again.

“What else is making you hesitate?” Alain asked, tilting his head slightly.

Ambrose shut his eyes. “I’m scared,” he whispered, his voice shaking slightly. “I’ve never even been outside Destrier. To go to Medieville, with my condition, even without everything going on with the new queen...I’m afraid of what will happen.”

A frown settled into the Grand Duke’s features. “How frequent are your visions now?”

“One a day, two at most,” his younger brother replied, lifting up a hand and rubbing his eyes with his fingers. “But they seem to come at the worst times. If things get dangerous, I...I don’t know if I’ll manage.”

His brother frowned slightly. True, some of the rumours coming out of Medieville had been less than pleasant. Stirrings of a rebellion had certainly put him on edge, even if nothing had come of them, not even some minor vandalism. But it was nevertheless something he had to account.

He pondered this before walking up to Ambrose, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Look at me,” he ordered.

The younger Stallion looked up, meeting his brother’s eyes.

Alain’s grip on him tightened. “If there does turn out to be some kind of danger, I will protect you, just as I would any other member of my family.”

His brother glanced at where he was being held. “But even without that, I’m...is your mad brother really somebody you want to present to the queen and the other nobles?”

“If I’m presenting her with Garrick, I doubt she’ll care about you,” the Grand Duke smirked. “And I will defend you against anybody who tries to hurt you and any nobles who dare slur you. You’re my brother; that means more to me than any madness.”

Beneath his hand, Alain just barely felt some tension escape from Ambrose. Though he did not smile, when he looked back, his eyes were just a little less frightened.

“Alain...do you really need me there?” he murmured.

“Yes, Ambrose,” came the reply.

“You can’t just take my inventions? They are easy to use. I’ll show you how-”

Alain shook his head. “I need you, brother. Not just what you can make me.”

Ambrose bit his lip. “What else could you possibly need me for? What do you have that I don’t?”

The Grand Duke did not even hesitate before answering. “You’re a good man,” he stated. “And I sense that I am going to need one.”

Ambrose flinched under his grip, turning away. Another silence settled over them, heavy and expectant. Alain watched the younger Stallion, almost hearing the buzz of thoughts running through his head.

Eventually, however, Ambrose’s hand twitched and he raised it up to his shoulder, putting it over Alain’s hand. “I’ll go,” he whispered, his voice unsure and shaky. “If you need me, I’ll go.”

The smile that came across Alain’s face did not seem any different from his usual smiles, but accompanied by the softening of his normally icy eyes, it was easy to tell that it was genuine. “Thank you,” he pulled his hand away, straightening back out and resting his hands on his cane. “We leave tomorrow. Pack everything you think you’ll need, and anything you want to work on.”

The younger Stallion brother gave a tiny, barely perceptible nod. “Alright.”

“Don’t be frightened either. You will be fine. I think this trip might even be good for you,” Alain said, his tone softening to match his smile. “You’re stronger than you think you are, brother, and I have utmost faith in you.”

Ambrose stared at him, wide-eyed, his breath catching in his throat at the unexpected compliments. A soft chuckle escaped from the older brother at the younger’s confoundedness as he turned on his heel, heading towards the door.

“Tomorrow,” Alain repeated. “Be ready.”

“I...I will be,” Ambrose replied, still quiet but a little more sure this time. “If you need me.”

Satisfied with that answer, the Grand Duke opened the door to his brother’s room and walked out, closing it softly behind him, allowing the latter to prepare for the long trip ahead. Now House Stallion was ready.

[Celestial]

Finally doing stuff with the Langean war. This was originally not going to be a thing but the idea blossomed in my head and would not leave me alone. So here, have a prelude. More coming soon (probably tomorrow.)

Gone At Sunrise

SPOILER: Click to show

Destrier, Bern, April 1284

The sky was just barely stained by the first light of the upcoming dawn when a faint whisper of a knock forced the Grand Duke’s eyes to snap open. He pushed the covers off himself, shifting into a sitting position on the bed, just in time for a second, more insistent knock on to sound off the wood of the door to his room.

Alain blinked and flexed his hand to dismiss the last of the sleep from his mind before he looked up. “Come in,” he called out.

The door opened with a soft creak, revealing a small entourage of servants. The man in front, shown by his finer clothes to be a steward of the castle, carried a candle which provided soft illumination to pierce through the darkness. Its light reflected off the water in the wash basin held by the woman who followed him, a cloth draped over her arm. Behind her came two boys. The younger one wore the clothes of a common servant but the older boy was garbed in the leather tunic which marked him as a Stallion squire. They carried with them several bundles, with the squire seeming to struggle under the weight of his burden. All four gave Alain a shallow bow as they entered.

“Your Grace, it is time,” the steward spoke. As he did, he placed the candle down on a bed stand and began to light the candelabra that stood in the corner of the room. “We’ve brought your clothes, fresh from the laundress, and Squire Merlin has your riding armour.”

The teenager tried to give an awkward salute but ended up fumbling with the leathers as he tried to keep them from falling on to the floor. Despite the early start and the knowledge that he was sleeping in this bed for the last time in a long while, Alain nevertheless found his mouth quirking into a smile at his antics.

“Put them on there, Squire, I’ll get to them shortly,” he remarked, hiding the amusement in his voice as he gestured towards a chair. Merlin bowed again and went over towards it, depositing his burden with an audible sigh.

Clearing his throat and pretending that he was not looking at the teenager, the steward continued. “There is also water for you to wash your face in, if you so wish. I have also arranged breakfast, as you requested.”

“Good,” Alain said with a nod and stood up from the bed. Walking forward, he plucked his clothing from the young servant boy, who bowed and stepped away as soon as they were taken from him. Having gotten what he wanted, the Grand Duke turned away from him, looking now at the woman with the basin of water.

“Place that on my nightstand, then you may all go,” Alain remarked, his eyes running over the servants.

The woman did as she was told, putting down both the basin and the washcloth. The steward, however, judging by his raised eyebrows, was nowhere near as complacent. “Do you not need any help, your Grace?”

“No,” he replied and chuckled softly. “I need to get used to not having as many servants fawning over me; I will not have that luxury on the front.”

“Not even the squire to help you put on your armour?”

Alain shook his head. “Riding armour is not plate; it is simple enough to put on,” he gestured at them dismissively with his hand. “So you may all go.”

There was a moment of hesitation from the steward before he nodded, resigning himself to not being wanted. Quickly, he turned and left, taking the other servants with him. Alain stood frozen in place, watching them go; only when the door shut with a soft thump behind them did he move from his spot. First he placed his clothes down on the bed and then went to the washbasin, soaking his face with the cold water, its icy slap forcing away any scrap of sleep that had clung to him. Having completed that task, he wiped the droplets running down his face with the cloth, folded it and placed it beside the basin. When that was done, he began to get dressed, in a pace that could hardly be described as leisurely so much as meditative. Every pause seemed deliberate, accompanied by some thought only the Grand Duke was privy to.

Eventually, he pulled on the last glove on to his left hand and looked up, out of the window, at the castle walls and the city beyond it. A few lanterns flickered here and there, obscured by a thin veil of morning fog that rested on the ground as feathers rest in water. Above, the clouds were only just beginning to lighten, heralding the arrival of the sun.

It was not a view he was going to see for a long time.

Without waiting any longer, Alain tore himself away from admiring the scenery; he had more important things to do. Quickly, he opened a drawer and from it produced a small, neatly carved box. Reaching down into the drawer’s underside, he pulled out a tiny silver key and slid it into the lock, turning it. The box opened with a soft click and from it, the Grand Duke lifted out the silver circlet, embedded with a garnet and two pearls supported from each side by a galloping horse. The symbol of his office. Hard to believe this was only his third month wearing it.

He slipped it on and stood up, holding his spine straight. Now, he was complete. It was time to get moving, otherwise there would be none left for what he wanted to do before he went away for good.

Upon exiting his room, however, the flickering torches revealed a long shadow cast on to the corridor’s flagstones. Alain turned his head towards it, meeting the gaze of his wife.

Upon seeing him, she immediately lowered her eyes. “You’re really leaving,” Margot murmured, her tone halfway between a question and a statement of fact.

“Yes,” he replied impassively. As he did, his eyes scanned her, taking in her appearance. Her crimson dress, accented with silver and blue, was immaculate, and her sandy hair did not even have a strand out of place, making it shine like silk that poured out from beneath her headdress. Blue ribbons were woven through it, looking like rivers weaving through fields of wheat. He wondered how early she had had to get up, and by extension how much sleep she had managed to get after he had left her alone the previous night; the dark circles that rimmed her eyes like funeral wreaths indicated it was not much. Regardless, it was a sweet gesture, exactly what he would expect from Margot.

She swallowed and for a while was silent before lifting her head up to him again. “When...when will you come back?”

“When the war ends,” Alain said and smirked. “Or if my dear cousin has the decorum to bring my corpse back when he takes this city.”

She gave off a choked gasp, bringing up a hand to cover her mouth, in response to which he chuckled softly.

“It’s a joke, Margot. I’m not going to die, or let Seraphim take Bern,” the Grand Duke purred before his smile disappeared and he looked down at her. “But I need you to listen to me.”

She looked up, reluctantly meeting his gaze.

“I do not know when I will be back, and until then, you are in charge of this estate. The stewards will help you but I am counting on you to keep things running smoothly in my absence. As a noble lady, you should be trained in such things but,” Alain’s eyes turned steely. “Can you do it?”

His wife swallowed again before nodding slowly. “I shall, Alain,” she bowed. “I’ll do whatever you ask of me.”

“Good,” a soft smile returned to his face and he glanced over her shoulder at the corridor beyond. “Do you know if Aveline is still asleep?”

“I don’t, I’m sorry,” Margot said, shaking her head. “I did not have time to check on her.”

“That’s alright. Then I’ll go myself,” Alain took a few steps past her, heading in the direction of the nursery. “I would like a chance to say goodbye to her.”

With those words, he glided down the hallway, his cloak streaming out behind him. Margot followed him like a lost puppy, an action which Alain gave no heed to; she would get her goodbyes in due time. That said, if she wanted to be with him when he spoke to the other members of his family, he saw no harm in that either.

Finally, they arrived at the nursery door, a room that had served many generations of Stallion children before the current occupant; his daughter. Without any hesitation, Alain pushed it open, going slowly with footsteps as light as feathers in order to not make a sound.

The nursery was small and cosy, filled with soft rugs and tapestries to keep the warmth in during the cold winter months. Colourful chests full of toys and clothes stood around the walls, as well as a soft cushioned chair for the nursemaid to sit in, although it was unoccupied at present. It was too early in the morning for even the servant to be up. The Grand Duke ignored all this, however, for the four-poster bed in the centre of the room that was littered with embroidered blankets wrapped around an all-too-familiar figure.

Aveline was sleeping soundly, curled up beneath the blankets like a kitten by a fireplace, He stopped by the bedside and cast his eyes over his daughter. He continued to gaze at her, taking in her features, etching the memory of his daughter firmly into his mind. She would be five years old in just a few short days but he would not have the joy of being there for it. Indeed, who knew if he would even be around to witness her next birthday?

Kneeling down, Alain leaned closer to the sleeping girl and carefully reached out, brushing a lock of her golden hair tenderly from her face. He placed his hand on her shoulder, to prepare to wake her and say goodbye properly but as he did, Alain caught sight of her expression: peaceful and serene, absolutely unaware of the strife that was going on in the country. Lowering his eyes, he drew his hand away. Perhaps it was for the best. Aveline needed her sleep. For her age, she was certainly a wise and mature girl but there was no need for him to distress her more than was necessary.

Instead, Alain gently placed his hand on her head, caressing her. She shifted a little beneath his touch but did not wake otherwise.

A warm, gentle smile spread across his face. “I love you,” he whispered and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Goodbye, Aveline.”

There was no response from her except a sigh before her breathing evened out again. Slowly, Alain removed his hand, pulling it back to his side and got back up on to his feet. For a few moments, his eyes were almost uncharacteristically soft and loving as his gaze remained fixated on his daughter illuminated by the lightening sky outside. However, as soon as he tore himself away, that look was snuffed out like a candle. Once again unreadable and impassive, he turned on his heel back to face the doorway.

Margot was waiting for him off to the side, her hands clasped together in her lap. As he began to walk away from Aveline’s bedside, she silently glided after him like a shadow, her head bowed as she followed her husband. He ignored her and together, they exited the nursery, with Alain shutting the door behind them. However, once he did, a small smile appeared on his face.

“I’m not dead yet, Margot,” the Grand Duke chuckled softly, turning his head to his wife. “So there’s no need to walk behind me like a mourner.”

She breathed in sharply, her spine stiffening. “I’m-” a shudder ran through her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...to imply...”

Alain leaned closer to her. “I never said you meant to imply anything,” his smile shifted into a smirk. “But don’t be so grim. I will be back someday.”

“I know, and I...” Margot looked up shyly, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards a little. “I can’t wait until you do.”

He nodded and stepped away. “However, that will not be today, or any time soon,” the Grand Duke swept past his wife, heading further down the corridor. By the sound of her slippered feet tapping softly against the flagstones, it was easy to tell Margot was still heading after him. Not that there was any harm in that, of course; it was not like he wanted total privacy for what he was about to do next.

Turning a corner, Alain stopped briefly by one of the intricately carved doors before suddenly remembering it was not the one; she had moved out of that room after the death of his father. Instead, he resumed his pace, heading further down, deeper into the Stallion’s private quarters until he came across a smaller, plainer door at the end of the hallway. It was upon this door that he knocked softly, pricking his ears to listen to the slightest noise beyond.

After a few moments, they picked up that familiar raspy voice behind the door. “Who is it?”

“It’s me, mother,” Alain replied.

A brief second of hesitation and then “Come in.”

He did as he was told, opening the door and stepping inside. Unlike Aveline’s room, this one was far smaller and more modest, with barely any decoration save for a single rug at the foot of the bed. Its furnishings, consisting of a chair, a chest, a small stand and a bed, were functional to the extreme. The place looked more like a servant’s room than one belonging to a member of the Stallion family but that was exactly who had occupied it since January of that year.

“Hello, son,” Maura called out to him, snapping Alain’s attention on to her. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, still clothed in her nightgown with a thick blanket of stitched furs wrapped around her torso to keep her warm. Her red-rimmed, still damp eyes betrayed the reason she had been awake to greet him. However, she quickly wiped her face and smiled warmly at her son, stretching out a hand to him and beckoning him forward. “Don’t be a stranger. Come closer.”

Alain did as he was told, crossing the short distance between the door and her bedside until he was almost right by her. “Hello, mother,” he finally said, bowing his head to her briefly before looking around at the bare stone walls and utilitarian furniture. “You’re really choosing to stay here?”

Maura shrugged. “Why not?” she glanced around the room. “This is warm and cosy; if it was good enough for me back during my pregnancies, it is fine for me now. Besides,” her eyes filled with melancholy. “Mine and Lachlan’s chambers feel very empty now that he’s gone.”

The muscles in Alain’s jaw tightened briefly and he lowered his gaze so that she would not see. He had taken his father’s death in his stride, he had to, and he was not unaware of the effects of it on his mother, but the reminder of their situation and her grief was nevertheless painful. Especially now, given what he was going to do before sunrise.

“And now you’re leaving, aren’t you?” Maura asked as if reading his mind, lifting her eyes up to look at him.

He nodded, if the tiny motion his head made could be called that. “I am,” Alain said impassively. “Now, in fact. I came here to say goodbye.”

His mother gave off a harsh croak that these days passed for a laugh. “I figured. Why else would you come here at the crack of dawn dressed in riding leathers?” her hands clenched into fists. “That ‘Pit-begotten Langean...”

She swore loudly and behind him, Alain heard Margot gasp in shock but Maura paid it no attention. “He couldnae ha’ just left us alone, considering tae tragedy we’ve just faced?!”

“I suspect it’s because of father’s death that Tsar Seraphim has chosen to invade us,” the Grand Duke replied in that same serene tone of voice, not fazed by Maura’s rage. He pondered if he should tell his mother of her role in this conflict, of how his cousin thought that a peasant-born man should not have any claim to land as rich and fertile as Bern.

Oblivious to his thoughts, Maura scowled. “That bawhei-”

“It cannot be helped, mother. I do what I must do,” Alain stated and lifted up his head, his icy eyes focused on an unknown point in the distance. “It’s part of my responsibilities now that I have taken father’s place.”

His mother sighed and her shoulders slumped. “I ken that,” she looked up at her son and he felt her gaze run over him, studying his frame, his posture and the expression on his face. Another sigh escaped from her mouth but the accompanying smile betrayed it for the fond gesture it was. “Woo, you’ve grown up so much, Alain. I can’t believe that my little boy with a fondness for pranks is now going off to command an entire army.”

The Grand Duke laughed softly. “Such is life, mother. Children grow up and change.”

“Oh yes,” Maura’s smile transformed into a mischievous grin. “So you best be careful with Aveline. She might be unrecognisable when you come back.”

As soon as she had said those words, however, the smile faded as quickly as if it had been a snowflake in a flame. “...be careful out there. Please stay safe.”

Alain nodded to her. “I shall, mother.”

“Good,” Maura pulled the fur blanket off herself and stood up, taking a few steps forward until she was right in front of him. For a moment, she remained still before throwing her arms around her son and wrapping him in a hug. Like a limpet on a rock, she clung to him, her entire body tense“I’ll miss you,” she murmured.

He smiled slightly and returned the gesture, hugging his mother back, albeit without the desperation and urgency she was displaying. “I know.”

Maura pulled away and looked up at him, meeting his eyes. “Ya come back, ya hear me?” she prodded him in the chest. “I’m nae losing both ya and Lachlan in tae same year.”

“I will come back,” Alain stated with as much assurance as he could muster. “I must come back.”

“Yes, you must,” his mother echoed and took a step backwards, sinking down on the bed. “But now you must go. Isn’t that right?”

The Grand Duke glanced out of the window. By now, the sky was light with the promise of dawn, a dawn that was just barely below the horizon. Turning back to Maura, he nodded solemnly.

“Go then,” she wrapped the furs around herself and lifted her eyes up at him, her eyes sparking fiercely. “And wallop that huddy Langean dobber weill!”

Alain laughed softly and nodded again, though this gesture was far lighter than the previous one. “I shall, mother,” he put his heart on to his chest and bowed to her. “Goodbye.”

Maura smiled widely and lifted up her hand to wave at him just as Alain turned on his heel and walked out of the room. Margot hesitated, giving the other Stallion lady a polite bow before she too rushed out after her husband, just barely squeezing out of the door before he shut it behind him.

He ignored her and started walking away from his mother’s room, prompting her to follow him. However, when he had taken a few steps, he stopped abruptly, so abruptly that she almost crashed into him. There was a sharp squeak from the woman as she stepped away, holding her hands out in front of herself in a gesture of innocence.

If Alain had minded or even noticed, he certainly did not show it. Instead, he turned to his wife, his eyes and expression completely unreadable. “Margot,” he stated, that single word pealing through the hallway like the strike of a church bell.

“Y-yes?” she asked shakily.

“As well as the tasks I mentioned earlier, I need you to look after them; Aveline and my mother,” Alain instructed, peering down at her with his icy gaze. “They are going to need you while I am gone and I expect you to provide that care for them. Especially Aveline.”

Margot swallowed, lowering her head down and studying the floor. “I...” she bowed to him. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Good. I am counting on you,” the Grand Duke smiled and his voice softened for a moment as he spoke but he turned away before she could notice either of those things and resumed striding down the corridor.

His wife flitted after him like a moth after a candle. “Are you heading down to breakfast now?”

“No,” Alain replied, still continuing to walk as he turned down another corner. “There’s one more person I need to see.”

Her face shifted into a look of confusion before the meaning of those words and the exact corridor they were in finally sank in. Margot gasped and stopped in her tracks, her entire body stiffening. “You...you can go on. Without me. Please,” her voice wavered. “I’ll...I’ll wait here. But I don’t want to see him.”

He glanced back at her briefly before nodding. “Very well,” he continued forward at the exact pace he had set for himself. “I don’t need you there anyway.” And he certainly did not want her there either.

Leaving Margot behind, Alain continued down the corridor until he reached a door on the left side. He put his hand carefully on the door handle and pushed. Its hinges creaked a little as he opened it up a crack and peered into the space beyond. Inside, the room was as messy as ever. Clothes, parchment and books as well as plates with half-finished meals lay scattered all over the floor without any semblance of order or any hint of caring that they were there. Inwardly, Alain felt a painful twinge. For the first time, he began to have some apprehensions about leaving.

He blinked, pushing those thoughts away. Whether he liked it or not, he was leaving and he better not waste time if he was going to say what he wanted to. Tearing his eyes away from the debris littering the room, Alain instead focused on the curled up lump that lay on the bed, unmoving. Either he was asleep or...

He lowered his eyes, opening the door a little further which once again forced a small squeal from the hinges. “Ambro-”

“I’m awake. And I’m not hallucinating either” murmured a forlorn voice. The shape in the bed shifted and rolled over, turning to face his brother. Blue eyes peered at him from beneath the blankets, framed by limp locks of dirty hair which with a little more care and attention could have been golden like his. “What do you want, Alain?”

“I’m leaving to go to war. I came to say goodbye,” he replied, lowering his gaze away from Ambrose. “May I come in?”

His brother sighed, wrapping the blanket further in around himself. “If you must.”

Alain slipped inside through the crack, shutting the door behind him. Gritting his teeth, he stepped over the piles on the floor, making his way closer to Ambrose, who watched him carefully.

“I didn’t think you’d remember me,” the younger Stallion said with more than a hint of bitterness to his voice. “You have much more important things to do these days.”

At this, Alain stiffened slightly, the muscles of his jaw tightening a fraction. “You’re my brother, Ambrose. I’m not going to forget to say goodbye to you before I leave.”

“How kind of you,” Ambrose sighed deeply and rolled over to the other side, staring at the far wall, away from Alain. The older Stallion brother’s expression did not shift, save for his eyes which briefly acquired a look of melancholy.

He stepped over a stray dirty shirt, getting even closer to his brother. “Are you going to be alright here when I leave?” he asked quietly.

Ambrose lifted his head up, his gaze without focus as he stared up at the beams of the ceiling. “Does it matter?” his voice barely rose above a whisper.

“Yes, it does. You’re my brother,” Alain replied, swallowing the lump in his throat before it swelled up to choke him.

“Your mad brother,” the younger Stallion hissed, his face twisting into an ugly grimace at the second word as though it was acid he had to spit out. “Broken. Useless. Worthless.”

“No,” Alain shook his head. He sidestepped a pile of parchment lying on several open books, some of which had had their pages crooked at unnatural angles resembling broken bones, until he was right by his brother’s bedside. “That is-”

“Not true?” Ambrose gave off a bitter laugh. “You’re never one to sugar-coat, Alain. I know what I am,” he turned his head to the side, his gaze meeting his brother’s. “And if not...what am I good for?”

A pregnant pause hung in the air between them. Alain lowered his eyes, looking away from his brother as he tried to think. He could have lied, of course, but they had known each other since they were children and for his madness, Ambrose was no idiot; he’d see through any lies. But without lying...he hated to admit it but he had no good answer to that question.

Ambrose sighed deeply and closed his eyes but not quickly enough for the older Stallion to not see the tears beginning to form in them. “I thought as much,” he rolled over on to his side, facing away from his brother and pulling his blankets over his head. “Go then...go to the war...I’m sure you’ll be good at it, like everything else you do.”

Guilt welled up in Alain, forcing him to turn away. He looked down at the dirty floor, focusing instead on the dishes and half-eaten food at his feet instead of on his brother. There was no denying Ambrose was right. No matter how much he cared for him, no matter what their shared past was, no matter what he suspected deep in his heart, the fact had remained the same: he had been trained in the art of being a nobleman and had excelled in every aspect. Ambrose, meanwhile, could not even ride a horse, something every Stallion took point of pride in being able to do.

Except...perhaps there was something Ambrose could do that he could not. Alain lifted up his head, facing his brother again.

“Ambrose...” a tiny hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. “You keep talking about wars, about what you see in the future.”

The younger Stallion turned his head, narrowing his blue eyes at Alain like a suspicious cat poking its nose out of a crack. “What about it?”

“Have you seen this war? Can you tell me anything about it?”

It was not a question he expected answered. His brother was not mad, he knew that, and if he really did see the future, he might have seen the war but the chances of that were miniscule. However, there was a chance. It was hardly like he had to do anything with the information, not unless it was backed up by other sources, and if it helped Ambrose, it was the least he could do.

What he did not, expect, however, was his brother’s reaction. Ambrose’s eyes widened to the size of saucers as he shot up, bolt upright, staring at his brother in horror through the thick veil of his unkempt hair.

“Are you...are you making fun of me?!” he cried, his hands clenched into fists.

Alain was forced to take a step backward, shock registering across his face for a split second before he suppressed it again. “No, Ambrose.”

“Then why would you say that?! You know what I am, everyone knows what I am, so don’t pretend like it can be useful to you or that you even care!” he gasped and doubled over, collapsing on the bed. His shoulders shook as a few quiet sobs escaped from him. “You of all people...”

“Brother...” Alain took a step forward. His hand hovered over Ambrose’s shoulder but the younger Stallion slapped it away without looking.”

“Just go. Leave me alone,” he murmured, remaining curled in on himself as he hugged the blanket to his chest.

Alain’s expression remained still without a single twitch of a muscle in his face. Even his eyes remained icy and emotionless. Only a deep breath and a blink that lasted longer than a few seconds betrayed that he felt anything at all.

“Goodbye then, brother,” he stated, bowing his head and turned on his heel, stepping over the debris that littered the floor. “I shall hopefully see you again.”

There was no reply from the collapsed shape on the bed that was Ambrose. It took Alain what felt like an age to reach the door. He placed his hand on the doorknob and turned it slowly, deliberately, waiting for his brother to speak up and say something, to acknowledge the fact that he was leaving, most likely for a long time, and express some measure of remorse so they would not part on such a bitter note. However, no words came from behind him, just a shifting of the sheets to indicate that Ambrose had lain down again and a faint, almost echoing sound of sobbing.

Closing his eyes, Alain stepped out into the corridor beyond, shutting the door tightly behind him. Only after taking a deep breath to purge the taste of that encounter from his mind did his eyelids snap open and immediately his gaze was drawn to the window opposite him. The horizon glowed with the impending sunrise, staining the faint, feathery clouds above a faint amber colour.

His gaze flickered to Margot as she approached him, her hands clasped in front of her. His expression becoming neutral once again, Alain strode down the corridor towards her. “I better go,” he stated and walked past her, heading out of the private quarters and towards the stairs leading to the dining hall. To his surprise, however, the patter of her feet followed him. He came to a sudden halt, almost causing her to bump into him, and turned around, a tiny smile on his face.

“Are you coming down to eat breakfast with me as well?” he purred.

“If...if that’s alright. I already asked the servants to prepare me something,” Margot bowed her head, swallowing her nervousness. “I...I want to see you to the gates, Alain, if I may.”

“You may,” he spun on his heel and continued walking. She nodded and continued following him, heading down the steps and down into the dining hall.

Breakfast had already been laid out for them on the table. It was a simple enough meal, consisting of bread, cheese and cold meats as well as porridge topped with preserved fruits and milk to wash it all down. The two ate quickly without exchanging a single word or even look at each other. All the while both were aware of the gradually lightening room and the sun that was just threatening to burst over the horizon.

Finally, a ray of light streamed in through the eastern window, casting a solid dark shadow off every object in the hall. A heavily atmosphere of finality descended over them both. It was time.

Alain pushed his chair back and stood up, Margot doing the same within a few moments. His icy eyes flickered over her, acknowledging her actions before he turned on his heel, his cloak fanning out behind him, and exited the room. He headed through the castle and out into the courtyard. Awaiting him there was a cohort of knights, his escort on the journey to Tersk. Some were in plate and mail, which gleamed in the dawn light, but others wore brown leathers over green cloth, designed to do the opposite of shine. Shining implied being seen.

All of them were on fine horses but the finest mount in the group was without a rider. The mare was tall and well-muscled, her coat glimmering brilliant white, like a star. A senior groom held her bridle as she struck at the cobbles with her hoof, waiting for the Grand Duke.

Striding across the courtyard, Alain approached the mare and she turned her head towards him, her nostrils flaring a little as she caught his scent. Recognition immediately registered in her pose and she bent her head down, allowing him to stroke her nose. Tara, the horse he had known since she was a foal, as was custom for Noblesses, and the one he was trusting to carry him through this war.

When she was calm, Alain took his horse’s reigns from the groom. He was about to mount her when the sound of movement behind him caught his attention. Turning his head around, he glanced back at where Margot was standing, her mouth closed but her pleading eyes and tense expression betraying the words she wanted to say.

“So...” she finally murmured, biting her lip. “This is goodbye?”

“It is,” he stated impassively, giving her a nod.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I...I will miss you, so much you.”

“I know you will,” Alain replied. Margot watched him, her breath hitching as she waited for him to continue. He could guess what she wanted to hear but he did not say it; there was no point wasting time with false sentimentality. The war would give him no time to think about that.

When it became clear to her that he was going to remain silent, she lowered her eyes and her hand reached into her hair. Alain tilted his head slightly as he watched Margot undo one of the blue ribbons woven into it and carefully fold it in her hand. She hitched up her skirt and walked forward towards him, holding the ribbon out to him.

He glanced between it and her, a small smile appearing on his face. “What’s this for?”

Margot lowered her head. “In stories, when a lord or a knight goes on a quest, his- the lady often gives him a favour of some kind, for luck and to guarantee he comes back safe,” she blushed. “This is mine...to you.”

“How sweet of you,” Alain chuckled softly before cupping his hand around hers and folding her fingers over the ribbon. “But it is of more use to you than to me.”

“But it...it is supposed to protect you and bring you luck,” his wife’s voice wavered. “And it is something to...to remember me by.”

He shook his head. “My armour will protect me and I can make my own luck. As for remembering you...” Alain grinned. “I have a good memory. I don’t need a trinket to remember you, Margot.”

Blinking back tears, she drew the ribbon back, pressing it against her chest. “I just...I wanted to help you. Since I’m so scared that you won’t...you won’t...”

“Margot...” he gently took ahold of her chin, lifting her face up to look him in the eyes. “You will be helping me by staying here and looking after everything and everyone. That’s your duty and I expect you to do that.”

“I shall,” she murmured, gazing up at him. Alain could feel her eyes running over him, over his hair and his features, drinking in every detail.

“Good,” he replied and took his hand away, turning back to his horse. Putting one foot in the stirrup, he mounted up, taking the reins into his hands with a practised air. Beneath him, Tara paced on the spot, rearing to go, but Alain did not give her the signal just yet. Instead, he looked down at Margot, his icy blue eyes meeting her dark ones. “I will come back. You can be sure of that.”

With those words, he pulled at his mare’s reins and turned her around before nudging her in the sides with his heels, urging her into a light trot towards the castle gates. Behind him, the knights caught wind of his movements and spurred their own mounts into action. With a gradual thundering of hooves, the Destrier war party began to move out, just as the rising sun peeked over the castle walls.

Alain’s gaze remained focused straight ahead as they left the castle and moved into the city itself. People called out to them, muttered prayers and even threw flowers in their direction but he remained aloof from them all. His mind was already thinking about what they would find at the front.

[Celestial]

Leading on from yesterday, have more fic of Alain at war, now with actual battling. This one is a two-parter. (Special thanks to Liou for beta-reading!)

The First Cut Hurts The Most

Part 1- Warning for blood, violence

SPOILER: Click to show

A few days had passed since he left Destrier but that sunny day felt like it had occurred a century ago. A cold wind was blowing in from the north, driving low clouds from beyond the rim of the mountains as a shepherd would drive their flock. Alain only afforded them a brief glance before turning his head to take in the more permanent features of the landscape surrounding the patrol road. From Tara’s saddle, he certainly got an excellent view. Memories of when he had been here before- when his father had taken him on inspection tours of the border- flashed through his mind briefly, but those memories had been a long time ago; useless now. At this very moment, instead of admiring the scenery with wide eyes, he was surveying the terrain and calculating how to use it in the event of a potential battle. He had been doing that all along the journey from Tersk while the war was still young enough for him to have the chance to think. Since the majority of the Langean army was still gathered around Tarpan, it was best he took advantage of the relative safety of this road. It would not be so for long.

By afternoon, their path would curve until they reached the Dappled Ford, a shallow part of the river that marked the last leg of their journey but until then, the still deep waters would remain on the edge of his vision, hidden by the trees. Here, closer to Konik, the forest was sparser and did not encroach upon the road as much as it did further south but nevertheless, it was substantial. The chance of an ambush was lessened but it had not gone away entirely.

Of course, an ambush would be foolish to attack them, Alain thought with a smile as he cast his eyes around the men with him. They were stretched out along the narrow road but nevertheless managed to form a protective oval around their Grand Duke, with the pack horses trailing behind. Both his sides were flanked by lower ranked knights; regulars with no special distinctions save for earning enough trust from their superiors to accompany him. All of them formed a stark contrast to the men that formed the outer ring of the group.

Unlike the glimmering metal armour of the Grand Duke and the regular knights, they were garbed in thick boiled leathers. Beneath their armour, their clothes were a deep, rich shade of green with a matching short cloak draped over their backs. Dressed like that, it seemed like all they had to do to disappear was step into the trees. The only thing that broke up their camouflage was a splash of red on their right gauntlets, outlining a silver hound barking over its shoulder at something only it could see; the mark of the Icehounds. They were elite soldiers of Bern, ready to fight and die should he order them to.

Smirking at the thought, Alain turned back to face the road in front of him, but his smirk immediately grew fainter as he caught sight of what lay up ahead. The Hounds flanking them were not the only ones he had brought with him: three others had been sent ahead on horseback to scout. They should have been moving ahead in front of them. Instead, they were standing idle by the side of the road, clearly awaiting something.

Alain’s eyes narrowed. The Hounds were the most loyal men in his service, following the Grand Duke’s orders no matter what. Something must have happened.

Their heads snapped up at the sound of approaching hoof beats and one of the men caught Alain’s eye. The Grand Duke held up his hand and immediately, the signal rippled through the party behind him. Knights pulled their mounts to a halt, whispers already spreading through them like wind through the grass. Seeing this, the same Hound who had made eye contact tugged at the reigns of his horse, turning it and cantering in their direction, stopping at the edges of the group and gesturing to Alain.

The Grand Duke’s face was frozen into an impassive mask as he gently nudged his horse’s sides, urging her towards the Icehound. The mare beat out a steady rhythm with her hooves and he approached the man, his eyes boring into knight for an explanation.

“Your Grace,” the Hound bowed deeply in his saddle.

“Is there a problem?” Alain asked him as he pulled his horse to a stop.

“There’s something you ought to see,” the man told him, turning his horse around and trailing away from the group towards the road ahead. Intrigued, Alain urged his Noblesse mare to follow. They walked a few feet before he saw what exactly it was that had alarmed the scouts so; imprinted upon the dirt road like a seal into wax were several dozen hoof prints. A large party of horses had crossed it, heading from the western side of the forest into the east.

The Grand Duke raised an eyebrow. “Not one of our patrols?”

“No,” another Hound spoke up and pointed down to the tracks: perfect circles with only a small wedge cut out of them. “We shoe our horses. The Langeans don’t.”

A steely hardness appeared in Alain’s eyes and his grip on the reigns tightened. If they were on horseback, they were likely to be northmen; Langean mountain mercenaries, too often seen raiding at the border. Behind him, the mutters grew louder and he heard the squeak of leather as a few of the men shifted in their saddles. However, he did not allow himself to be so disturbed, but instead focused directly on the knight in front of him. “And I presume you are waiting for my orders on what actions to take?”

“You presume correctly, your Grace,” the first Hound spoke.

He could feel all eyes turn on him. Alain glanced back down at the tracks before he lifted his head back up. His eyes were drawn to the verdant depths of the forest where no doubt, somewhere, the Langean raiders were hiding.

Taking the time to find them and engage them would no doubt delay their entry into Konik until well after dark, if not until tomorrow depending on how far away they were. By the size and spacing of the hoof prints, the raiding party was not much larger than their own, though unlikely to be as encumbered by pack horses: Langeans carried everything they needed and stole on their own backs. They were no threat to the Bernian knights if they continued on their journey.

However, at the thought of simply letting the men go, the young Grand Duke’s jaw clenched a fraction. They were enemy combatants ranging far too close to a key fortress for the purposes of gathering information or supplies. Depriving Tsar Seraphim of either of those things would not win the entire war but it could easily win them a battle. If he had the time and resources, he should chase that possibility. After all, did he not owe it to Kyth to do all he could?

A vicious smirk crept across Alain’s face “I want them tracked down and neutralised before they can do any more damage,” he stated and turned back to the Hounds who had discovered the signs of the horses in the first place. “Scout ahead of us following the tracks. The rest of us shall follow.”

“With all due respect, your Grace,” one of them spoke up, the smallest hint of displeasure on his face. “Our entire party, pack horses and all, cannot get through forest that thick without giving away our position. The Langeans will hear us coming from a mile away.”

Alain blinked once and turned in his saddle, casting a glance over the party behind him as a hawk would survey a landscape. No doubt the man had a point; if these were professional northmen mercenaries, the element of surprise would be a valuable asset to have on their side. Unfortunately for them, it meant a reduction in their numbers. He needed to make a decision as commander; the first of many.

There was a faint twinge in his quivering heart and it took a split-second for the young Grand Duke to register it for what it was: excitement. Strategy, combat, war, these were all things he had been trained for ever since he was a child. Smiling as easily as though he was at a feast drinking wine instead of on a warfront, he turned back to the three Hounds in front of him.

“Scout ahead of us on foot, make sure we do not lose their trail,” Alain ordered, his deep voice resonant and full of confidence. “Once you found them, rally back to me.”

“Yes, your Grace,” the men chorused in unison, and dismounted off their horses, handing the reins to their comrades. They gazed out into the forest and then glanced between themselves before taking the green fabric wrapped around their necks and covering their pale faces so as to not give them away. When the men next moved, it was perfectly in synch with one another. Every step they took was practiced and deliberate, rendering them silent as owls as they fanned out into the trees. By the time they had gone a few feet their armour began to blend with the natural colours of the forest, hiding them from the knights remaining on the road, and more importantly, from their enemies.

Alain did not watch them go. As soon as the men had begun to move, he turned his horse around to face the rest of the knights.

“I want all of the Icehounds following me, plus five regulars,” his gaze quickly swept over them, quickly making eye contact with each one.”If anybody wants to volunteer, I’ll accept them. If not, I shall simply pick five men to accompany me.”

As he spoke, the Icehounds disentangled themselves from their posts on the edges of the group, walking their mounts forward to stand beside him, awaiting orders. Alain, however, barely paid attention to them, his icy eyes remaining latched on to the ranks of knights that were standing stock still in the centre. He waited a few moments, watching and listening as what he had said spread through the men like ripples on a pond, each knight in turn absorbing the information he had been given. There was a movement amidst them and the Grand Duke’s head snapped around towards it; one of the men had nudged his horse towards the assembled party of Hounds. Two others quickly followed him, and then another. One more left and he waited for the last volunteer to come forward but there was no movement amongst the ranks. Everyone glanced around, waiting for one of their comrades to take the fall, all while being reluctant to do so themselves.

His icy-blue eyes turned to the knights again, scanning their ranks a second time. In theory, it did not matter who he took; he did not know their characters well enough to be able to make a more informed decision, nor did he have the time to learn. Most had the same amount of skill and training, so he would not lose anything on that front no matter who he picked. So eventually, Alain’s attention latched on to a young man clad in chainmail riding a pinto horse, just off to the side of the ranks.

“You,” the Grand Duke pointed at him and extended a gloved hand out to him, gesturing forward. “What’s your name?”

“Milton, your Grace,” he said quietly, bowing his head.

“Sir Milton. Very well; you’re coming with us,” Alain did not even wait to see if the man obeyed him before he looked back at the remaining knights. “The rest of you stay with the packhorses. Be wary of an ambush; this could be a trap to separate us.”

They responded in the affirmative and began to mill around, adjusting the formation to cover any gaps. Smirking, Alain pulled at Tara’s reins and trotted her to the front of the group, stepping off the path and into the woods.

One of the Hounds quickly followed him on his own horse. “Your Grace, are you sure it is wise to come with us?”he asked, a slight frown crossing his face beneath his helm.

At this, Alain could not help but laugh slightly. “This is a war, and I am supposed to be commander, am I not?”

“Yes, your Grace, but nevertheless, you are Grand Duke. The only one we have,” worry flickered across the man’s eyes.

“I am, but they do not know that. Besides, this is what I have trained for all my life. I’m not about to be cut down by a Langean raiding party,” he smiled easily. “Don’t be so concerned about me. It will only distract you.”

The knight’s face darkened but whatever thoughts he had, he did not let his mouth betray them. Instead, he reined back his horse, falling back to his position.

Slowly but surely, they followed the trail through the forest. The Langeans had stayed upon a particular path best suited for their horses and as a result, their Kythian pursuers had no trouble getting through. Occasionally, one of the trees was marked with a crude arrow carved into it with a dagger; a sign from their advance scouts that they were heading in the right direction. Around them, the forest was eerily silent, without any sign of wildlife to be found save for the occasional alarmed call of a bird from some unknown space in the branches above. It seemed like all life, save the party of knights, had died.

Even though his horse beat out a steady rhythm with her hooves, the same could not be said for Alain’s heart. Though he stared ahead impassively, his face the very picture of serenity, inside he could feel his blood coursing through his veins, pumping through his body in preparation for the inevitable fight that lay at the end of this path. Carefully, he lifted up his hand and swept a lock of golden blond hair beneath his helm before lowering it to grip the hilt of his sword.

It was there. Good. Then he had absolutely nothing to fear.

His ears picked up on another sound besides his pounding heartbeat; the river racing on its course, probably a few dozen feet ahead of them. Here, before the Dappled Ford, it was deep and fast-flowing, running downhill into the waiting embrace of Loch Wall to the south. If luck was on their side, the Langean party was close by.

There was a flicker of movement up ahead and Alain held up his hand, forcing the party to a stop. A flash of red up ahead and slowly, the three Icehounds he had sent to scout faded into view out of the foliage.

The first one held up a finger to his lips and immediately, silence swept over the entire group, including the Grand Duke. His eyes locked on to the leather-clad knights as they approached closer, in particular watching his hands.

Sure enough, the first man held up five fingers four times. Twenty men, the Icehound continued to gesture. On horses. By the river. Close by, to the north-east. he showed Alain in what direction to head and put his hands over his eyes. Unaware.

A small smile bloomed on Alain’s face. He pressed his left fist into his palm, a gesture to show he had received and understood the information, and then spread his hands out to point at the rest of the group. The three men returned the acknowledgement and slunk behind him, making their way towards their horses that had been brought along by their comrades. Taking care to keep the noise down, they mounted up and joined the other Hounds, gesturing silently between themselves.

He could feel all eyes bore into the back of his neck, awaiting his order. With an easy smile, the Grand Duke turned back to them, seemingly unperturbed by what was happening.

“We charge in. As soon as we burst out of the trees,” he pointed to the hounds on their left side. “Flank them. Press them against the river. Same goes for you,” he directed the gesture to those on his right. “I want them trapped.”

Alain nudged his heels into Tara’s flank, making her walk north-east. The others followed suit, the tension hanging almost palpable over them. Once they had walked a few feet, the Grand Duke held up his hand, ordering a halt and listening carefully. The birds above him sang and the forest rustled gently in the wind, accompanied by the monotone hum of the racing river out of their sight. Nothing. And then, suddenly, a sharp voice cut through the silence. He did not hear what it said but the intonations and syllables were unmistakable: almost like Langean and yet not quite. This was far more melodic in tone. The language of the northmen mercenaries. They were close, so close.

The head of one of the Icehounds surrounding him snapped slightly to the left and he gestured towards what had caught his attention. Alain turned his gaze in the direction the man was pointing at, and it only took a few moments for him to see it too; movement. Human movement. Their prey was there.

His heart was racing but his mind was calm and clear as a crisp winter day at sunrise. The Grand Duke swept another stray lock of his golden hair under his helmet and drew his long cavalry sword from its scabbard, balancing it in his left hand. There was a hissing as the men behind him also drew their swords or adjust their lances in their grip. His horse, feeling the tension in the air at the inevitable battle, shifted on her feet, tossing her head in eagerness to go.

He took a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs and exhaled again before kicking his mare sharply in her side. She did not need to be told twice and charged ahead through the trees, the rest of the host following her with a thunderous charge. No doubt the Langeans would hear them coming but it did not matter; a few minutes would not give them too much of an advantage.

It barely took any time to clear the short stretch of forest left ahead of them before the Kythian party suddenly broke through the tree line and their horses’ hooves rang out against gravel. Following his orders, the party split into three, spreading out in a semi-circle around the Langeans in order to trap them.

But the northmen were not unprepared. They were milling around like ants on an anthill. Rough orders were being barked and men were scrambling on to their horses, pulling on their reins roughly to get them into a more advantageous position. In a few moments, they had formed a defensive ring around the older, grey-haired men in their centre.

Their leaders. The oldest northmen were always the leaders; they were the most experienced and often the strongest. They had to be to survive. No doubt the others would protect them.

Alain gritted his teeth. He had expected that trained mercenaries would not be so easy to defeat. It just meant more of a challenge.

The two forces met, their clash announced by the ringing of swords and the screams of horses. No matter how neatly organised their ranks were before, the scene soon dissolved into chaos as men fought for their lives around him. Alain, however, refused to get sucked in by the raging current of the battle. He recalled his training in the castle over the years, all meant to prepare him for this particular moment. Even so, with the whirl of movement around him, the sound of cries- both human and animal- and the rising stench of sweat, metal, dirt and blood, it was worlds away from the spars between him and his father’s knights in Destrier.

Tara reared up, striking at a nearby Langean rider with her hooves. The man gasped as the breath went out of him and Alain seized his change. He slashed at the man with his broadsword, only to meet with a clash of steel as the Langean blocked his blow with his own curved sabre. However, it was a weak stab and the Grand Duke easily deflected it, sliding his blade off and bringing it around to slice at the man’s head. The sword cut through the cloth of the northman’s helm and bit into his throat as though it was parchment. An ugly gurgle rose up from him. Blood dribbled down Alain’s blade. Involuntarily, the Grand Duke’s jaw tightened and he pulled his sword out of the Langean.

Red stained its edge and he found himself staring at the crimson liquid gleaming on the silvery metal. Alain’s breath caught in his throat. This was definitely nothing like training.

Without support, the man began to topple from his saddle, unbalancing his horse. Its ears flicked back and it whickered in fear. Tara tried to bite at it and that was all it was took to send it panicking away, dragging the corpse of its rider behind it. Alain’s horse, however, flicked her ears and returned on her course. A Noblesse, however, was a warhorse; it would not frighten so easily.

The Grand Duke wished he could say the same of himself. His grip on his sword and the horse’s reins was far too tight and he could feel his heart hammering against his ribs. Swallowing, he forced his fear down as though it were bile. A Stallion man, let alone the head of the House, would not lose his head at the merest taste of combat.

Something struck him suddenly in the chest, throwing him back in his saddle. Alain glanced down, just in time to see the arrow fall to the ground and be crushed by the scrum of hooves. A dent remained where it had struck, just above his heart. Cold air froze in his lungs and his head snapped up, just as another flew by his ear, whistling like a hunter for a hound. Immediately, he caught sight of the archer; one of the older Langean leaders, on foot, standing ankle deep in the rushing water and stringing another arrow, loosening it into the Kythian soldiers. There was a sudden cry from behind him: one of his own men had been hit. Alain, however, did not turn around to see who it was; that would be wasting precious time. Despite that, he felt his spine grow cold.

Grinding his teeth together, he threw himself into the battle, trying to push through towards the archer. Tara beneath him kicked and bit but unlike his comrade which Alain had killed a few moments before, this Langean controlled his own mount to stop it bolting. He tried to stab at Alain with his lance, a blow which the Grand Duke only blocked by sheer virtue of speed. Trying again yielded no result; the northman with his pike bristled like an angry hedgehog while the archer behind him shot over his head, taking advantage of the smaller Langean horses and the short physiques of the Langeans themselves.

They were going to protect their leaders, who would pick them off one by one. Admittedly, a clever strategy; if they could not run, they would fight, down to the last man if they had to, for the sake of their chiefs.

He was not going to let that happen.

As if reading his mind, one of the Icehounds galloped up to him. “Your Grace, the archers-”

“We’re going to take them out,” Alain stated to the knight. “Have the men rally to me. We’ll force our way through the lines.”

The man frowned. “With all due respect, are you certain?”

“We have no archers of our own. This is the only way,” the Grand Duke said, his voice showing signs of strain. “Keep our men around them but concentrate our forces in one area. We’ll push them away.”

He was about to kick his mare into a canter to rally the knights when the Hound pulled his own mount ahead of him, looking his commander right in the eye. “Have the regulars take point. We cannot afford to lose you or any of ours, your Grace.”

His first reaction was a bristle of pride before immediately far more sensible thoughts suppressed it. The man had a good point: the regular knights were expendable but he was irreplaceable. Alain gave a nod of acknowledgement and set off on his horse down the lines, calling orders for them to reform and rally. The archers were still firing arrows into their ranks and he made sure to keep moving, moving Tara in zig-zag pattern to make himself a harder target.

It took some time for the formation to coalesce, as knights called up did their best to repel their opponents and ride up to join the Grand Duke in the formation of the wedge. Others stayed behind, battling twice as hard now to keep the Langeans pinned against the fast-flowing river. As he had been advised, Alain pushed the five regular knights into point and took a position directly behind them, the five in front of him forming an arrow-shaped shield of metal armour, with the leather-garbed Icehounds enclosing him from behind. Though the knights in front seemed composed, he could nevertheless detect tiny twitches of fear and uncertainty in their faces beneath their helmets. That was normal; as long as they did the job they were trained for, Alain had nothing to fear. It was the Langeans he ought to be concerned about.

For the second time that day, he gave the order to charge.

The concentrated point of the Kythian forces dug into the Langean line. Once again, the clash of steel, the stomping of hooves and pained cries, both human and animal, filled his ears. For a brief, terrifying moment, the wedge remained still, a scramble of horses and men trying to hold them back from crushing their companions in front and then...the knights ahead of him broke through. He saw one of their swords come down on their opponent, blood staining the northman’s clothes as he toppled off the saddle of his horse, and they charged through the Langean lines, one step closer to the archers. A surge of hope sparked within Alain.

Then the man in front of him toppled off his horse, an arrow sticking out of his neck. Without its rider, the knight’s horse began to panic, flailing wildly in the ranks and threatening to destroy any progress they made.

“Push it out, reform the lines! Before it panics the others!” the Grand Duke cried to them. The knights for the most part did as they were ordered, their own mounts forcing out the renegade and into the lines of the enemy. Alain turned his mare around, closing the lines before the terrified horse could run into them, and Tara snapped at the terrified creature, scaring it away. Unfortunately, that had left him in a more vulnerable position on the edge of the group.

He gritted his teeth together, slashing at a nearby northman’s lance that was trying to unsaddle him from his horse and sliced across the man’s chest, scattering broken rings of mail across the ground like snowflakes. His troops were close to the centre. No Langean was going to kill him now, no matter how much they wanted to.

The Kythian knights continued to charge through the lines, bearing down on the two archers. By the lack of arrows raining down upon them, it was safe to conclude that the pair had run out. One of them ran towards his horse and was rewarded for his efforts by being swiftly cut down by the approaching knights. However, the other one was faster, climbing on while the Kythian forces were busy dealing with his companion and kicked his mount into action, dashing into the river. That, Alain knew, was his last mistake.

“Follow him,” he called to two Icehounds behind him. The pairs’ eyes dashed between him and the Langean wading in the fast-flowing current and immediately understood what the Grand Duke was asking of them. They kicked their horses in the sides and charged in after the man, their mounts kicking up foaming water as they tried to keep their footing in the current. The northman tried to go further but his horse balked at the idea, standing stock still with water surging around its knees, threatening to knock it over any time. Not even stroking its sides made the horse budge; a fact that registered on the man’s face as it dawned on him. Alain allowed himself a small smile as the two Kythians closed in to the trapped northman.

He was about to turn his own mare around and rejoin the knights who had scattered to pincer the remaining Langean warriors between the forces that had been holding the lines, when the man suddenly drew his sabre and spun his own horse around, the violence of the action causing it to rear up. Before either of the Hounds could react, the northman dashed through their lines, slicing at one of the men as he passed by. Alain barely had any time to lift his sword up to block the blow that came down upon him, the vicious curved blade stopping within inches of his face. His muscles strained as he pushed against the sword, glaring at the Langean man from beneath the edge of his helmet. With a sudden surge of strength, he shoved the blade away with his own and pulled sharply at Tara’s reigns, making her rear up. She whinnied and aimed a kick at the man’s head, the blow connecting with a sickening crack akin to a log splitting in two. The man blearily tried to swing his sword around but his movements were now sluggish, too slow to do anything. Alain easily blocked it before the two Icehounds caught up with the Langean and cut him down in his saddle. One of them clove his head from his shoulders and though his expression remained impassive, the Grand Duke nevertheless stiffened as he watched.

He quickly turned away from the gristly sight before it could become seared into his memory. A droplet of blood coalesced on the edge of his blade and ran down to its tip, dripping down on to the ground. Alain reached behind him into Tara’s saddlebags, drawing out a dark cloth and lifted up his sword to running the fabric across the steel. His expression remained intensely stoic as he cleaned the weapon, focusing only on polishing the metal until not a speck of crimson remained on it. It had been drilled into him that a sword needed proper cleaning, no matter what stained it, and he was not about to neglect that now. Once that was done, however, he put the weapon back into its scabbard and gently coaxed his mare along so that he could survey the battle’s aftermath.

The remaining Langeans, trapped between the two sections of the Kythian forces, had not stood a chance. Bodies of men and horses lay littering the gravel, the blood flowing from them staining the stones red. What horses had survived were either panicking or standing still, awaiting commands from riders who were now dead. However, even at a glance, Alain could tell his knights had not escaped unscathed either. Several of them clutched at injuries while others were applying quick tourniquets and bandages to their wounds until such a time as they could be looked over by a physician. Those who were not hurt were attempting to capture the panicked Langean horses that were running wildly across the battlefield, while others were inspecting the saddlebags of their calmer brethren. The sounds of steel and screams had been replaced by the rush of the river and faint birdsong. It was all too eerily peaceful.

“Your Grace,” the Icehound’s voice snapped Alain’s attention away from the carnage around him. Inwardly, he cursed himself for losing track of his surroundings but his face remained expressionless as he turned to the man.

“What have you found?” he asked the knight.

“Gold, jewels, money, and most importantly, food,” the Icehound replied, drawing his horse alongside the Grand Duke’s. “It seemed like they were returning from a raid when we caught them.”

“How much is there?”

“By our current count, there is at least one sack of foodstuffs on each horse. Out of that foodstuffs, so far we have discovered bread, rye flour, barley flour, beans, turnips, potatoes and various cured meats and fishes, as well as one bag of eggs and several wheels of cheese,” the Icehound recited. “Furthermore, there is raw steel, no doubt stolen from a blacksmith, bales of wool, cash of various denominations and the leaders even managed to snatch some jewellery.”

The Grand Duke pondered this for a moment before giving a nod of acknowledgement. “Take it all. We shall decide what to do with it when we reach Konik,” he looked up, his expression impassive. “What about our casualties?”

“Mostly minor,” came the reply. “Several of the men will need to be attended by a physician for more serious injuries when we reach the fortress. And one of the regulars has been-”

Tata whinnied as Alain sharply tugged as her reins, pulling her to a sudden halt, his icy blue eyes latching on to the sight ahead of him. There were four men, all of whose injuries were relatively light, but the same could not be said of the fifth who they were hoisting up on to a horse. His body was limp as an old wet rag and his eyes were closed. Pooled blood dripped out from the cracks in his metal armour and down on to the gravelly ground, the arrow that killed him still lodged firmly in his throat.

Without a doubt, it was the man who had gotten shot down in the formation ahead of him. Except now that Alain could see his face did he realise he recognised him: the only one of the regulars who did not volunteer for the mission. He tried to recall his name but nothing came to mind. It was not important anyway. Putting the thought away, continued to watch as his comrades tied him to the saddle of the spare horse they had acquired, ready to transport him back to Konik.

“Killed?” he asked in all too-serene voice, turning back to the Icehound by his side. “I assume that is what you wanted to inform me.”

“Yes, your Grace,” the Hound dipped his head in acknowledgement though his eyes remained on the Grand Duke. “Your Grace?””

Alain tilted his head. “Hmm?”

“Are you alright?” though the knight tried to remain impassive, his voice nevertheless betrayed more than a hint of concern.

“Barely a scratch,” the Grand Duke shrugged, smiling.

“I did not just mean that,” the Icehound nudged his horse forward, stopping it only when he was right in front of Alain. “This was your first battle. Not all men...take that well.”

To this, Alain could only respond with laughter. “It would be a real shame if that we me then, considering I am commander of the forces of Bern, aren’t I?”

“Which is why I am asking,” the knight’s voice wavered slight. “Are you alright?”

“I am fine,” the Grand Duke’s eyes bored into the man, daring him to say otherwise. When no such challenge came, he turned away from the Icehound, repositioning Tara so that she faced the way back into the forest. “Go help with collecting the spoils. We must be ready to ride soon if we are to reach Konik today.”

The Hound narrowed his eyes, seemingly unconvinced, but after a few moments tugged at his mount’s reins. “Yes, your Grace,” he replied neutrally and cantered off towards the others.

Alain watched him go briefly before turning away, allowing himself to exhale. An entire war lay ahead of him; it would not stop just because he was faltering at the first skirmish he encountered. Besides, he was the Grand Duke of Bern, trained for this for the majority of his life. There was no-one else to take up the burden.

He needed to be fine. Too much rested on his shoulders for him to be any other way.

Tara whinnied beneath him and he stroked her neck, whispering a few soothing words before turning her around, directing her towards where his men were rounding up the Langean pack horses. Keeping busy would distract him from the numbness in his mind and the sinking feeling that had settled in his stomach.

Part 2

SPOILER: Click to show

It was afternoon by the time the party of knights reunited with the rest of the men they had left behind. Though they were initially bolstered by news of the victory and the supplies that had been procured, Alain did not miss some of their faces falling when their gaze alighted on their dead comrade’s body. Their eyes bored into him as he returned to his place in the centre of the column, something which the Grand Duke did his best to simply brush off. His face, certainly, gave away nothing and when he ordered them to move out, his voice was perfectly calm. They had to get to Konik; there was no time to spare for idle thoughts.

As the road wore on, however, those thoughts were kicked up like the dust beneath their horses’ hooves, and just like the dust entering his lungs, they crept into his mind. The repetitive bobbing of Tara’s movements beneath him did nothing to distract him from the gristly images. Tightening his hands on her reins, he forced himself to focus on the landscape again, surveying it as he had done on the journey before. Thoughts of terrain and ideal ways to use it slowly pushed out the grim memories of the earlier battle and he slowly began to think he was forgetting it.

The skirmish, however, had cost them time. It was late afternoon by the time they crossed the Dappled Ford, and dusk was well on its way when they reached the last few miles surrounding Konik. The darkness slowly covered up the surrounding hills, hiding them from his view. Alain turned back to watching the road, illuminated only by the flickering torches the knights around him had lit, but without anything to occupy his thoughts they once again began to turn on him. The blood and screams, the clash of steel, the Langeans he had cut down, the knight with the arrow sticking out his neck, all of them flashed through his mind unbidden. He kept his head bowed, quietly thankful for the low light to hide any doubt that somehow managed to sneak past his self-control and register on his face.

It was almost a relief when the lights of the fortress appeared on the horizon ahead of them. A murmur spread through the knights and Alain could almost feel the excitement in the air around him. It had been a long journey and an even longer day; no wonder they were looking forward to the food and sleep that Konik promised. He had to admit that even he found the prospect appealing.

The last mile felt like the longest one by far but at last, the party rode through the gates of the city and into Konik itself. They raced through the streets, past the rings of defences that were bristling with knights and headed towards the main keep at its heart. By the looks of relief that Alain caught on their faces, he could tell his party had been long awaited.

Finally, they arrived in the courtyard and he pulled his mare to a halt. Tara gave off a tired snort, her breath coming out in steam and sweat pouring down her neck. He stroked her mane and dismounted, removing her saddlebags before handing her reins over to one of the grooms who had run over. Once he was sure his horse was taken care of, Alain took off his helmet, brushing his hair back with his fingers. Kneeling down, he opened up one of the bags and dug around in it until he felt the familiar shape of the item he was looking for. The Grand Duke drew out the Stallion circlet, his circlet, staring at it for a moment before putting it on and standing up, his back ramrod straight as he examined the men around him.

The sound of frantic footsteps stood out from the din, catching his attention, and he turned around just in time to see the knight rushing up to him. The man’s red cloak fanned out behind him, its colour matching the crimson chevrons on his glove, and even if he tried to hide it, the twitch of the scar on his cheek gave away his nervousness.

“Your Grace,” he exclaimed after giving a salute. “I am Munro, commander of the Konik garrison. We were expecting you much earlier. What happened?”

“We tracked down and killed a Langean raiding party,” Alain stated plainly without a twitch of his expression. “All the spoils we brought back are what we captured from them.”

“Woo... “ Munro murmured, glancing around them.

“Some of the men require the aid of a physician. One was killed so he will need to be buried,” the Grand Duke continued. “Make use of everything we brought back. Should the knights out on patrol find a village in the vicinity that was raided by the Langeans in the past few days, see to it that they are compensated. However, don’t go out of your way to find them. The army needs these resources.”

“It shall be done,” the commander nodded and lifted his eyes up to Alain.

“Good,” the Stallion smiled a little as he felt himself be examined. He took a few steps forward, moving just out of Munro’s field of vision.

“You’re not hurt, are you, your Grace?” the knight called back to him.

There was a soft chuckle from Alain. “One of the Hounds asked me that, to which I shall give the same answer: I’m perfectly fine,” his voice was calm and serene as he spoke, though he did not turn to face Munro. “I assume you have quarters ready for me?”

“We have prepared the Master’s Chambers for you, your Grace,” the commander replied.

The Grand Duke glanced back. “Good, thank you. I’ll be there, then, if you need me.”

Without any further words, he headed towards the main keep and up towards the rooms assigned to him. On the way, he stopped by the archivist’s, asking for plans of the fortress’s defences; whilst it was quiet, it was best he study something useful in preparation for the war that was on his doorstep. Especially if his thoughts turned on his as they did on the way to Konik.

The Master’s Chambers were indeed prepared for him and seemed to have been for quite a while. Candles and a fire had been lit, illuminating the room, and there was a squire ready and waiting for him once he arrived. With his help, Alain quickly worked the heavy steel armour off his body and let the young man take it away to be cleaned and repaired if necessary. Once the squire has rushed off with it, leaving the Grand Duke alone, he wandered over to the window, gazing out over Konik. Torches burned throughout the city, illuminating the temporary camps which housed knights from outside the garrison and conscripted peasant soldiers alike. They were small at the moment, but no doubt they would grow as the war went on and the levies being carried out by the minor noble Houses had been completed. It was only a matter of time before the city would be full to bursting of Kythians ready to fight and die to keep the Langean threat at bay. And he was going to have to lead them all.

Alain turned away from the window, looking back at the interior of his room. Given his experiences today leading just a few men against a small cohort, the prospect of it did not seem as appealing as it had done back when he was studying the theory of it.

A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts and he turned on his heel to face the newcomer. “Come in.”

With a soft creak, the door swung open to reveal one of the archivists carrying a bundle of parchments. “You wanted the blueprints of Konik’s defences, your Grace?”

The Grand Duke nodded. “Leave them on the desk. I’ll look over them in due time.”

She did as she was told, quickly padding over to the table and depositing what she was carrying down on to its surface. “Anything else you might require?”

“No. You may go,” he waved his hand to emphasise his words. The woman bowed and scurried out of the room, leaving him alone.

Alain remained still for a few moments but aside from the crackle of the fire in the hearth and the distant shouts from the camps below him, there was no sound to disturb him. He was well and truly by himself.

Satisfied with his solitude, he crossed the distance between the window and the desk, sitting down in the chair provided and unrolling the first of the blueprints. The design of the fortress’s circular walls, including locations of its critical arrow towers, spread out before him and Alain leaned over it, studying it carefully. Konik was smaller than her sister city down south but not by much, and certainly her engineers had spent equal time and effort on her defences. The western side that did not face the mountain had carried the majority of the city’s fortifications, obviously expecting any enemy to not be stupid enough to try to attack them from the sheer slope, or from the waters of Loch Myr.

Of course, the defences were useless if they were not used properly, or if they lacked intelligence or even just because the weather or simple luck did not favour them. The skirmish today had taught him that much.

Alain’s jaw tightened and he rubbed his forehead beneath his circlet. A siege and a skirmish were nothing alike. Besides, they had won the day today. Every single northman in that party who was alive that morning was now dead thanks to his work and the work of his knights.

One of those knights, however, was also dead. A knight that was right in front of him in the formation, taking the place he would have done had it not been for the advice of his men. Had that arrow veered a little to the side, it could have easily struck him instead.

He ground his teeth together. This was no time to suddenly balk at the prospect of death. He was not going to die: he was too important to this region to die.

Except a Langean sword or arrow would not discriminate. He could fight, of course, but that would not stop it completely. No matter what his position was, no matter how much he was needed, sometimes all it took was a little bad luck for everything to end, forever.

Alain rubbed the corners of his eyes with his right hand. In the end, when it came down to it, no matter how much he had trained, no matter what he had learned, no matter how great his bloodline, he could still die in this war. He had to admit, he did not want to die. It felt weak, almost, to harbour that thought, but no matter how much he tried, he could not extract it from his head. After all, his own father had been the very picture of health until the illness struck him, and that had not been in war, where death was everywhere.

He exhaled and pushed himself up from his desk, standing up and heading towards the exit to the rooms. What he needed was to clear his head, or at least drown out the thoughts he did not want.

Opening the wooden door, he stopped a servant passing by. The man ground to a halt awkward and gave him a bow. “Your Grace. What can I do for you?”

Alain smiled easily at the servant. “Would you get me a bottle whisky? Terskian, if possible.”

“Ah, of course. I’ll just be a moment,” he replied and scurried off into the corridors.

As the man left, the Grand Duke’s smile grew hollow. He closed the door behind him and returned to his desk, hunching over the plans like a crow over a corpse and waiting for the servant to return. Thankfully, it was only a short while before the door creaked open and the same servant rushed in, clutching a dark glass bottle along with a cup in his hands.

“Thank you,” Alain nodded to him, still smiling, and gestured at the desk. The servant placed the cup down and opened the bottle but as he began pouring, he was stopped. “It’s alright, I’ll do it myself.”

Wordlessly, the man held the bottle out to Alain and he took it, placing it down on his work surface and giving the servant an icy look to say he was dismissed. It worked; servants usually developed an instinct for when they were not wanted around and the man hurriedly exited the room, closing the door behind him and leaving the Grand Duke alone once again.

He picked up the bottle and slowly poured a measure of the amber liquid into the cup. Not too much to get drunk; just enough to dull the more painful thoughts in his head. Swirling the drink around drew out its scent but he did not linger long on that, instead preferring to take a sip. It burned the inside of his mouth and continued burning all the way down his throat but Alain found the sensation oddly pleasant.

Just as he was about to have another, there was a sudden urgent tapping on the door. A frown crossed his face and he placed the cup down on the desk, holding it by its rim. “Come in.”

It opened and Alain smiled at the visitor. “Commander Munro,” he leaned over his desk, “Is there an emergency?”

“No, your Grace,” the senior knight’s eyes slipped down to meet his. “I wanted to check on you, that is all.”

He chuckled softly, running a finger around the rim of his glass. “Why? I told you, I’m fine.”

“So you said,” Munro’s voice lowered. “But I’ve been doing this long enough to know what men are like after their first battle. Even if you are a Grand Duke of Stallion, I cannot convince myself you’re the exception.”

Alain raised an eyebrow before he shook his head. “Even if that was the case, Commander,” he narrowed his eyes. “It is none of your concern.”

“With all due respect, yes, it is my concern,” the senior knight took a few steps forward. “If you are not fit to take charge of the army-”

“I am,” the Grand Duke’s voice was a sudden rumble of thunder. “And I do not recommend insubordination, Commander Munro.”

“I can only pray you are far too intelligent to consider court-martialling an experienced knight in the middle of a war over something so petty,” Munro scowled, looming over Alain. “You insist you are fine, your Grace, but here you are, hunched over some plans and a bottle of booze.”

The muscles of Alain’s jaw twitched slightly but nevertheless he smirked up at the commander, swirling the whisky in his glass. “I’m merely studying Konik’s defences and I wanted a drink. Nothing unusual.”

“Not on its own,” the senior knight sighed, shaking his head. “But drink is one of the methods of coping with what you saw today.”

“And why do you insist that I am trying to cope with anything?” the Stallion asked, meeting the other man’s gaze.

“I’ve seen that haunted look in your eyes in many a knight in my time, your Grace,” Munro replied without any hesitation.

His expression remained impassive as Alain picked his cup up, leaning back in his chair. He was silent for a while before he looked up at Munro again. “So, commander, you think because of this, I am unfit to lead?”

“Not at all, your Grace,” Munro’s eyes seemed to soften. “You are trained in war; that helps soften the blow. You must simply let this run its course,” he leaned a hand on his desk. “And if there is anything I can do for you-”

“I appreciate the offer, Commander, but it is not necessary. I don’t intend to make it a habit to admit my weaknesses to my subordinates, lest they lose their faith in me,” the Grand Duke lowered his cup, looking his knight straight in the eye. “That is, if I still have your loyalty?”

“Of course, your Grace,” Munro bowed to him, but as he rose, he met Alain’s gaze. “If you do not succumb to this, you will come out of this far stronger. I know this from experience.”

“Good. Then rest assured, despite this,” the Stallion gestured with his cup. “I have no intentions of succumbing to anything.”

“I’ll take your word for it, your Grace,” the knight said with a nod.

“Then, assuming you have no more qualms about me, you are free to be dismissed. I would like to be alone for a while,” Alain levelled his gaze with the Commander. “I shall meet you tomorrow and we can review Konik’s defences.”

“Yes,” Munro saluted and turned around, stopping only when he reached the door. “Good night, your Grace. Rest well.”

“And you too,” the Grand Duke saluted back to him and watched as the commander exited the room. As soon as the other man was gone, he closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair. He lifted up the cup to his mouth, taking another sip and slowly breathing out, though it was unclear of it was a sigh of frustration or relief.

There was no way he could succumb to this. Nobody said being Grand Duke was easy. Nobody had ever said fighting a war was easy either, nor had Alain ever been one to give up at hardship. This was merely another challenge for him to overcome, even if it was greater in scope than most of what he had faced so far. Too much depended on him which meant he could not simply hide away with his tail between his legs just because he was scared, too many people counted on him to see this war through; the soldiers in the fortresses, conscripted and professional alike, the minor nobles beholden to him, the civilian inhabitants of Bern, his own family...

Memories of that crisp morning in Destrier castle floated to the top of Alain’s mind. Aveline...his mother...Ambrose... Margot. Involuntarily, he found himself wishing he was back there, riding into the city, playing with his daughter or even enjoying the company of his wife. She had looked very beautiful that day.

His fingers twitched involuntarily. Perhaps he should have taken that ribbon of hers. Sentimental as it was, it might have served as a fair reminder of home.

It was too late to regret that now. He was not home; he was here, on the warfront, where death stalked at every corner, waiting for hapless victims to come into its claws. Perhaps it would come for him too, but perhaps, Alain thought with a smirk, perhaps it would not. After all, not even he knew how this war was going to play out and what mistakes Tsar Seraphim would make. All he could do was not make more mistakes than his opponent.

Today had been a lesson and he was going to take full advantage of it. The Stallion drained the last of the scalding alcohol in his cup and steepled his hands over it.

There was no retreating back so there was no point wishing he could go back. The only way to remove this fear was to win this war, and that was precisely what he was going to do. Today’s skirmish had only been the beginning, and by the time a fresh battle came, he would be ready. After all, it was a common knight’s wisdom that the fighting got easier as time went on. No doubt that would be the case for him as well.

Reaching over, he poured more whisky into his cup before replacing the stopper into the bottle; he had drunk enough for today. Taking another sip and savouring the feeling the alcohol as it traced its way down his throat, he leaned over the plans for Konik’s defences again.

The only way to see his family again, the only way to keep the title he had only recently inherited and the way to prove himself a commander worthy of respect was all one and the same: to win this war. That was precisely what Alain knew he was going to do.

[Celestial]

I am...not really sure what to say about this one. Maybe I should just let it speak for itself.

Actually, no, there are a few things I want to say.

I wrote this over the past week in order to cope with my own sense of grief and loss after Kristy's death, and to try to begin integrating Kristy's Medieval characters into my own writing. So I guess it makes sense, cheesy as it is, that I dedicate this to her. So, yes, this is dedicated to the memory of Kristykimmy, the original owner of Lucinda, Aveline, Ewan and many others, and my very good, very sorely missed friend. I wish we could have spoken more and written more together. I hope you are okay with what I have done and will do with your characters.

Content Warning: While the fic itself has nothing objectionable, it is very heavy on reality subtext. Therefore, I recommend reading at your own discretion.

Honouring the Memory

SPOILER: Click to show

1297, Northern Kine

Spring had come. However, the dark clouds filling the sky, and the bare earth, dotted with only the smallest sprinklings of grass and the beginnings of flower buds amidst the last of the snow, hardly seemed to confirm that fact. The small country church ahead looked even more dismal as the rain stained its grey stones black. Alain paused, wiping the water that had leaked beneath his cloak off his forehead as he examined it. It was tiny, fitting for a provincial church but it would have been lost within the great cathedral at Destrier where his family’s graves were held. This was no place for a member of a major House to be buried, and yet it matched the description his wife gave perfectly: a small church on a hill overlooking Baron Ewan’s estate.

This was Aveline’s final resting place.

The Grand Duke nudged his white horse gently with his heels. She sighed, shaking her head to get rid of the water clinging to her fur but obeyed her rider’s command, walking through the gates and into the churchyard itself. Headstones stood like sleeping sentries but he ignored each of them, heading for the building in the centre.

He dismounted at the entrance, letting Tara come as close to the doorway as he could to shelter her from the rain, even though the Noblesse’s enormous frame barely fit within the narrow alcove that made up the church entrance. Alain stroked her nose, smiling at the horse.

“I won’t be long,” he murmured before turning around and opening the heavy wooden door of the church, walking inside. It was deathly quiet, the only sounds breaking up the silence being the patter of raindrops against the glass of the windows and the drip of water rolling off his oilskin cloak. Alain pulled his hood back and briefly lifted his circlet, sweeping his damp hair back across his brow before putting it back on again. Unpinning his cloak from his shoulders, he shook off the water as best as he could before draping it over his arm and looking around.

By the entrance stood a wooden frame upon which rested several shallow iron cups. Inside one was a beeswax yellow candle, its flame sputtering and flickering from the draft that was somehow penetrating the church. Beside it, in a basket, were several of its twins; identical long, narrow candles, lying flat, waiting.

Alain approached the stand and scooped one of them out, lighting it from the fire of the original candle. He dripped some wax into one of the cups and stood the candle into it before picking it up. It flickered and he placed a hand around it, shielding it from the wind. The votive candle gave off a miniscule amount of light but it was enough. Better than no light at all.

With that, the Grand Duke headed deeper inside, into the side-isles of the church. His blue eyes glanced back and forth, searching. The stone walls were bare, save for the occasional icon and the stained glass windows which cut through the walls to let in a weak gasp of light from outside. Those, however, were not what he was looking for.

It was the small wooden door at the end of the left side-isle that caught his attention. Alain headed towards it and turned the circular handle that hung off it. It opened with a soft creak, letting the pale light of the church spill into the total, musty darkness within, just barely illuminating the set of steps that led down beneath the church. To the crypt.

Thanks to the candle’s flame and the meagre amount of daylight that streamed in from the doorway, he managed to navigate the steep stairs that led into the underground chamber below. Once there, Alain was pleasantly surprised to see several rays of light piercing the darkness, straight as a road as they fell through the openings cut out of the rock just for them. Much like the church above, the crypt was eerily silent except on occasion when the sound of stray raindrops echoed loudly, as though only the rain was brave enough to break the heavy, overbearing silence.

The Grand Duke closed his eyes briefly, taking a breath of the musty air and removed his hand from the candle, holding it up and taking a step forward. His boots struck the stone beneath them with a harsh clap, so much so that he could not help but wince. At a much lighter pace, he walked through the crypt, past the tombs that inhabited it. They were sparse- there were few rich people to bury out here- but it meant he did not have to search long before he found the one he was looking for.

Unlike the rest of the crypt, which had an air of wear to it, this tomb was new, its angles still fresh from the touch of a stonemason’s chisel. Simple, delicate patterns swirled around the edges, wrapping around two animals: a horse on the left, a bull on the right. Between the two was written a name:

Aveline Boovean

Alain stopped in front of it, placing the candle on the flat stone that covered the tomb. His eyes traced each line and curl of those words upon its surface, letting them sink in. This was the place. This was his daughter’s grave.

He reached out a hand towards it before suddenly freezing in place as the sound of footsteps reached his ears. By the rapid pace, whoever it is was frantic to get down to the crypt. The priest, perhaps, come to find out who was intruding upon his church? It did not matter if it was- Alain had every right to be here- but a hint of annoyance passed through his mind at the thought of having his privacy intruded upon.

No matter; he could deal with it. The Grand Duke’s back straightened and his icy eyes flickered towards the door, awaiting the newcomer.

A lamp’s glow trickled down the stairs but only when its carrier came out into the dim light of the crypt was it revealed who it was. A young man, though the air of grief around him made him seem a lot older. However, there was no mistaking that red hair or those green eyes, even if those eyes, instead of sparkling with joy and love, were now full of sorrow.

He stopped in his tracks, tensing as he saw the man at the end of the crypt but as recognition settled in his mind, his eyes widened suddenly.

“Grand Duke Alain,” the young man gasped, bowing his head.

Alain nodded back in acknowledgement. “Baron Ewan,” he said in a calm, neutral voice. “Hello.”

Ewan swallowed. “I didn’t think you would be here, your Grace,” he slowly stepped forward towards the Grand Duke and Aveline’s grave, placing the lantern beside it. “I got no news of your arrival.”

“I had only wanted to make a quick visit when the spring thaw permitted me and leave to get back to my duties. Things have been restless, especially along the Langean border. I did not want to be away from Destrier long,” Alain replied before his head shifted slightly sideways, eyeing the young baron. “I am surprised to find you here though.”

Ewan stiffened, his jaw clenching tightly shut. “I thought I would come see her,” his voice was barely a whisper. “It’s been almost eight months…and I still wake up at night thinking she is right there.”

The Grand Duke’s icy gaze thawed considerably. Even his otherwise stony expression seemed to soften a little. “You loved Aveline a lot, Baron Ewan.”

“I did,” the young man swallowed. “She was…everything to me. My friend, my wife, my…” he choked and bowed his head. “I apologise, Grand Duke Alain. I got carried away.”

“It’s quite alight,” Alan murmured with more than a trace of sympathy in his voice. “You may speak, Baron Ewan. I want to hear.”

A ragged breath escaped Ewan’s throat. “We had so many plans, so many things we wanted to do together. She…she wanted a dozen children, with blonde hair and green eyes like mine, and she was going to…going to…” he gasped again. “She would have been a wonderful mother.”

“She would have been,” the Grand Duke concurred softly. After a moment’s pause, he looked up from Ewan, staring straight ahead. “She was such a bright, vibrant, vivacious person. Aveline loved everyone and she was kind to everyone to show it,” a tiny smile curled on his face. “But she was also sly enough to know whenever she was being tricked. I could never get her, no matter how much I tried.”

The baron looked up at him, studying Alain a little before turning away. “It’s odd to hear you speak with such fondness, your Grace.”

“Should it be?” carefully, as though touching a dead leaf, Alain placed a hand on the tomb’s surface, gazing down upon it. “I was her father. I raised her for sixteen years. I loved Aveline.”

“Me too,” Ewan sighed, closing his eyes. “And now she’s gone. I won’t find anyone else in the world like her,” he shifted from foot to foot. “Father remarried after mother’s death. I will never be able to.”

The Grand Duke regarded the young man next to him. A part of him knew that Ewan, as a noble and the owner of an estate, would one day need a male heir. Deeper down, beneath the practicality, he understood: it was impossible to replace Aveline.

Ewan swallowed, his entire body stiffening. “Grand Duke Alain…do you blame me for Aveline’s death?”

Alain blinked, surprised by the sudden question. Immediately, however, he shook his head. “No. I would be a fool to blame you for something that was not your fault, Baron Ewan,” his voice was quiet, almost soothing, as he spoke. “Besides, such a thing would be disrespectful to my daughter’s memory. She loved you. She was happiest with you. She wanted to be with you. To blame you for such a tragic accident is to go contrary to her wishes.”

Ewan turned away but Alain still managed to catch the relief that flickered across his face. “Yes, you’re right, Grand Duke Alain. Thank you,” he whispered. The young man’s shoulders, however, still remained tense; braced. Holding himself together.

The older man took his hand away from Aveline’s grave and placed it upon the Boovean’s shoulder. Ewan’s back straightened as though he had been struck by lightning and his green eyes widened, staring at Alain. His breathing shook and tears began to creep into his eyes. Though he remained standing, under Alain’s grip, he crumpled and began to cry.

The Grand Duke remained silent, allowing Ewan to express his grief without judgement. His eyes too, were prickling and he forced them closed, focusing only on his breathing. Not the growing numbness in his limbs or the writhing of grief in his chest that felt as though something was eating him alive. Deep down, he wanted to cry, but his iron self-control held him too tightly to let any tears slip out.

They remained like that for several moments until Ewan’s tears had dried. When the Baron’s cries had ceased, Alain looked at him, his icy eyes scanning the young man.

“Do you regret knowing my daughter, Baron Ewan?” he asked, his voice rumbling, echoing through the crypt.

The Boovean paused before shaking his head. “Never,” despite the air of misery that still clung to him like a parasite, he managed to smile a little. “I loved every moment I was with her. I still love every memory I have of her: the riding, the talk, the dancing, the excitement of going to see her…” he sucked in air, holding back a fresh stream of tears.

Alain nodded slowly and deliberately, his own mouth curling into a sad smile. “I treasure every memory I have of her too,” he closed his eyes, letting the images flash across his mind. Aveline’s birth, first word, her various fevers over the years, her sleeping as he went away to war, her joy at his return from the war, her braiding his hair, her joy at Isabelle’s birth, her asking him about marrying Ewan…

“And Lucinda,” the Baron beside him suddenly said, snapping Alain out of his reverie. “I am grateful for Lucinda. I want to raise her well, for Aveline’s sake,” Ewan turned to the Grand Duke. “Do you wish to meet her, your Grace? Lady Margot already did but…do you want to meet your granddaughter?”

“Yes,” Alain spoke quietly, giving Ewan a nod. “I would like that very much.”

The young man bent down to pick up his lantern and turned around, heading back towards the door. Alain watched him go briefly before returning his eyes to the tomb in front of him, contemplating it again.

“Grand Duke Alain?”

“Give me a little bit more time, Baron Ewan,” he replied without looking up. “Go. I’ll be with you shortly.”

A pause, followed by footsteps as Ewan ascended up the crypt steps, deciding it was best not to question or argue about the Grand Duke’s decision. Alain listened closely to him walking away, judging the distance by the growing faintness of the sound. Finally, the footsteps faded. The crypt was still again, and darker now that the only light sources were the holes in the ceiling and the candle Alain had brought down with him, a candle that had almost burned down to a stump.

He continued to gaze at Aveline’s tomb, tracing each line carved into the stone, first with his eyes and then with his hand. Before he was even aware of it, he had sunk to his knees, finally letting the stinging in his eyes overcome him.

You were so young, perfect, so full of life. There was and never will be anyone like you. Why did you of all people have to die?

A quiet song escaped from his lips and echoed around the stone crypt. Aveline always loved music and singing: perhaps she would appreciate that final gift from her father.

***
Ewan did not ask any questions when Alain emerged from the crypt, nor did he comment on the time the Grand Duke spent there. Good; Alain preferred to keep any grief he felt private. Without saying a word, the two men mounted their respective horses. Ewan was riding the horse Aveline had gifted him, a fact that did not escape Alain’s attention. If it was her gift, of course the young Baron would not want to let it go.

Without exchanging a word, the two nudged their mounts and set off through the churchyard and then down the hill. Though the rain had begun to ease, the low cloud meant it was a long while before the baronial manor house came into view. They arrived into a courtyard where Ewan dismounted below an old pear tree. Alain followed his example and the two led their horses to the stables, where a groom quickly materialised to take their mounts from them. Once that was done, Ewan turned to his father-in-law.

“Would you like any food or drink, Grand Duke Alain?” he asked quietly. “Or would you rather go see Lucinda right away?”

“The latter,” Alain replied neutrally, turning on his heel. “I can get food and drink at the inn I’m staying in. Lucinda, however…I cannot see her anywhere but here.”

“Ah, yes, that’s a good point,” Ewan said, nodding a little before walking ahead. “Please follow me then. I’ll take you to the nursery, your Grace.”

He headed back along the courtyard, stopping briefly at the doorway with a wistful look on his face. Shaking his head, the Baron immediately continued onward but he was not quick enough to escape Alain’s notice. He even suspected he knew why: if Aveline was anything like her mother, she would have no doubt come out to greet Ewan whenever he returned. However, that was before. This was now.

Nevertheless, he followed Ewan into the manor house, through its rooms and corridors until they came to a door upon which the Baron promptly knocked.

“Dolly?” he murmured.

The door was opened shortly by a servant woman carrying an infant on her hip. “Ah, Baron Ewa-” she broke off as she spotted the man behind him. “Who is this?”

“Dolly, this is Grand Duke Alain Stallion,” Ewan gestured as he introduced him. “Aveline’s father.”

“Oh, ah-” she bowed as much as she could while balancing the girl she was holding. “Your Grace, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise-”

“It’s quite alright,” Alain held up his hand, dismissing her concern. His eyes drifted to the child that the woman was holding. She lifted up her head, gazing at him with curious green eyes, and immediately, he felt his heart clench. She looked so much like Aveline that it hurt. “I assume this is Lucinda then.”

“Yes, she is,” Ewan murmured. Gently, he placed his hands around his daughter’s body and lifted her from her nursemaid’s grasp. The baby’s tiny fists grabbed on to his clothes and she pressed her face into his shoulder, to which her father responded by cuddling her closer. For a moment, Alain noticed something like peace settle over Ewan.

“She is beautiful,” he said quietly, his eyes drifting back to Lucinda. “She is definitely Aveline’s daughter.”

“Yes,” the Baron stroked the little girl’s strawberry blonde hair. “She has Aveline’s features…all except the hair and the eyes.”

“Yet she still resembles Aveline at that age,” Alain said quietly, closing his eyes. “I could never forget that face.”

“She has so much in common with her. Among other things, she likes songs. Even tries to sing every now and then in her baby voice,” Ewan smiled fondly, gazing at his child. “Maybe she’ll be even more like her mother when she grows up.”

“No. There’s no point bringing Aveline back, at least not through her. It’s best to simply let her be Lucinda,” the Grand Duke carefully held his hand out to the girl, smiling at her.

She blinked at him, staring wide-eyed at the stranger before looking to her father, not sure what to think of the blond older man she had never seen before.

Ewan smiled. “It’s alright, Lucinda,” he turned the baby to face Alain. “It’s your grandfather. Look.”

With some reluctance, the girl turned back to face him before growing bolder and reaching out a hand towards the Grand Duke. He smiled, slowly holding his own hand out. Taking a risk, she wrapped her tiny fingers around his thumb. For a few moments, they held still like that until Alain broke his gaze away from her and turned to Ewan.

“May I hold her?” he asked.

Ewan frowned. “I…I would like you too, Grand Duke Alain, but what if she begins crying or gets scared or-”

“I’ll handle it, Baron Ewan. I’ve dealt with crying babies before,” Alain replied and held out his arms. “Worst comes to the worst, I’ll simply hand her back to you.”

The younger man pondered this for a short while before nodding slowly. With obviously reluctance, he placed Lucinda into Alain’s waiting arms. Alain took hold of her but Ewan did not dare let go, his fingers still hanging on to his daughter as though he was afraid she would disappear as soon as he removed them.

“I am holding her tightly, Baron Ewan,” the Grand Duke remarked in a slightly chiding tone. “And I will give her back eventually.”

“Ah, right, of course. I’m sorry,” Ewan slowly removed his hands though his eyes were fixed on Lucinda as though there was an invisible thread between them.

The girl shifted in Alain’s arms a bit, lifting her head up to look at him, studying him carefully with her green eyes. He smiled at her but otherwise stood perfectly still, waiting to see what Lucinda would do. She did not disappoint him. After thinking for a few moments, she lifted up a chubby hand, running it over his cheek.

Ewan’s shoulders relaxed. “She seems to like you, your Grace.”

“I would certainly hope so,” the Grand Duke replied, unable to hide his smile. Lucinda had by now discovered the silver brooch holding his cloak around his shoulders and was now trying to pry it loose. “I would not want Aveline’s daughter to dislike me.”

“No…I suppose you would not,” the Baron reached out and gently stroked Lucinda’s head. “For a few moments after she was born, I thought she had not made it. I’m so glad she survived.”

Alain nodded. “Aveline can never be replaced, but a piece of her will live on through Lucinda,” he looked down fondly at the girl who was still fiddling with the shiny brooch, thoroughly oblivious to the conversation going on around her. “In her and in our memories.”

“Yes,” Ewan sighed. “I’ll never forget her.”

“Neither will I,” Alain concurred.

“And I’ll do my best to be a good father for her daughter too. I promised Aveline,” the Baron said quietly. “I promised.”

“And you shall be,” Alain shifted his grip on Lucinda and gave Ewan a genuine, earnest smile. “If you loved her, which you did, you shall look after Lucinda well. I know you will, Baron Ewan.”

[Celestial]

A small AU collab we did with me and Shinko . Just a nice chat between Morgaine and Alain about certain problematic offspring and the issues they cause.

Grief and Regrets

SPOILER: Click to show

Morgaine was sitting on a bench in one of Medieville’s many small parks, her head down and one good eye fixed on her lap. Her fists were clenched, arms trembling up to the shoulders, and on her right knuckle there were a few tiny flecks of red. It had been at least forty-five minutes, but she’d not yet bothered to clean the specks off. The dried, crusting speckles were the furthest thing from her mind.

“A dead knight, you say? Well fret not, hideous old biddy, for that wrinkled, withered heart of yours can swoon like a young girl’s again before the sight of your new king! Behold, my interpretive dance for the memory of your husband’s death. May the peasant stink be ever less effusive for his absence, and your heart be freed to love again!”

Morgaine clenched her eyes shut now, fighting back the sting of tears in them. Her lips pulled back in a snarl, but the only noise that emerged from her throat was a soft whimper.

Her distress, however, did not go unnoticed for long. Soon, she was alerted to the sound of footsteps, accompanied by a click of metal against the stone path of the park. A shadow fell over Morgaine, blotting out the sun above.

“Mrs Braham? Are you alright?” Alain’s calm, impassive voice rumbled above her. His icy eyes flickered up and down, examining Morgaine, in particular taking in the specks of blood on her knuckles. “Are you hurt?”

Morgaine flinched slightly, not looking up. “You here to execute me, then, your Grace? He said he was going to have you do it.”

The Grand Duke raised an eyebrow. “Execute you?” he folded his hands on his cane, his gaze acquiring a mischievous glint. “Why? Have you committed some kind of crime against my House? One so serious the king will surrender you to me for justice?”

“I think I might have broken your son’s nose, if that counts,” she retorted, lifting the blood speckled hand in question.

“Oh,” Alain replied as though she had told him she had told him it had been raining in Corvus. “Well, it explains the blood,” he remarked. “I am quite certain he deserved that. That is usually the case.”

He dipped his hand into a pocket and produced a clean white square of cloth. “I’m surprised though. Of all people, I did not think you would be so much as rattled by Garrick’s idiocy,” his eyes narrowed slightly as he held the handkerchief out to Morgaine. “What did he do?”

The locksmith accepted the handkerchief warily, not answering immediately. Finally she replied, “He insinuated that I was an old maid who should be lusting after him, because he noticed I had no wedding ring. When I informed him I was a widow and my husband a knight killed in action he…” She clenched her jaw, her entire body trembling with rage and anguish. “He insinuated further that I should be happy my husband was dead, and then performed an extremely insulting dance that involved his pretending to be on fire.”

Alain listened to her retelling in his usual, impassive way, his face remaining perfectly still. However, it was almost impossible to miss the way his fingers tightened around his cane or the way the muscles in his jaw clenched tightly together.

“I see…” he finally said, his voice carrying a cold, steely edge. “I wish I could say that was not Garrick’s usual behaviour but even if I were to lie to you, you would know. Nevertheless…”

He bowed his head to Morgaine, placing one hand on his heart. “I offer you my sincerest apologies. My son is…” the Grand Duke smirked. “Well, you can probably understand why it is my daughter who is set to inherit my title.”

Morgaine gave a soft grunt. “So I take it you don’t execute people who he gets peeved at?”

Alain shook his head. “Despite any...other impressions you might have gotten of me, I do respect and obey Kythian laws, laws which reserve the death penalty for far more serious crimes,” he gave off a single laugh. “If I did listen to the whims of my idiot son, I would soon be left with a province devoid of any people.”

Morgaine scowled. “Such a charming individual.” She quirked an eyebrow. “So did he find you or did you happen upon me on your own?”

“The latter. If he had told me about you, I would not have asked you all those questions earlier,” Alain remarked. He paused for a moment and sat down on the opposite end of the bench next to Morgaine before smiling at her. “However, this will make things much smoother later when he does finally find me. Rest assured, for insulting you and your late husband, he’ll get what is coming to him.”

“I think even Belial would’ve gotten angry with him,” Morgaine growled. “And you met him- he almost never got angry over anything.”

“No. Your husband was an exceptional man that way,” the Grand Duke said, his tone slightly wistful for a second before he shrugged his shoulders. “However, he would not be the exception here. Most people take a...very strong dislike to Garrick, shall we say?.”

“I’m shocked,” the locksmith deadpanned. “He’s such a charming and charismatic individual. At least he seems to think so.”

“He is only one to have such a high opinion of himself. In reality…” Alain smiled thinly. “Well, you saw what he is like.”

Morgaine snorted softly. “I’m surprised you let him get away with behaving like that, your Grace. No offense, but were he my child I’d have had a hairbrush to his behind until he learned better manners.”

Alain turned away, staring out into the distance. “In hindsight, I should have. My wife adored him, and because of that, I was inclined to be kind to him during his early years. I dismissed his antics as a toddler’s temper tantrums, something he would grow out of. Then the war forced me away,” he closed his eyes. “By the time I came back, I realised he was unmanageable: unfit to be heir. All my attention then turned to his sister.”

A sardonic smile twisted at the corner of his mouth. “I’m sure you’ll think me as quite the bad father for playing favourites, Mrs Braham. But that is a necessary evil among nobility; an heir has to be groomed in order for the House to thrive into the future.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to ignore other children entirely, though,” she pointed out. “Belial and I both had busy careers, yet we managed to keep up with both of our children. And if your wife was spoiling him to the point that he became such a ludicrously ill-mannered young monster, shouldn’t you have spoken to her about it? A parent’s job is to parent, your Grace, not to be their child’s best friend. And parenting is a collaborative effort.”

“I did, but not so strongly that Margot took it to heart. She was always far too kind. Even when his nursemaid punished Garrick, she comforted him. Then when the war came so whatever I could have said, I was unable to. When I returned, not only was my attention taken away but hers was too. Our youngest boy, born in 1301, was always sick and his mother spent all her time by his side. That was when Garrick truly became what he is now,” Alain sighed. “All excuses, I know. Everything is so easy with hindsight.”

His hands shifted on his cane. “In all aspects of my life, I try not to regret my past choices and instead focus on what I can do with my mistakes in the present. Garrick, however...that has been one of the few mistakes I cannot fully bend to my advantage.”

“I imagine not,” Morgaine said softly. “If he is as much of a self-centered attention seeker as he came off earlier, being ignored by both of his parents must have galled him. I’m impressed you have any control over him at this point, your Grace.”

Alain smiled, chuckling softly to himself. “I do my best to keep him on a leash and prevent him from causing any catastrophic damage. That in practice involves keeping him happy and out of harm’s way,” he turned his head to Morgaine, tilting it slightly. “The false executions are one example. His little hobbies are another. I would never entrust him to any real position where he has any kind of power but as long as he thinks he has that power, it’s enough. Thankfully, Garrick is as stupid as he is cruel.”

Morgaine’s eyes narrowed a trifle. Her voice thick with grief and frustration, she growled, “So, what then? You’re going to tell him you executed me, just to keep him quiet?”

“Hardly,” Alain’s voice was pierced by a sudden, unexpected edge. “He hurt you, Mrs. Braham, and insulted somebody who I quite respected. I know where to draw the line with Garrick.”

The old woman relaxed slightly. “Sorry. I suppose I’m… wound up.”

“Given the circumstances, I am not surprised. You do not have to apologise to me,” the Grand Duke watched Morgaine for a few moments before turning his eyes away from her, staring out into space. “Tell me, Mrs. Braham...were you his parent, what would you have done?”

Morgaine quirked an eyebrow. “That depends on the context you mean. For one thing, Belial and I would never have spoiled him so badly in the first place. But if we’re assuming he somehow came into our custody after the war, when he was already self-centered and desperate for attention?” She folded her arms, clearly giving it some thought. After a while she said, “I’ve always been a proponent of the punishment fitting the crime. For example, one time when she was eleven Ophelia decided she didn’t want to do the dishes anymore, so I forced her to spend a week eating only things she could eat without using any dishes. Show the kids that actions have consequences, if you get what I’m saying. Perhaps every time he ordered someone executed, instead force him to watch as a beloved toy is beheaded, or a favored pair of dancing shoes torn up. He doesn’t put value in human life, so force him to understand by taking away something he does value.”

She leaned forwards, bracing her chin on her fist. “Perhaps sending him to someone like me would have been a good thought- foster him with a peasant family that was low of means. Show him that the entire world doesn’t revolve around him, and that the things he takes for granted are in fact a luxury. Put him with people who wouldn’t kowtow to his whims. It would have to be someone with a lot of resolve, who wouldn’t be afraid to tan his behind because of what you might do to them, but,” she shrugged, “such people do exist. I’m proof of that.”

Alain grinned. “Oh you don’t have to tell me that. My mother was quite a lot like you: spirited, refused to let anybody boss you around, and interestingly, also once a peasant. You would have liked her, Mrs. Braham,” he breathed in deeply before exhaling slowly, an action which almost resembled a sigh. “Unfortunately, she missed his birth by about ten years, and she never spoke of her peasant family. I don’t even know the names of her parents.”

He waved his hand dismissively, resting them once again on his cane. “You do raise good points. Perhaps in hindsight it could have worked or perhaps it would have not. Garrick is stubborn- a family trait, unfortunately- and he does not learn easily,” Alain momentarily closed his eyes. “Regardless, it is too late to regret. All that can be done is bear the burden and make the most of it. That’s true of anything in life.”

“Stubbornness can only get you so far, your Grace,” Morgaine pointed out. “Especially when it comes to children, but the same is true for an adult. If you keep banging your head against a stone wall because you refuse to learn from the mistake, sooner or later you’re going to concuss yourself. Keep doing the same thing, and you’re going to kill yourself eventually. In a way, aren’t you still sheltering him from consequences, even now?”

“I suppose I am,” A sad smile quirked at the corner of the Grand Duke’s face. “Despite how he turned out, I do still love Garrick, even if his behaviour causes me disgust. It is my mistake to pay for, and I could not bear to see his mother upset.”

Morgaine did not reply to this at first, her eyes distant. Finally she said, “Your Grace, if I may ask; what was it about Belial that impressed you so much? That you’d make an exception for the sake of his memory.”

Alain’s smile grew a bit more genuine. “He was a good, intelligent person who clearly had a deep love for his family, and it is doubly disrespectful to speak ill of the dead. Sir Belial also gave me a clue to...something I needed to find out for a long time,” he paused, closing his eyes before turning to Morgaine, his eyes twinkling. “And of course, Mrs Braham, it goes without saying I also have a deep respect for you.”

At this, the old woman actually chuckled. “Truth to tell, walking up to your manor that day I fully believed I was going to be arrested and possibly have my throat cut in a basement dungeon somewhere.”

The Grand Duke’s laugh sounded across the park. “I am not such a tyrant that I would arrest a woman for pointing out what I was doing wrong,” he smiled down at Morgaine. “If I was, we would not be having this conversation.”

“Some nobles would have seen my behavior as insubordinate,” she pointed out with a crooked smile. “I managed to annoy Lord Everett earlier that same week when he asked me, I quote, ‘have you seen anything unusual lately.’ Given the nature of everything that was going on, I told him he was going to have to get a lot more specific than that, and he took affront to it.”

“Oh?” Alain chuckled, a wide grin spreading across his face. “That sounds like Everett: no sense of humour and far too stiff for his own good. I always told him he needs to lighten up, and on more than one occasion did more than just tell,” his voice turned sly as it spoke, matching his expression before he coughed, erasing the obvious amusement from his face. “However, I am not Everett. My reaction to such remarks depends very much on context. There’s usually more to a person than their words and I take that into account.”

“So what do you plan to do then?” Morgaine asked. “When the boy inevitably whines to you about his bloody nose.”

Alain leaned forward, folding his hands across his cane. “Tell him it serves him right. If he acts out, which he will, lock him somewhere where there is nothing he can destroy until he calms down. I won’t even dignify him with attention and since my wife isn’t here, he won’t get her comfort either,” he glanced sideways at Morgaine. “Will that please you?”

“I suppose it’s probably the best I can hope for,” Morgaine said, looking towards the sky with her lone good eye. “Even if the voice in my head is demanding to see him pounded into the pavement for what he said.”

“A perfectly understandable response but even with Garrick, I draw the line at hurting my children like that. Garrick loves attention; the best thing to do is to deprive him of that,” Alain drew in a breath and slowly exhaled it. “It is the only thing that can be done these days, with all the mistakes raising him too far in the past to fix.”

He immediately smiled, wiping away any trace of melancholy that slipped through and stood up off the bench. “But, if it makes up for it, perhaps,” the Grand Duke held his hand out to Morgaine, “May I escort you home, Mrs. Braham?”

Morgaine sighed softly, giving a reluctant nod and reaching to take Alain’s hand. “Alright. Just… promise me one thing?”

Alain quirked an eyebrow, his icy eyes fixated on the locksmith, waiting for her to continue.

“If… if he says anything else about Belial, please make him stop. Please?”

“You have my word,” the Grand Duke bowed his head. “I quite liked and respected Sir Belial. I do not want his good name slandered any more than you do.”

Morgaine nodded, standing up. “Alright. Let’s go.”

[Celestial]

So this has been an idea for a while. Like, ever since this character was created, which was back in 2014. But I only got around to writing his backstory out now. It's not even a full backstory, because that would take too long but...I think this covers it nicely. (I will have actual backstory fic very soon though so stay tuned)

Errybody, meet Lindsey Burns. You've met him before but you've not seen everything of him. ^^

How Far I've Come

SPOILER: Click to show

Destrier, Bern, 1311

The Grand Duke raised the great steel sword and tapped its flat edge against the shoulders of the young man kneeling in front of him, first the left and then the right. When he had finished, he placed it back onto the cloth-covered table, took a small metal shield from beside it and picked up another sword that lay by his feet. “Arise, Sir Guinne.”

Hector pushed himself up from his knees, his heart hammering in his chest. At last, he was a knight, a real knight! He had to bite the insides of his cheeks to stop himself from grinning like an idiot in front of the Grand Duke; no doubt that would be in poor form. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Isabelle, who had been standing by her father and watching the ceremony. Hector was almost tempted to smile or wave at her, to share his joy with his friend, but judging by the woman’s stony, expressionless face, it was unlikely she would appreciate it.

Instead, he lifted his eyes up to his new liege lord and met the icy gaze of the man in front of him. For the moment, he could have sworn he saw the Grand Duke’s mouth curl upward into a smirk but immediately dismissed it. Probably just a trick of the light. Regardless, there was no time to speculate now as the nobleman turned the sword he had picked up in his hands, placing the badge of knighthood upon its surface and holding it flat out towards the newly-minted knight.

“I present to you the sword you have given me and the badge to show your allegiance to House Stallion. Go, and use them well in my name,” the Grand Duke exclaimed, his deep voice booming around the hall.

It took all of Hector’s composure and training not to let out an excited squeal. Instead, he put on the most serious expression he could muster and took the sword that was presented to him, placing the blade in his scabbard and pinning the badge on his tunic. Then, the young man bowed deeply to the Grand Duke, his new liege, and turned on his heel, descending down from the high platform that had been erected in the great hall of Destrier Castle, towards the rows of his fellow trainees. Or rather, now, they were his fellow knights; most of the young men he had trained with in the Castle had been deemed worthy of the same honour he got.

That number included his best friend. He was the last one to not be titled yet.

Hector gave Lindsey an enormous grin as he approached the end of the line in which he stood. The dark-haired young man glanced in his direction, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. To anybody who knew him, that tiny twitch might as well have been a smile.

Still grinning, the red-headed knight took his place next to Lindsey. “Your turn,” he whispered, giving his friend a light punch on the shoulder.

“I know,” Lindsey replied, rubbing the spot where Hector had hit him.

“Then go,” the red-headed knight nudged him forward. “Don’t keep his Grace waiting.”

“Not gonna,” his friend hissed and stepped out of his row. With a neutral expression, he slowly walked towards the platform and up the steps. Isabelle seemed disinterested in his progress but the Grand Duke watched every step he took, studying the soon-to-be knight the same way as a predator assesses a herd of prey animals when it tries to pick out a weak one to hunt. Hector swallowed, tearing his gaze away from that look, focusing on Lindsey instead. He wondered to himself if the Stallion nobleman stared like that as a last chance to weed out any potentially unworthy knights; any coward would shrivel under those eyes.

Lindsey, however, was no coward. Without a shred of hesitation or even a waver in his gait, he reached the top of the raised platform and bowed deeply to the Stallions in front of him, first to the Duchess and then to the Grand Duke.

“I, Lindsey Burns, son of-” he bit his tongue and swallowed. “Vivian Rosach, pledge my service to you, Grand Duke Alain Stallion of Bern, as my master, Sir Alois Rosach, did before me.”

The Stallion gave the tiniest of nods and Lindsey got down on his knees. He drew his sword from its scabbard and held it out, resting the hilt on his left hand and the flat of the blade on his right. Hector watched his friend from the edge of his seat.

“I offer my sword to you, your Grace. Bearing it in your name, I swear to protect the innocent from any harm that any might wish to inflict upon them and defend both the kingdom and the lands of my liege. I shall serve only House Stallion, loyally and to the best of my abilities, and I shall strive to realise the ideals that House Stallion stands for. I shall never make deals with criminals or traitors, nor shall I ever run from a battle or refuse to help those in need. Should I fail to uphold this oath, I shall accept whatever punishment my liege deems fitting for the crime I have committed. All this I will do from here on until death or infirmity claims me.”

Lindsey exhaled, closing his eyes briefly as the last word rolled off his tongue before bowing. “This is the oath that I, Lindsey Burns, swear to you, my liege. Please accept it, along with my sword, as a token of my loyalty and my submission” he lowered his hands and he placed the weapon at the Grand Duke’s feet while keeping his head down, not looking his superior in the eye.

Hector bit his lip. His gaze shifted towards the Stallion noble, trying to gather even a hint of what he was thinking. However, the Grand Duke remained as impassive as ever. He stared down at Lindsey, his icy blue eyes boring into the young man genuflecting in front of him, trying to discern the truth behind his words. It was true that he had done this to every single of the knights so far but nevertheless, Hector’s heart sped up. He watched his friend like a worried mother to see if his friend would be alright. But if Lindsey felt any fear, he did not show it. There was not even a waver in his body. Instead, he remained kneeling with his head bowed, waiting.

Eventually, his patience was rewarded. The corners of the Grand Duke’s mouth curled upwards and he gave the man in front of him a single, solitary nod. “I accept your oath, Lindsey Burns, along with your blade. In return for carrying it out, you shall be rewarded accordingly; with gold and glory for loyalty,” he paused, his eyes growing steelier. “And disgrace or cold steel for disloyalty.”

Even though he had heard those words just a few minutes prior, a chill nevertheless ran up Hector’s spine. The thought of Lindsey, his best friend, breaking his oath was somehow worse than the thought of himself breaking it.
As before, however, the dark-haired man still did not flinch, not even seeming to acknowledge the words spoken to him; he was not supposed to. Instead, he remained on his knees, still waiting.

The Grand Duke spun on his heel and lifted up the ceremonial sword from the red and silver cloth upon which it rested. Holding it in his hand, he turned back to Lindsey and tapped his left shoulder with the tip of his sword. Lindsey stiffened for just a moment as the cold steel touched him but it was enough for Hector, attuned to his friend as he was, to notice the motion.

“I dub you a Knight of Stallion,” the noble tapped the other shoulder and returned to the blade to its resting place. As he did, he plucked the last badge that lay on the table and picked up Lindsey’s blade. Placing the badge upon the sword’s cross guard, he presented it as he had done to Hector moments prior. “Arise, Sir Burns.”

Lindsey stood, lifting his head up to meet the Grand Duke’s gaze before taking the two items from the Grand Duke. The sword he returned to the scabbard but his badge he clenched tightly in his hand, letting its points dig into his skin.

“Thank you, your Grace,” he said solemnly, bowing to him and then to Isabelle before turning around and descending down from the platform, heading back to the ranks of assembled young men, now all knights. Hector shot him a grin and clenched his fist, subtly raising it up into the air as a gesture of celebration. Lindsey, however, only returned him with a strained smile as he returned and took his place beside the red-headed knight. Only then did he unclench his fist and stare at the badge in the centre of his palm, the polished horse gleaming amidst its red leather setting. His green eyes were stained with disbelief.

“Lin?” Hector whispered, his blue eyes wide as he stared at his friend. “Are you alright?”

Lindsey’s back straightened out and he gripped the badge tightly again. He opened his mouth to speak but another, far deeper voice drowned out any words he could have said.

“I congratulate you on the end of your long journey towards this day. However, I’m sure you have gathered from your oaths that a far longer journey is beginning,” the Grand Duke’s words rolled through the great hall like a wave. “As of today, you are all Knights of Stallion, with all that this implies. Your garrisons will be assigned to you very shortly and until you are given such notice, you will serve here, in Destrier. Tomorrow, you shall begin the duties you have trained for years to earn. Today, however, is a day for well-earned celebrations.”

Hector nudged Lindsey in the side, leaning closer to him. “How about drinks? Maybe we could-”

“Tonight, I invite you all to a feast in the castle in your honour, where food and wine shall be served to you,” the Stallion nobleman continued and lowered his gaze down to the assembled row of knights, a smirk playing on his face. “So I recommend that your celebrations now do not include too much alcohol.”

“Oh,” the red-headed knight murmured, his shoulders sagging as he deflated.

“I promise this evening, I will make up for it, and at the expense of my House too,” the Grand Duke smirked and extended one of his hands out to the assembled knights. “I bid you a very warm welcome to the ranks of the knights of Stallion. Know that I expect only the best of service from each one of you, as befitting anybody who has achieved this honour,” he raised his hand. “Stand to attention, Sirs.”

There was a the slight clinking of swords as the assembled young men, including Hector and Lindsey, formed into the ramrod straight, even rows that it had been drilled into them to gather in when addressed by a superior. All their eyes turned towards their new liege, waiting for further instructions, no doubt the first of many that he would give them.

Seeming satisfied with this, the Stallion withdrew his hand, placing it by his side. “You make take your leave. Use it wisely; I guarantee you will not have any more for a while,” he gave them a nod. “Dismissed.”

With that, the Grand Duke turned on his heel, gesturing for his daughter and his attendants to follow him. They descended from the platform and filed out of a side door, disappearing out of the room. The newly-minted knights glanced around at each other, silently looking to their comrades for clues on what to do. A few gathered together in clumps, chatting loudly with each other as they began to make their way towards the door. Shrugging, Hector turned around and took a few steps in the direction of the exit before stopping suddenly, feeling an absence by his side.

He looked back towards where his friend was, only to find Lindsey standing stock still, staring at the knight badge in his hand.

“Lin?” Hector tilted his head, blinking with slight confusion. “Are you alright?”

Lindsey’s spine snapped straight like he had been given an order. “I’m fine,” he turned to his friend and gave him a nod. Though there was a smile on his face, something about it felt hollow

“Are you sure?” the red-headed knight asked.

“Yes,” Lindsey nodded assuredly, the smile on his face spreading to become genuine before fading again. “But there’s somewhere I want to go.”

Hector’s eyes lit up. “We have a whole day to celebrate. Say where and we’ll-”

“It won’t be celebration,” the dark-haired knight sighed before lifting his eyes up to his friend. His expression was stoic but his eyes betrayed a hint of the storm in his mind. “You can go celebrate if you want. I don’t mind.”

Hector frowned slightly. Taking a few steps forward, he clapped his hand on Lindsey’s shoulder, squeezing it. “I’m not going anywhere without you. It would be dull to drink alone, Lin,” he gave him a while. “Shall I come with you instead?”

Lindsey lowered his eyes. “It won’t be a pleasant trip,” his gaze flickered back to Hector. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“Of course I am!” Hector grinned at him. “I’ll be happy to go anywhere with you!”

The dark-haired knight sighed, chuckling softly. Somehow, despite the darkness in his green eyes, some Hector’s smile forced itself on his face. “Woo curse you and your good cheer,” he placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder in a mirror of the knight’s gesture before his expression growing more serious again. “Meet you in an hour then, in the courtyard? Wear the plainest clothes you have. Get your horse too, and your sword. Especially your sword.”

The red-headed knight frowned a little, in particular noting the last item Lindsey instructed him to bring. “Lin, where are we going?”

Lindsey clenched his jaw together, his green eyes flickering away from Hector. “Do you know a place in Destrier call ‘The Woods’?”

“The slum?” confusion bloomed across the red-headed knight’s face. “I’ve heard about it in rumours. Why?”

“We’re going there,” his friend replied, every word coming out of his mouth as though it had barbs upon it.

“But why?”

“Because…” Lindsey turned away. “I don’t want to explain. You’ll find out eventually,” his eyes flickered up to Hector. “You still want to come?”

“Of course!” the red-headed knight smiled back at him. “I want to be there for you, Lin, no matter what.”

Lindsey’s shoulders slumped and a softness seeped into his eyes, accompanied by the ghost of a smile. “Alright. Let’s go to the barracks then, where you and I can change. I’ll see you in an hour.”

His friend nodded eagerly and clapped his friend on the shoulder. Together, the two headed towards the barracks, with Hector practically skipping along while Lindsey followed behind, sombre.

“So what do you think the Grand Duke will have at the banquet for us today?” the red-headed knight chirruped. “Goose? Venison? Boar.”

His friend lifted up his eyes before turning away, staring down at the ground. Hector tilted his head. Maybe Lindsey just was not interested in the meat course?

He grinned. “Maybe he’ll have a berry tart, or even fresh berries? I mean, they’re nobles, they can surely afford them, even now.”

Lindsey sighed, glancing sideways at his friend. “Hector, I normally don’t mind but right now, I really don’t feel like talking. Just let me think.”

“Oh…okay,” the red-headed knight deflated. He opened his mouth before immediately closing it again: if Lin did not want to talk, it was best not to.

In silence then, they walked together to the barracks, only separating when they reached their quarters.

“An hour then?” Lindsey repeated. When Hector nodded, he sighed and turned away. “See you then.”

***

As he promised, an hour later, Hector left the stables leading a chestnut mare behind him in the direction of the courtyard. He spotted Lindsey almost immediately, standing slumped by the fountain while his horse, a pinto mare, was drinking the water in the stone basin. The other knight’s cloak and tunic were his oldest ones, with fresh mud spattered on to them to age them even more. Despite the late spring heat, his hood was pulled over his head, hiding his hair and part of his face.

Hector frowned slightly. Lin was never a fan of hoods; they cut off too much of his peripheral vision, and even on missions, he always strove to keep his clothes neat. If they were going into a slum, maybe it made sense for him to be a little messy but why the hood?

“There you are,” Lindsey pushed himself off the part of the fountain upon which he leaned and took the reins of his mare, leading her towards Hector. Stopping in front of him, he took a moment to appraise the red-headed knight’s clothing. As instructed, Hector had worn plain clothes; a simple woollen tunic, leather jerkin and trousers, all covered by a waterproof cloak that conveniently concealed the sheathed sword that hung off his belt. Lindsey looked over this ensemble without a hint of what he was thinking before walking forward and grabbing Hector’s cloak hood behind him, pulling it over his ginger hair.

“Now you’re not going to blind anyone with that,” he said with a jovial grin before putting his foot into the stirrup of his saddle, climbing up on to his mare. “Come on, before we lose any more daylight.”

Hector did as he was told, saddling his own horse and urging her into a light trot to catch up with Lindsey. Together, the two knights rode out of the courtyard and through the gate, only glimpsing sight of some of their comrades as they went past them. Passing through the gardens, they exited the castle proper and were immediately assaulted by the sounds and scent of the outside.

As per usual for the time of the day, the High Road buzzed with conversation, broken up by the braying and barking of various animals, a chorus to which both the knights’ horses contributed with their own hoof beats striking a steady rhythm against the cobbles. The cries of merchants rose above the din, hawking their various wares from shops that were fortunate enough to line the main street. Between them, inn patrons laughed and clicked together mugs of drink. In the distance, there was the faint sound of a lute, no doubt form some travelling player. Scents of various cooked foods, ale and animals rose up from all around only by be carried away by a northerly breeze, not lingering long.

All normal; Hector paid them no attention, instead riding up beside Lindsey, his horse matching the pace the dark-haired knight set.

“So, where are we going, exactly?” he chirruped. I know it’s in the Woods but…”

Lindsey lowered his head. “I told you, it’s my business.”

“I know but…you can’t even give me a hint?

“No,” the other knight bit his lip. “It’s hard.”

Hector raised an eyebrow. He nudged his horse forward, moving up ahead of Lindsey slightly. “Lin, I said I’d come with you, I don’t mind where we’re going and I am okay with you keeping some things secret, but I can see it’s eating away at you,” the red-headed knight looked directly up at his friend, his eyes silently pleading. “I want to know why.”

Lindsey sighed, grinding his teeth together. “You really want to know?” he slowly turned, his green eyes peering from under his cloak like an angry cat’s. “We’re going to a place from my past. That should tell you everything.”

“Your past?” Hector’s eyes widened. He bit his lip; suddenly it became very clear why Lindsey was reluctant to talk about it. Pulling on the reins, he slowed his mare down, drawing her alongside Lindsey’s. For a few moments, the knights rode in awkward silence until he opened his mouth again. “I...I didn’t know you lived in Destrier.”

“Well, I did,” the dark-haired knight replied tartly before sighing and looking up. They had ridden over the High Bridge and now, the spires of Cathedral of St Absolon looked over them. “Trust me, Hector, soon you’ll know more than you probably wanted.”

“I know about that, Lin, and I know that’s what you’re most sensitive about” the red-headed knight shot him a broad smile. “And I don’t care. You’re my friend; that’s all that matters.”

Lindsey tried to struggle and fight but there was no helping the smile that came across his face. “’Pit take you and your accursed good cheer,” he exclaimed but there was no a trace of malice in his voice. “I’m glad you’re with me.”

Hector grinned widely before turning his attention back on the road. Lindsey, still smiling, lead his horse ahead, showing the way towards their destination.

Once they went past the Cathedral, the streets became noticeably narrower. Though there were still stones lining the path, they were broken up and covered in a thin layer of mud and rubbish. The houses too, were slightly dingy, made out of a combination of wood and stone, and seeming to loom over the road. There was still conversation around but unlike on the High Road leading to the castle, its words were more subdued. A cat yowled before a woman dumped a bucket of scummy water over it to chase it away. She stared up at the knights as they passed before turning away and going back inside, shutting the door behind her. Beside the now closed entrance, two children were playing, oblivious to the dirt surrounding them.

He swallowed nervously. Logically, he knew these places would exist; he had heard plenty from the city guard and the veteran knights. Yet, surrounded by the walls of the castle and the wealth that clustered around the home of House Stallion, it was too easy to forget that not the entire city was like that.

Lindsey drew up beside him. “This isn’t even the worst part,” he murmured quietly and looked around. “We’re close now. We can probably leave the horses.”

Hector frowned. “Won’t it be simpler to ride them?

“It’s best we don’t draw attention to ourselves,” the dark-haired knight replied. “Trust me. We can walk the rest of the way.”

The red-headed knight thought about this for a moment before nodding. He trusted Lindsey. Especially if he knew this place.

They eventually found a small and slightly grubby but otherwise fairly decent inn with enough stable space for their horses. Paying the innkeeper to shelter them, with great emphasis they will be back very shortly, the two knights walked out of the inn. Once they were outside, Lindsey pressed himself close to Hector, glaring up at him beneath his hood.

“You follow me, stay close, keep your wits about you and your hand on your sword,” he murmured. “We’re safer together but we’re strangers; it might still be dangerous,” his green eyes met Hector’s blue ones. “You still want to come?”

It did not even take a second for the red-headed knight to nod vigorously. “Yes, Lin. I’m not letting you go off into danger alone,” he grinned. “We’re full knights now, right? That means no running from battle and no refusing helping those in need.”

“Point taken,” Lindsey snorted and took a few steps ahead, gesturing back to Hector. “So, shall we get going?”

Hector gave him a confident nod and together, the two knights strode deeper into the streets of Destrier. Very soon, they found themselves forced into narrow alleyways where the surrounding houses hunched over them like vultures over a corpse, blocking out the light. They were made utterly of wood and shoddily too; planks hung off their beams while shutters and doors creaked, supported only by a single hinge. Looking at them, it was easy to tell how the Woods got their name.

The ground underfoot had turned from cracked cobbles into mud. From it arose a foul stench that clung to their clothes and clawed at the edges of their senses. It was not like they were unused to bad smells but it was only then that Hector realised how spoiled he was by living in the castle, high up on its rocky perch with a never-ending supply of water to flush away rubbish or worse. Here, the only thing washing this filth away would be the rain, and even then, even if you were lucky, that would only take it to the far end of the street.

He swallowed, forcing himself to breathe through his mouth and peeked at his surroundings out of the corner of his eye. Pale people, young and old alike, with gaunt faces peered out at them from windows or behind doorframes. A few men looked up at the two knights from a street corner before resuming their dice game. In a narrow alleyway- so small Hector doubted he could fit into it- two dogs were violently scrapping over some offal, sending mangy fur flying everywhere. It was hard to believe his friend could ever come from this place.

There was a sudden tap on his side and the red-headed knight swung around just in time to see a young boy running past him. The child only got a few steps away before Lindsey’s hand shot out, grabbing the collar of his scruffy shirt and pulling him closer.

“Give it back,” he growled.

The boy shook his head, gazing up at Lindsey with two fearful brown eyes, his breath hitching. Hector bit his lip, taking a step closer.

“Lin-” he murmured, but his friend did not hear him. Grinding his teeth together in annoyance, he snatched something from the boy’s hand and threw it back to the red-headed knight. Hector caught it and held it up to his eyes to examine it before stifling a gasp. It was his purse.

“Can’t believe you’d have it so unsecure,” Lindsey hissed before turning back to the boy, who was now shaking like a leaf. Sighing, he reached into his shift and pulled out a piece of precious jewel, pushing it into the boy’s hands. “Go. Get lost.”

Without waiting for another word, the child took off into the winding maze of alleyways, his bare feet smacking against the muddy ground. Hector watched him go, pity written all across his face, before he turned to Lindsey.

“Did you ever...” he gestured with his head after the departed boy.

“Never,” Lindsey smirked sardonically. “Tried once, it was one of the few times my mum ever hit me. She told me we were better than that.”

Hector smiled, still gazing in the direction the child had gone. “You think...maybe someday that boy will become like you?”

“No,” the dark-haired knight replied almost instantly and began to walk away. “I doubt that kid will have my luck.”

He quickened his pace, forcing Hector to speed up, a fact that killed any remnants of that conversation dead. The silence allowed him to sharpen his senses, focusing more on his surroundings as he would in a battle: Hector did not want to get robbed again. Together, they proceeded through the narrow streets and alleys that comprised the labyrinth between the wooden slum houses.

As they walked, Lindsey’s stride quickened, almost seeming to forget Hector following him. The red-headed knight did his best to follow but it was as though his friend barely saw him. Growing more exasperated, Hector increased his pace, overtaking Lindsey.

“Li-” he said and immediately caught the look in his friend’s eyes; steely, determined, almost unseeing of anything ahead of him. He was walking purely on the basis of memory. It was probably best not to snap him out of it.

Hector shrunk back, returning to quietly following like a monk in a church procession, doing his best to keep close to Lindsey.

They walked down a narrow alleyway and turned a corner before the dark-haired knight stopped, looking up. Following his gaze, Hector’s eyes alighted on a ramshackle building standing at the corner of the street that seemed to be nothing more than a series of wooden planks haphazardly thrown together. It stood around three or four storeys high; it was impossible to tell with the sloping shingle roof that covered it. A tallow unlit candle hung in a crude lamp just outside the door, obviously designed to illuminate the sign that sat above it. Its paint was cracked and peeling and some of the wood was beginning to rot but the words “The Old Maid” were still legible on it, as was a grotesque picture of a fat old woman with crooked teeth.

Lindsey curled his nose, scowling. “I can’t tell if it’s gotten worse, better or stayed the same.”

Hector bit his tongue, deciding it was best not to comment, though he could not understand how exactly it could have gotten ‘better’.

Before he could ruminate on the question some more, the dark-haired knight grabbed his sleeve and stepped forward. “Come on. The sooner I speak to that old hag, the sooner we can leave.”

“Old hag..?” Hector’s eyes shot up to the sigh swinging above them.

A deep sigh emanated from Lindsey. He rolled his eyes. “You’ll see,” his gaze flickered back to the door. “She better be in, or else.”

He pushed open the door. Immediately, the scent of fat, smoke and sour beer rushed outside, mingling unpleasantly with the already rancid smell of the streets. The two knights did not even hesitate in rushing into the inn and shutting the door behind them.

The gust of air from outside stirred the candles that provided extra light that the grime-encrusted windows embedded into the walls could not. Hector blinked as the acrid smoke stung his eyes but it did not seem to bother the few patrons who sat at their tables hunched over their beers. Beneath their feet, it was possible to spot rushes, filthy from not being changed in Woo knew how long. The sparse furniture in the room, consisting mostly of rickety wooden chairs and a few tables between them, seemed in equally bad shape.

“Can I help you boys?” a nasally voice that sounded very much like it had been breathing the smoke of the room for far too long sounded from their right. On a reflex, Lindsey twitched. Turning his head, Hector spotted a dingy bar and behind it, an old woman cleaning a mug with a filthy rag. To her credit, she did not look as repulsive as the creature on the sign outside. She was thin as a rail and her thin grey hair had been tied up into a neat bun but her overly enthusiastic smile revealed the same crooked teeth that were the feature of the woman outside. Though her clothes were poorly tailored, the fabric was brightly coloured and cut with some flair, making her look like a particularly gaudy bird that had been half-plucked of its feathers.

Despite the stink and thickness of the air, Lindsey took in several deep breaths, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Just want to ask some things,” he said.

The woman snorted. “Well, talk is free but my time costs,” she gave the two men the side-eye. “So you better make it worth my while.”

“Duly noted,” the dark-haired knight replied, his voice strained. Slowly and deliberately, he walked over to the bar counter, keeping his head down and his hood over his face. Hector followed, swallowing, suddenly becoming very aware of the pit of his stomach. He had an unpleasant feeling about this.

The old woman, however, did not seem to care in the slightest. “So, what’s it you want to know?” she appraised the pair with cool, slightly disdainful eyes. “Speak up, I’ve got stuff to do.”

Lindsey forced himself to look up at her. “Do you remember someone called Vivian Burns?”

She paused, putting a hand on her pointed chin. “Vivian Burns...Vivian...oh yes!” the innkeeper grinned toothily. “I remember her. She worked here many years ago. Not that she did anything important around here, mind you, just chores. Served the customers, made beds, and cleaned the plac, things like that. She left for Konik after Tersk fell though.”

Hector glanced sideways at Lindsey and immediately froze, seeing the dark look in his friend’s green eyes. The woman, however, remained oblivious to it.

“A shame too; she was a pretty thing. Caught a lot of customers’ eyes. With her looks and my business sense, we could have made a fortune,” she snorted. “Of course, she always refused in that snooty way of hers. She was always putting on airs, pretending she was too good for me and for this tavern. Don’t know why, not with that brat of hers.”

Lindsey scowled openly. “What about her brat?” he hissed, an unrestrained edge to his voice.

“Apparently some lordling took a liking to her and left her with a bit of a surprise,” the innkeeper gave a derisive chuckle. “Serves her right, I say; stupid girl should have been more careful with her men,” she leaned on the counter. “Kid was such a pain too, always sticking his nose where it did not belong. Insulting customers, getting into fights, things like that. She coddled him far too much, for sure. I can’t remember how many times I had to tan that little chit’s hide for her. And yet he still kept causing trouble. Always said he’d end up on the gallows someday, though that’s just the fate you would expect from some bast-”

“You’ve always liked to talk, and you always loved dragging peoples’ names through the mud. Clearly nothing’s changed,” the dark-haired knight growled. “Does it make you feel better about yourself, hmm? Looking down on people?”

She stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”

“The gallows, huh? That was all I’m good for, you always said,” in one swift movement, Lindsey yanked down his hood and pulled his knight badge out of his pocket, slamming it down on to the counter. “What do you think of me now, you old hag?! Am I still only good for the gallows!?”

The woman jumped, giving off a startled cry. Several of the bar patrons jerked up and stared at the pair at the bar, their hands flying to their belts. Almost reflexively, Hector grabbed the hilt of the sword, spreading his feet for better balance in case he had to fight. He glanced at Lindsey, silently begging him for backup, but the dark-haired knight’s green eyes, simmering with barely contained anger, were fixed on to the innkeeper.

Still panting, the old woman’s gaze flickered down to the badge, then at Lindsey, then the badge again before slowly returning to the knight, her eyes wide as saucers. “You?!” she gasped. “But...you...you’re a...”

“Illegitimate?” Lindsey snarled. “Or were you going to use a cruder term?”

The innkeeper gasped, putting her hands up in front of her. “No, not at all! I was merely wondering how somebody lands such a prestigious job, considering...your...your...background.”

“Does it matter?” He leaned closer, his hands curling into fists on the counter. “The important thing is I made it. Despite you and people like you insulting me, putting me down, acting as though I am worthless, nothing, I managed to be something: a Stallion knight,” Lindsey scowled. “So you can choke on that, you old hag.”

She swallowed, blinking several times as she pondered his words. Soon, however, a toothy grin spread like oil across her face. “I am certainly very happy for you. You must have worked very hard to overcome the unfortunate circumstances of your birth to achieve such a high level of success,” the innkeeper clasped her hands and leaned forward, her eyes twinkling. “Why don’t we let bygones be bygones? After all, how was I supposed to know you would turn out to be such a fine young man?”

Lindsey ground his jaw together. “You-”

“Tell you what, why don’t you come visit your old home? I’ll even give you free drinks if you come here. I would love to have a knight to keep some of my rowdier customers in line,” the old woman trilled and folded her hands, gazing at him as one would at a fine painting one just finished. “Why, it must have been so character-building for you, Sir, living at my dear tavern. Don’t you think you owe your dear auntie Ilva-”

“For what?! The six worst years of my life?! The abuse you piled on me and my mother daily?!” Lindsey shouted. “I don’t owe you anything and I don’t want anything to do with you, you self-righteous old hag. You’re not one of the people who has helped me achieve this goal,” he leaned closer, his eyes ablaze with fury. “I’ve outgrown this place. I’ve outgrown you. You and your tavern can burn for all I care!”

He swore loudly and slammed his fist on the counter. Immediately, the men who had been sitting around them stood up, glaring at the two knights. The innkeeper snorted, folding her arms.

“Hardly knight-like behaviour of you, to curse out an old woman,” she remarked condescendingly. “No wonder. No matter how high and mighty you get with your badge, you can’t change what you are: an illegitimate little chit without a father.”

“How dare you?!” Lindsey raised his fist and he almost swung it before Hector’s hand whipped out like a serpent, grabbing his arm. He stepped around his friend and looked him right in the eye, letting his friend see the fear on his face.

“Lin, no,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Don’t.”

Lindsey looked back at him and sighed, lowering his fist. Slowly, it unclenched. His shoulders slumped but there was still an angry glimmer in his eye, one that was only enhanced when he looked up at Ilva. “I am better than this. It doesn’t matter what you think of me,” he brushed off Hector’s hand and grabbed his badge off the counter before turning around. “I won’t be back. I never want to see you ever again.”

His pace was brisk as he walked towards the door. Hector allowed himself a small sigh of relief before nodding politely to the old woman and trotting on after his friend. They were vaguely aware of a shuffling of chairs, indicating the roused drinkers had returned to their seats, but neither stopped to look back, wanting to be out of the tavern as quickly as possible.

Finally, the pair stepped out on to the muddy street. The door closed behind them with a satisfying thunk, and as soon as it did, Lindsey exhaled, burying his face in his hands.

“Woo, I’ve only been a knight for a few hours and I already almost punched an old woman in the face,” he muttered, his voice bearing more than a hint of shame. “I thought I had outgrown being an angry, impulsive child.”

“She was being awful to you,” Hector placed his hand on Lindsey’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” Lindsey sighed. He lifted up his head as though it were a lead weight. “Woo, you would think after all these years, all that training, what she said wouldn’t get to me but it still does. All that stuff about being...being illegitimate, about not having a father...”

“I know, Lin,” the red-headed knight wrapped an arm around him. “I know how much it hurts you.”

His friend snorted. “I don’t know if you really do,” he looked up at Hector, giving him a weak smile. “Thanks though. If you hadn’t stopped me, chances are I’d be in the middle of a fight by now. Probably get my knighthood revoked after that.”

Hector winced. “Yeah...” he glanced down at Lindsey. “Why did you come here? If it’s such a painful thing from your past...why?”

The dark-haired knight shrugged. “I guess I just wanted to prove to her that I’m better than what she thought? Except she clearly hasn’t changed,” he glared back at the inn. “No matter what, that old hag will always strive to look down on others,” a curse escaped from under his breath. “She’s right though. Despite everything, I’m still...” Lindsey gestured to himself. “Earl Perlino’s unrecognised son.”

“You’re also a Stallion knight. Not many can boast of that honour,” Hector grinned. “And you’re my friend.”

“And a lot of people can boast about that honour,” Lindsey remarked dryly but somehow, he found himself returning the red-headed knight’s smile. “Thanks though. I don’t think I’ve ever really thanked you properly for being by my side all these years.”

“You don’t have to. I’m happy to be there, always!” Hector clapped him on the back. “Now let’s get out of this place and get a few proper drinks. We still have some time before his Grace wants us back, don’t we?”

“Yeah...” Lindsey’s smile grew a little wider and a lot wryer. “I’m going to be at a feast with the Grand Duke of Bern. That’s an oddly satisfying thought.”

“It should be,” the red-headed knight clapped his hands together. “What do you think he’ll be serving us? You think we’ll get roast ox? Or glazed fruits? Or whisky?”

Lindsey snorted. “Your optimism will be the death of us,” he shrugged. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see. For now, let’s get out of here. I never want to set foot in this place unless I am ordered to.”

Hector nodded and together, the two started walking, turning on to the path that would lead them out of the slum. “You really think he won’t at least serve us some whisky?”

“Beer and wine is more likely in terms of drinks. Whisky’s expensive,” his friend remarked before a mischievous glint entered his eyes. “You want a bet that there won’t be whisky?”

The red-headed knight’s eyes widened and he cocked his head, smiling. “How much?”

“Oh, no money. It’s more fun to give you a challenge...” Lindsey scratched his chin before chuckling. “Loser has to run around the castle walls in full armour.”

“Deal,” Hector nodded. “Anything else you want to bet on?”

“Let me think about it…” his friend replied, his voice full of dry humour. “What else can I make you do?”

[Celestial]

More Lindsey-fic. I wanted to post the previous one and this one close together but this one ended up being long. Time for flashbacks.

A Past and a Future- Part 1

SPOILER: Click to show

Konik, Bern, Spring 1300

“Lindsey?”

The boy’s emerald eyes flickered up from the lamb stew that he had been eating, meeting eyes which were identical to his in both colour and shape. They belonged to a woman sitting on the opposite end of the round table. She was smiling but it was a broad, overly sweet smile that Lindsey had learned to recognise for what it was: a mask.

Immediately, he became very aware of the pit of his stomach. Briefly, he glanced to her right, at the man with strawberry blond hair sitting beside her. Seeing his gaze shifting, the man gave Lindsey a small smile, a fraction of the expression of his mother. The boy snorted and looked away while shovelling a piece of meat into his mouth. Sauce dripped down his chin and he wiped it before chewing and swallowing, the food briefly drowning the nervous feeling in his stomach.

He forced himself to look back at her. “Yes, mum?”

She shot him a smile. “I just...wanted to ask how your day was?” his mother picked up her spoon, dipping it into her own bowl. “Alois says you were helping the groom take care of his horse today,”

“Oh, he did?” the boy’s face soured. “Only ‘cause I was bored. Nobody bothers me in the stables, so I like going there.”

“That’s still very good of you, Lindsey,” the strawberry blond-haired man, the aforementioned Alois, spoke up, grinning at him before he took in a spoonful of stew. “I’m sure the groom appreciated it. I certainly appreciated it.”

Lindsey gave off a grunt and a shrug, returning to the task of eating his dinner. His mother smiled wanly.

“I’m sorry to hear you were bored though, sweetie,” she said gently, reaching out to run a hand through his raven hair. Lindsey gritted his teeth, glancing nervously at the man sitting next to her. In truth, he enjoyed his mother’s touch; he only wished she was not so embarrassingly affectionate with him in front of Alois. His mother had married the knight over a year ago and he still was not comfortable with the latter’s presence in his life.

“M’used to it,” he mumbled, pulling away and stuffing his face with a spoonful of the lamb stew to drown his embarrassment.

“Well...” her smile grew a little bit wider. A bit too wide for Lindsey’s comfort. “Maybe it will be nice if you have some company?”

The boy swallowed his food and narrowed his eyes. “Like what?”

“Well, firstly, some good friends of mine have asked me to take their son on as my squire,” Alois spoke up, interrupting the woman. “He’s about your age and as friendly as can be. I’m sure you two will get along.”

Lindsey rolled his eyes. “Okay, whatever” he grumbled under his breath before returning his attention to his food, mentally making a note to avoid the new kid as much as possible. In his experience, people who were labelled ‘friendly’ were usually anything but. Yet even if he was exactly as Alois advertised, Lindsey didn’t need friends; why should he bother getting along with this boy?

Was that what his mother had looked so worried about? It was nothing. A minor inconvenience, maybe, but nothing.

Alois sighed, his failure to gain Lindsey’s enthusiasm having not gone unnoticed. His wife reached over, stroking his hand, to which the man replied with a smile. With that encouragement, he looked back at the boy, who was now shovelling food into his mouth again.

“Your mum’s got some news too,” he said, glancing sideways at her. “You want to tell him, Vivian?”

Lindsey stopped with his spoon in mid-air, suddenly feeling the pit in his stomach again. What could she add on top of what Alois had already said?

As if to put him further on guard, the overly broad smile returned to grace her face again. “Sure, Alois,” Vivian nodded before turning to her son. “Lin, Alois’ squire won’t be the only new face around here. Not in six months’ time anyway,”

His heart beat faster. “W-what do you mean?”

She put a hand on her stomach. “Me and Alois are having a baby. You’re going to be a big brother, Lin.”

The wooden spoon clattered out of his hand and down on to the floor, followed shortly by Lindsey’s chair as he leapt out of his seat.

“Why?” the boy screamed. “Why would you do that?!”

His mother recoiled. “Lin…”

Alois winced “Now, Lindsey, there’s no need to react like this,” he reached out towards the boy but the latter slapped him away.

“I’ll react however I want, Alois,” the boy snarled back, his hands clenching into fists.

Vivian stood up from her seat. “Lindsey, you be nice to your father,” her voice was between a reproach and a desperate plead.

“He’s not my father! You know that better than anyone, mum!” his emerald green eyes sparked with rage.

She recoiled, sharply drawing breath. “I know, Lin, and I also know this news has to be a shock for you-”

“Really?! What gave you that idea?” Lindsey growled.

His mother visibly flinched at that remark. “I promise it will be nice. Even if the baby isn’t your full blood sibling, it’s still your family. So please,” she clasped her hands together. “Please don’t be upset.”

The boy bit his lip. “How can I not be upset?” he desperately tried to hold back the waver in his voice. “You know what? Fine, mum. You have your baby. I’m sure you, it and Alois will be really happy together!”

With those words, he spun around on his heel and took off running towards the entrance hall. Alois reached out to catch him but all he managed to get was a snatch of air just above Lindsey’s collar. Reaching the hallway, the boy made a beeline for the door, swinging it open and sprinting out. The last thing he head before he slammed the door shut behind him was his mother calling his name.

He blindly pelted down the cobbled Konik street, barely hearing the cries of dismay and annoyance from people that he pushed past. As he ran, his throat began to close up as the lump within it rose. His eyes too were stinging painfully. Inside his chest his heart hammered violently, filling his ears with its dull throb that was only drowned out by the occasional hiss of his breath. Lindsey kept running though, as though if he ran fast enough he could escape all the pain of his predicament. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted an empty side street and on impulse, turned down it, barrelling down the narrow alleyway, free from the jostling of the main road. It did not matter where he was going as long as he could get away, away from that house and away from him.

Perhaps, however, he should have paid more attention to where he was going. His foot caught on a pothole in the uneven dirt road, sending Lindsey toppling. Even though he threw out the palms of his hands to absorb the impact, he still hit the ground hard, forcing a pained cry out of his mouth. Whimpering slightly like a kicked puppy, he pushed himself up on to his knees. Pain flared up from them, convulsing his expression into a wince. His eyes turned to his trousers. A sizeable hole had been torn in them, its corners dyed red from the blood pooling out of the scrape beneath it.

Frustrated tears rolled out of Lindsey’s eyes. He choked back a sob only to find it bubbling out of his throat anyway, followed by another and another. It wasn’t fair! He never asked to be born, let alone be born what he was. But the single fact of his birth had ruined his mother’s life. It was because of him that her family abandoned them. Because of him, she was forced to live in squalor in that inn, because of him she had to come to Konik even while the war raged, because of him she spent days and nights rubbing her hands raw as she washed and cooked for the soldiers.

Except there she met Alois. She married him and now, she was going to have his child. A proper child, one with a real father, not the spawn of some lordling who used and discarded her, leaving her to deal with the consequences. She had everything she could have ever wanted now; why did she need her illegitimate chit anymore?Nobody ever needed some worthless illegitimate chit. Especially-

-Oh Woo, especially after he ran away like that. Lindsey burst into a round of fresh tears. If she had any doubts about his worthlessness, it was probably gone by now. She must hate him so much.

For a moment he wondered if he ought to go home and apologise before immediately wiping the thought from his mind. The idea of facing his mother’s wrath, especially in front of Alois was too much to bear.

“Hey, look at this kid,” a voice above him suddenly spoke before giving off a throaty laugh. “He’s crying.”

Lindsey gasped and his head shot upward, his eyes widening as he realised he had been caught. As soon as he saw the owner of the voice, his stomach gave a painful lurch.

In front of him were three children, each one a different distance from him. The one who spoke looked like he was the eldest; a large boy with a piggish nose and equally piggish eyes staring down at Lindsey from behind rumpled brown locks. Behind him were two younger boys, too similar in appearance to the eldest to be anything but his brothers. They kept glancing nervously between their older brother, Lindsey and each other. The youngest in particular seemed as skittish as a hunted deer as he hugged the leather ball he was holding close to his chest, biting his lip. Those two were no threat. Their brother looming over him, however, was a different story.

Lindsey sniffed, pulling the snot forced out by his tears deeper into his nose and met the oldest boy’s gaze with as deathly a glare as he could muster. “What’s it to you?” he snarled, his hands clenching into fists.

“It’s ‘cause crying’s for little girls,” the boy stepped closer, leering at him. “Are you a little girl?”

“No,” Lindsey stood up, his lip curling like that of an angry dog. “So bugger off.”

The older boy growled. “Stupid wimps don’t get to speak to me like that.”

“Well, I am speaking to you like that now, so bugger off!”

His opponent opened his mouth to reply but was immediately cut off by a cry from his younger brother. “Hey, I recognise you,” he shouted, pointing to Lindsey. “I saw you in the camps, but mum said not to speak to you ‘cause no-one knew who your dad was.”

Lindsey stiffened just as the older boy burst out laughing. “So you’re the basta-”

“So what?! Shut up!” Lindsey screamed, holding his fists up in front of him.

“It explains why you’re so rude,” the boy laughed. “Dad always said your sort are always trouble, that you don’t have someone to teach you how to behave.”

“I’ll make you eat those words if you don’t shut up right now!!”

“Oh yeah, what are you going to do to me? Go crying to your mummy? She’s probably even more useless than you are!” the snort that came from him matched his piggish features. “I bet she didn’t even know your dad’s name before she-”

Whatever he was going to say next was cut off by a thump as Lindsey’s fist connected with his jaw. The boy gasped and reeled, rubbing his cheek where he had been struck. When he looked back up, his tiny eyes glimmering with murderous intent.

“You little-” he spat on the pavement and leapt up. “You’ll pay!”

Lindsey just barely caught the horrified look in the eyes of the two younger brothers but there was no time to dwell on it. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed the older boy’s fist coming towards him. Acting on instinct, he leapt away. With memories of previous experiences burning bright at the forefront of his mind, he spread his legs and held out his fists in a defensive position. There was no doubt the older boy was stronger but he was faster, Lindsey thought, pausing to brush a lock of hair out of his eyes. If he stayed on his feet, he might-

Pain ripped all the way through his side as his opponent’s fist connected with his ribs. The dark-haired boy ground his teeth together in order not to cry out, to not show weakness in front of his opponent. He stumbled, bracing himself against the wall of the alley but before he could even gasp for air, he was forced to dive away from an incoming blow. Instead of Lindsey’s flesh, the older boy’s fist instead connected with hard mortar.

A sickening crunch came from his hand. He screamed and then turned, his nostrils flaring like a mad bull’s “I’ll kill you!”

Lindsey did not respond. His hand remained pressed against his ribs where he had been hit, trying to contain the pain. This fight had to end quickly. With that thought, he barrelled headlong into the other boy, aiming a punch for his stomach.

Except his opponent anticipated his move. He grabbed his fist in his meaty hand, twisting Lindsey’s arm behind him. A loud whimper escaped from the dark-haired boy’s mouth as he tried to wriggle loose. It took all his self-control to not turn it into a scream.

“Shut up, brat!” the older boy barked before sending his knee into Lindsey’s spine. Sparks flashed in front of his vision. He doubled over, only to feel the boy’s clammy hand fall over his mouth. Wriggled as hard as he could, and moving his head just slightly out of the boy’s grip, Lindsey got his chance. He bit down hard in the space between the latter’s fingers and thumb. His opponent cried out and his grip on Lindsey loosened. It was just the opportunity he needed. Before the older boy could recover, Lindsey stamped his foot down on his before immediately bucking, finally falling out of the grip of his opponent. The older boy’s fingers barely scraped his hair as he fled from him. Panting with relief, Lindsey forced himself around to face his opponent.

The older boy spat again. He paused for a single moment but only that moment before attempting another strike. This time, however, Lindsey was ready. He ducked out of the way of the blow and down towards the ground, thinking getting lower would save him. That was a mistake, one which he only realised when he was struck in the chest by a vicious kick from the older boy. Lindsey sprawled out in the dirt, fighting the agony and the tightness in his ribs. He gasped for air but none seemed to come. His fingers dug into the dusty ground, rough dirty scraping his palm as he scooped up a handful. Before he could act, however, his ears rang and pain ran through his head. His opponent had kicked him in the jaw. A metal taste filled his mouth, followed by a tightness around his neck as the older boy lifted him up by the collar.

“You think you’re getting away that easily? I’ll show you!”

Lindsey glared up at him and lifted up his handful of dirt I’ll show you- argh!” his opponent suddenly cried out as dirt slammed into his eyes, an action followed up by a swift kick into his solar plexus. The older boy crumpled, letting go of Lindsey in the process.

By now, however, there was no running away. All he saw in his mind was raw, red anger. The other boy lay on the ground, his breath but even that did not calm Lindsey’s rage. He had to pay! The other boy had to pay for all he had said!

Snarling, he leapt on top of the boy’s chest, striking him in the jaw again and again. “That’s! For! My! Mo-”

“Enough!” a rough male voice suddenly cut him off. Before he knew it, two large hands grabbed him by the arms and lifted Lindsey off the older boy.

“Let go!” he writhed and struggled like a serpent against the grip. “Let me go!”

“Shush, boy!” another voice barked at him and within a few moments, its owner came into view: a dark-haired man dressed in chainmail wearing a red woollen cloak and- most importantly- a gauntlet bearing the badge of the Stallion knights. Cold ran down Lindsey’s spine. Out of the corner of his eye, past the swelling that was forming on it, he glanced at the hands holding him. His suspicions were confirmed: there was an identical badge upon them. Behind his captor, he saw the two younger boys, staring at him, shaking, terrified, and both clearly out of breath.

Woo, why did they have to call the city garrison? They were the last people he wanted to deal with. No doubt Alois would know. And if that man knew…no doubt his mother would. How was he going to explain this her?

Lindsey swore and was immediately rewarded by a smack on the head. “Watch your language, boy,” the knight who grabbed him ordered. “Though language isn’t the worst thing you’re in trouble for.” He resumed his hold, his fingers digging into the boy’s arms.

Meanwhile, the other knight had approached Lindsey’s opponent, who in the meantime had managed to sit up. He spat out a gob of blood down into the dirt but the man barely flinched, instead leaning down beside the boy. “We’re Sir Keir and Sir Bryden of the Konik Garrison. Your brothers called us because you were being attacked.”

“I…” the boy looked between the knight, his brothers and then Lindsey. “Yes! He attacked me. Me and my brothers were just on the way to play a game when he leapt on me and punched me!”

“That’s not true!” Lindsey screamed. “I only did because you were insulting me and my mother! You liar!”

Sir Keir frowned and turned back to the two younger brothers. “Is this true, boys? Did your brother provoke the fight?”

The two glanced between each other and then at their brother, who shot them a vicious scowl. Immediately, they shook their heads. “It’s all true, sirs. We were only going to play a game, and then he attacked our brother,” the middle boy said with as much earnestness as he could muster.

The youngest nodded. “He started it,” he exclaimed, pointing at Lindsey.

Lindsey gave off a strangled, indignant choke. “Don’t defend him! He was the one insulting me and provoking me first!” He struggled and writhed in the grip of the knight holding him but a large man trained in combat was no match for an eight-year old. Nevertheless, the two younger boys flinched away from the boy who had attacked their brother, as if expecting him to break loose at any moment.

There was a deep sigh from Sir Keir as he stood up, turning back to his partner. “We’ll take the dark-haired boy with us for sure. As for the others…” he glanced back at the trio. “What are your names?”

“I’m Jan,” the middle boy replied. “My younger brother is Alfie, and he’s-”

“Kenzie. I’m Kenzie,” the oldest boy looked proudly up at the two knights. “Kenzie Moray. If you are knights, you probably knew Sir Adam Moray, my father?”

Keir’s face remained blank but Lindsey felt the knight holding him stiffen. The dark-haired boy glanced up, just in time to see Sir Bryden bow his head.

“I did. I am very sorry,” he said quietly before turning to his partner. “Turn him loose, Evan. Their poor mother has suffered enough.”

It only took a moment for Keir to understand what Bryden was speaking about. A solemn expression passed across his face and he bowed his head to the brothers, giving them a sympathetic smile. “Have a good day then,” he stated and turned around, gesturing for the other knight to follow him. “Let’s bring this one along to the guardhouse then, and try to find out who his parents are.”

Bryden headed after Keir, dragging Lindsey behind him by the arms. The dark-haired boy ground his heels into the ground in an attempt to stop them moving him. A sigh came from the knight carrying him. There was a tiny shift in his strength but no matter how small, Lindsey felt all his efforts nullified by it. There was no point struggling. He gave off a mournful sound, a cross between a sigh and a sob, and slumped forward, resigned to his fate, allowing himself to be escorted away by the two knights. Even looking behind him and seeing the older boy make an insulting gesture at him did nothing to reignite his fire. All he could think of was the pain of the bruises that were forming on his body and his mother’s face when she heard what he had done.

Lindsey could not decide which hurt more.

A Past and a Future- Part 2

SPOILER: Click to show

The guardhouse was a stone building within the inner wall of Konik, situated right beside the main fortress, which hung over it like a mountain. Inside, it stank of sweat and mildew. Even though Lindsey knew he had smelled much worse, he still could not help but gag. His two escorts, however, ignored the smell and guided him forcefully through the corridor, past the stairs leading down to the cells, much to Lindsey’s relief, and brought him to a thick door, upon which Keir promptly knocked.

“Come in,” a voice from beyond ordered. The two men did just that. Inside, they saluted to the owner of the voice: a gruff man in a red cloak with a chevron above the badge on his glove.

“Captain,” Keir spoke up and pushed Lindsey forward. “We were called to an incident on patrol and found this boy brawling in the streets. His parents need to be identified and notified so they can pay the fine for him.”

“Good Woo, do we really have nothing better to do since the war than sort out violent brats?” the knight captain gave off a deep sigh and waved his hand. “I suppose if he is a child we can’t just throw him in the cells and let the problem sort itself out. Go, knights, return to your patrol. I guess I’ll deal with the brat.”

“I’m not a brat,” Lindsey murmured under his breath before immediately looking up in panic, trying to see if the two knights had heard. Luckily for him, even if they did, all they did was salute their captain before pushing Lindsey roughly forward towards the man’s desk. He stumbled and fought to regain his balance, something he only managed by grabbing the corner of the wooden desk. He was just in time to hear the door slam shut behind him.

The knight captain looked up, assessing him from head to toe in a way that made Lindsey feel uncomfortably like a fish that the man was deciding whether to keep or throw away. Finally, he waved his hand, leaning back in his chair. “So, boy, do you understand why you’re here?”

Lindsey wrinkled his nose, turning away. “He started it,” he muttered. “You should have taken him.”

“I don’t care who started it, you were the one caught fighting and your parents are the ones who are going to pay for it,” the captain glared at him. “Who are your mother and father?”

The boy growled in frustration and clenched his fists, giving the knight a stubborn look.

“Don’t play dumb. You either tell me the information or you’re spending time in the cells with the other criminals,” the man returned his glare. “So, let me repeat: who are your mother and father?”

“Mum’s name is Vivian Bu- Rosach,” Lindsey said, biting his lip.

“Rosach?” the captain raised an eyebrow. “So your father is Sir Alois Rosach?”

“He’s not my father!” the boy barked, holding his arms around himself as if preparing for the inevitable blow. “I don’t have a father, alright?! I never have and never will! I’m illegitimate! Some nobleman’s chit he doesn’t even know about!”

He shrank back, away from the man, waiting for the stream of abuse that usually followed such a claim. He was used to it though: it was always worse if he pretended he was normal anyway.

There was a rhythmic sound of tapping against wood. Lindsey dared to look up, only to find the knight captain rapping his fingers on the desk, looking at him with a thin expression.

“If your mother’s last name is Rosach, that means she is Sir Rosach’s wife, correct? The one he married last year?” the man glared at him. “Answer the question without histrionics; yes, or no?”

The dark-haired boy swallowed, bowing his head. “Yes,” he whispered.

“Glad we got that sorted,” There was a deep sigh from the knight captain as he pushed himself up off his seat. “Then I’ll be sending a message to Sir Rosach. He can come pay your fine, if he thinks you’re worth it.”

Lindsey opened his mouth and immediately closed it again. What if Alois did not think his wife’s illegitimate troublemaker of a son was worth it? Would his mum beg for his sake?

No, she would, not with the baby on the way to replace him. The boy turned his head sharply to look down at the ground, biting his tongue to hold back tears. When the knight grabbed him by the arm and proceeded to drag him after him, he did not even pretend to resist, limply dragging his feet along after the man without even looking where they were going.

Lindsey was placed in a small cell by himself while the captain went to dispatch a messenger, leaving the boy alone to contemplate his fate. He was not going to cry; crying was how he had ended up in this situation in the first place. He needed to be strong. It was him against the entire world and he could not face it if he was weak. Before, his mother would have supported him but now, he was on his own.

Even if he would give anything to get a hug from his mother, or have her brush his hair, or sing off-key like she always did.

A lump formed in his throat and he quickly swallowed it before lashing out and punching the wall. Immediately, he screamed and fell over, clutching his hand. A cursory glance revealed his bloodied knuckles, already damaged from the fight, opening up again. He put them in his mouth, sucking on them. By now, the bruises all over his body were fully formed and his arm, stretched out by the older boy, stung painfully. Lindsey wanted to say the pain was a good distraction but in truth, it just made him long for his mother and home even more. Having nothing else to do, the boy curled up on the floor of the damp cell, wrapping his arms around himself and pressing his knees to his chest.

He stayed like that for what seemed like forever until the cell door swung open. Lindsey’s head shot up to see who it was who had come in. Alois eyes stared into his. Immediately, his stomach lurched. For a moment he thought he would vomit from the stabs of guilt coursing through his torso. The boy dared to look closer at his step-father’s face, looking for any sign of anger, disappointment or some suggestion of what his punishment would be.

Lindsey found none of those things. Alois’ eyes were soft and gentle, if tinged with sadness. In a way, it was even worse than anger. A choked whimper escaped from the boy and he curled up around himself, pressing his face into his knees.

“Lindsey, I’ve paid the fine. Let’s go home,” the knight said quietly. The boy remained still, causing Alois to sigh. “Your mother is worried sick about you.”

Still no response from Lindsey. “Please, let’s just go,” Alois continued. “Can you walk?”

Lindsey did not dare answer. He probably could walk but he did not want to give Alois a reply. Anything to delay the inevitable.

The knight sighed again, shaking his head before taking several steps forward towards Lindsey. The boy shrank back but there was nowhere to run as Alois scooped him up into his arms.

The sudden motion of his body reminded him of all the bruises he had sustained during the fight earlier that day, forcing a whimper out of his mouth. He froze, not wanting to make the pain worse but instead became aware of the warmth of the knight’s arms and the comforting strength embroiled in them. Before he was aware of it, Lindsey had pressed himself against Alois’ chest, relaxing as he listened to the man’s heartbeat. It took everything to stop himself from crying. He could not even begin to say how much he had wanted all his life for somebody to hold him like this.

The knight’s chestnut horse was waiting outside the guardhouse. It turned its head as it heard the two exit and snuffled at Lindsey gently. He shot it a smile but a smile was all he could muster. Alois shifted him up on to its saddle and took the reins, leading the horse on a slow walk down the street.

Lindsey swayed as he tried to keep his balance. His stomach churned but it was not due to the horse’s movement. Every hoof beat brought him closer to facing his mother, having to explain to her not only why he stormed out but why he ended up in a fight, again. Digging through his brain produced no words, only a raw, primal fear at the very thought of her disapproving stare. Of her finally deciding he was not worth the trouble of keeping.

After a while, they arrived at their inevitable destination. Alois pulled his horse to a stop and took Lindsey off the saddle, holding him by the hand as they walked into the courtyard of their house and over the front porch. The door shut behind them with a click, making the boy’s stomach drop out from under him. There was no turning back.

A shadow fell over the floorboards and the sound of rapid footsteps against wood rang through the corridor. Vivian appeared in the doorway, her eyes widening as she saw them both. “Lin!”

Lindsey stiffened, his breath quickening as though he was suddenly faced with a pack of wolves instead of his own mother. His green eyes wide as saucers, he looked up, meeting her gaze. Like Alois before her, he expected her to be angry but no, she just looked terrified.

“Oh thank Woo,” Vivian cried, sinking down to her knees in front of him. “When you ran away, I was worried, but then having the messenger come by hearing you got into a fight…”

The boy bit his lip, looking away. His mother gripped his shoulders, wrapping him in a tight hug. Normally, he would find the gesture comforting but this time, it only had the effect of mashing his bruised body together. Lindsey gave off a yelp of pain and she pulled back as though she had been burned.

“Lin, what’s wrong?” she gasped, her eyes immediately scanning him. “Are you hurt? Did you get hurt during the fight?”

“M’fine,” Lindsey muttered. Vivian, however, shook her head.

“I know when you’re lying, Lin,” she said with a sigh and began to tug at his shirt, trying to pull it off him.

“NO!” Lindsey screamed, hugging his arms closer. “Don’t!”

“Lindsey, let your mother look,” Alois barked.

“Please, Lin. I promise, I won’t be mad,” Vivian added, her eyes silently pleading with him.

A lump formed in his throat. With some reluctance, Lindsey lowered his arms, allowing his mother to take off his shirt and bare the bruises he had sustained during the fight. She gasped audibly, a sound that was more painful to the boy than any of the punches he took that day.

Her green eyes ran over his body, taking in the purple and green blotches on his skin before finally looking up at him, barely holding back tears. “Oh, Lin, honey…” Vivian murmured, gently touching a bruise on his shoulder. “You can’t keep getting into fights like this. You just can’t.”

He bit his lip, trying not to allow himself to cry too. “I’m sorry, mum, I’m so sorry.”

She sighed, the sound as plaintive and full of pain as a wounded animal’s cry. “I’m just scared you’re going to one day get into a fight with the wrong person. And then what will happen? What will you do? What will I do?”

Lindsey bit his tongue; he already said what he had thought this morning about his mother’s future. He looked up at her, his chest feeling as though it was going to collapse and his eyes stinging with tears. Somehow, he dared to meet her gaze.

Her face was a mosaic of emotions. Relief, sadness, worry, fear and love all blended together in her green eyes. Lindsey looked, trying to find some evidence of anger or hate but there was none. She was not angry with him, instead she was scared, because she loved him.

Somehow, that made the pain almost overwhelming. All he did was cause her to suffer, he did not deserve somebody who loved him so much. The boy drew in several rapid, shaky breaths, trying to steady himself.

As before, his feet moved before he even had the chance to think. Lindsey bolted past her through the house, looking for somewhere, anywhere he could hide away from her eyes. Ignoring the shouts from his mother and Alois, he dashed outside into the courtyard, heading first for the stables. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a ladder by the stables, one leading up into the hayloft. One of the grooms must have left it there but it did not matter where it came from: this was Lindsey’s opportunity. Mounting the steps, he scrambled up the ladder like a squirrel up a tree and dove into the bale of hay that lay there, curling up in it like a bird in its nest.

His mother’s voice calling his name slowly drifted up to him. Lindsey ground his teeth together, curling his knees against his chest and trying desperately to ignore it. The ladder creaked and he stiffened, expecting her to loom over him at any moment and forcing him to face her disappointment.

“Vivi, leave him alone, he won’t come down until he is ready to,” Alois spoke up. “We know where he is. He’ll be fine.”

A sigh. “I’m so scared for him, Alois. He’s always been like this: always getting into fights in which he is over his head and getting hurt as a result,” Vivian’s voice wavered. “The woman we used to live with said one day he would end up on the gallows.”

“That will never happen, Vivian. I promise, I will make sure of that. Lindsey means everything to you and you mean everything to me. I don’t want to see either of you suffer,” there was a shuffle from outside. “Come on, let’s go back into the house. You should take it easy.”

“Alright,” Vivian hesitated. “I just wish…I wish there was something I could do for Lin, to help him. I hate worrying for him and I hate seeing him in pain all the more.”

A pregnant pause hung over them for a moment before Alois spoke. “Maybe there is a way.”

Lindsey’s ears pricked up but by then, the knight was already leading his mother away. All he heard was “I’ll tell you and you can see what you think,” before the two voices and the sound of footsteps faded away.

In the hayloft, the boy’s mind raced as he tried to understand what Alois meant. Did he want to get rid of him in favour of their new baby? If she loved him as much as she seemed to, would his mother even allow that? Or maybe she would decide it was worth it, getting rid of her illegitimate child to make room for her true, legitimate one.

Anxiety and curiosity broiled in his stomach until Lindsey could take it no longer. He shifted from his position in the hay and slid down the ladder, creeping across the cobbled courtyard, his footsteps feather-soft as he approached the kitchen door. Looking into the crack, he just barely glimpsed Alois and his mother sitting at the table.

“Are you sure?” Vivian spoke up first. “Along with the other boy, is it plausible for you to be master to two squires?”

“It will be difficult but not impossible,” the knight replied. “Besides, after the war, we need all the knights we can get. I consider it my duty to help boost our numbers.”

“Do you think this will help Lin though?”

A pause from Alois, followed by a nod. “I am sure. He’ll get an outlet for his violence, a goal to work towards, lessons in discipline which will help his impulse control and,” he smiled. “The other boy I’m going to be training is very sweet. Maybe Lindsey will even make a friend?”

“I don’t know,” Vivian murmured. “He’s never gotten on well with other children. He thinks they will lash out at him, therefore he lashes out first.”

Alois tapped his fingers on the table. “If anybody can get along with him, it’s Hector. He won’t begrudge Lin for being who he is, that I’m sure of. The question is whether Lindsey accepts him.”

Were they trying to set him up with the squire? Behind the door, Lindsey scowled. He’d already made up his mind to ignore this new boy. Alois was not going to force them together, no matter what he thought of this ‘Hector’ or how hard he tried.

The knight, however, continued. “Even if he doesn’t, I think this is the only way to deal with Lindsey,” he put his hand on Vivian’s. “If he can’t make it as a knight, the training will at least help him.”

A knight?! They were going to try to make him into a knight?! Lindsey did not know whether to feel outraged or honoured. Could he even be a knight?

He let out a gasp before realising what he had done and covered his mouth. Nevertheless, it was too late. Alois and Vivian froze. They remained in the same position for a few moments before she slowly turned towards the door, watching it carefully.

“Lin, I know you’re there,” she said gently. “No running away this time. Come in.”

Lindsey hesitated, swallowing as he wondered if he could perhaps bolt, ignoring her wishes. However, he soon dismissed those thoughts: he had hurt her enough today. Carefully, he opened the door and slunk in like a chastised puppy, studying the flagstones as though they contained the answer to his predicament.

“Sit down,” his mother asked him. He crept over to the chair nearest to him and sitting down upon it, still keeping his gaze firmly on the floor.

“Did you hear what me and Alois were talking about?”

“Mhm,” Lindsey nodded.

“And what do you think about it?” Alois asked.

He remained silent. What did he even think about it? His thoughts were a wordless, confused mess. Lindsey, therefore, did the only thing he could: he shrugged his shoulders.

“Let me phrase it this way then, honey,” his mother picked a piece of straw out of his dark hair. “Do you want to train to become a knight? Yes or no?”

The boy paused, chewing on his lip as he thought. He did not have any particular desire to but he did not see why he should not. It was not like he had anything else to do.

“I guess?” he murmured half-heartedly.

Alois leaned closer. “So you’ll allow me to start training you with Hector when he arrives?”

“I guess?” Lindsey repeated, though the idea of training with another boy still did not appeal to him.

Vivian’s body slumped as the tension went out of her. She smiled, ruffling Lindsey’s hair. “You’re going to be a wonderful knight; I just know it.”

The boy said nothing. He only wished he could share her confidence.

She kissed his forehead, an action which made him stiffen. Even as she drew away, Lindsey stared at her in shock, an expression that was immediately cut off by a yawn.

“Come on,” his mother took his hand. “We’ll heat up some water for a bath for you to help with those bruises and then you can go to bed. How does that sound?”

For once, the boy had no doubts about that answer.

“It sounds good, mum,” he nodded. Unconsciously, he gripped her hand tighter, clinging to her.

“I’ll fetch some water then,” Alois said, getting up from his chair. Resting a hand on Vivian’s shoulder, he added “You stoke the fire, but leave wrestling with the large pot and the bath to me.”

“I can manage, Alois,” she replied with a smile, looking up at him.

“I know but…” he glanced down at her stomach. “You might want to take it easy.”

A cold shiver ran down Lindsey’s spine. For all these new developments, he still did not know where he stood when it came to the baby. He lowered his eyes, fixating them on his feet, trying to ignore the leaden feeling in his own belly.

His mother, however, remained unaware of his distress, instead patting her husband’s hand. “Alright, if you say so. Now go; let’s not keep Lin waiting.”

The knight nodded. He took her hand, squeezing it before breaking away from them and heading out into the courtyard where the well was. Once her husband was gone, Vivian turned to Lindsey. “Come on, follow me. Let’s go get the fire stoked,” she got up and began to lead him towards the kitchen.

“I want to help!” the boy suddenly exclaimed, clutching her hand. “Please, let me help!”

Vivian blinked. “Lin, honey, it’s fine, I can manage,” she ran her fingers through his hair. “I already have Alois worrying about me, I don’t need you to do that too.”
Lindsey’s shoulders slumped. “It’s…it’s not…that,” he looked down at the floor. “Mum..?”

“Yes, sweetheart?” his mother asked, turning to him.

“When the…when the baby…when it comes…” the boy stammered over his words as though his mouth was full of stones. “Will you…will y-”

“Lin, honey,” Vivian kneeled in front of him, gently putting her hands on the sides of his face to keep him facing her. " Just because we’re not alone now doesn’t mean I don’t want you. You will always be my special boy, no matter how many other children I have with Alois.”

Lindsey stared at her, his eyes starting to water. “Really?” he choked. “Even though I’m-”

“Yes,” she wrapped her arms around him in a warm hug. “I love you, Lin. Always.”

That gentle touch was all it took for the boy to burst into uncontrollable tears. Loud wails and sobs tumbled out of his throat which he tried to suppress by burying his head in his mother’s shoulder. He hugged her as tightly as he could, clinging on for dear life, never wanting to let her go, all the while he continued to cry.

Vivian gently stroked his back, even as her dress became soaked with Lindsey’s tears. “Hush, hush now. It’s okay,” she whispered. “Everything will be okay, sweetie.”

The boy nodded slightly, whimpering. “I love you, mama,” he murmured. “I love you so much.”

“Me too, honey, me too,” his mother whispered before gently pulling him away. “Let’s get the fire for your bath stoked now. You want to get some rest and let those bruises heal,” she brushed a lock of his black hair aside. “Hopefully they’ll improve by the time the new boy comes and you both start training.”

A Past and a Future- Part 3

SPOILER: Click to show

Alois’ new trainee arrived a few days later, in the afternoon, with his parents. Due to his reservations, Lindsey did his best to stay out of his way and ignore him but that was a task far easier said than done. Even if he kept to his attic room, the new boy was loud: he could be constantly heard rushing about the house or chattering to his parents, to Alois or to Lindsey’s mother. At one point he even asked if he could meet his new partner, in response to which Lindsey froze. To his relief, however, Vivian excused him, distracting the boy by showing him around the house, a proposition he gratefully accepted. By the end of the tour, he had forgotten about Lindsey completely.

All this commotion did not make him any more excited about this ‘Hector’ as he was called. A loud, overexcited boy who did not know how to mind his own business was a nightmare for Lindsey. He was beginning to regret ever agreeing to being a knight, especially if it meant training with this idiot.

Eventually, however, he had to face the inevitable. Lindsey woke up that day with a pit in his stomach and a sour taste in his mouth. He quickly got dressed and snuck down from his room into the kitchen, creeping along towards the door and opening it. Oh please don’t let him be there, please don’t-

“HI!” screamed that same enthusiastic voice that dominated the house all day yesterday. Lindsey winced, murmuring a quiet curse under his breath, and looked up.

He was met with an enormous, gap-toothed grin from the table opposite end of the room. The other boy was no older than Lindsey but already slightly bigger than him. Freckles liberally sprinkled his face but what inevitably drew the most attention was the mop of ginger locks that fell down from his head, so bright that Lindsey could not stand to look at them for very long. Instead, he turned away, scowling, and slunk towards the farthest seat from the boy.

Oblivious to the rejection, the red-headed child waved at him. “Are you my partner to train with? It’s so nice to meet you!” he leaned over to Lindsey, smiling widely. “I’m Hector. Your name is…is…” for a merciful moment, there was a pause in his speech and a break in his grin before it took over his face again. “I forgot! What is your name?”

Lindsey scowled. For a moment, he thought not to answer but if he did that, he had a feeling the other boy would only keep pestering him. “S’Lindsey,” he muttered under his breath, staring down at the table.

“Lindsey?” Hector tilted his head. “Isn’t that a girl’s name?”

“It’s not a girl’s name!” Lindsey yelled, slamming his fist into the table.

“Sorry,” Hector recoiled. Bowing his head, he dipped his spoon into his porridge, resuming his breakfast. Lindsey’s shoulders relaxed. It seems the boy had gone quiet for now.

“Good morning, Lin. I hope you slept well,” his mother called to him. “I see you’ve met Hector,” she placed a bowl of porridge in front of him, topped with jam and nuts.

“Yeah…” Lindsey grumbled, spooning porridge into his mouth.

“Uhuh, we’ve met,” Hector grinned in between a mouthful of porridge. “It’s really good food, Mrs Rosach! Can I have more?”

Vivian laughed. “You certainly are keen, Hector. Alright,” she took his bowl. “I’m sure you’ll need the energy for your training today.”

“Yeah!” the boy exclaimed, nodding eagerly before turning to Lindsey. “Are you excited? I’m so excited!”

“No,” Lindsey hunched his shoulders, staring firmly into his bowl.

“Aww, why not? It will be so much fun!” Hector clapped his hands. “We can learn sword fighting and riding and wearing shining armour and-”

“We’re not going to do any of those things, stupid!” Lindsey cried. He said he would ignore the boy but he could not just sit here and listen to him ramble. “It will just be a lot of dull exercises, probably.”

“Oh,” Hector tilted his head slightly before grinning again. “But that will still be fun if we do them together!”

The dark-haired boy groaned, slapping his forehead with his palm. It was going to be a long day.

After they had finished breakfast, Alois called the two children out into the courtyard to begin their training. Hector practically skipped, clapping his hands and whooping with excitement as they stepped outside. Lindsey trailed after him, suppressing the urge to snap at the other boy or at least tell him to stop being so bloody cheerful. How could one person have so much energy, Woo-darn it?

They came to a stop and Alois ordered them to stand together. Hector practically jumped into line and stood there, shifting from foot to foot as his face remained split by an excited grin. Lindsey shuffled in next to Hector and looked up at the knight with bored eyes as the latter got into position in front of them.

“Alright, boys, today is the first day of your training and hopefully, the first day on the path to knighthood,” Alois stated, gazing over them both. “Know that I’m not going to go easy on you: you will be afforded the same treatment that I got when I was a trainee.”

Hector lifted up his hand but even before Alois could answer, he spoke. “When are we going to practice with swords? I want to learn to practice with swords! Please?”

The knight suppressed a laugh. “You need to gain the strength and stamina to be able to wield a sword first, even a practice one. No, I’m going to start you off with some exercises first.”

“Oh,” the ginger boy’s smile disappeared and for a moment, Lindsey felt an odd sense of satisfaction. That, however, lasted for a mere second before Hector perked up again, beaming with newfound excitement. “Like what? Like what?” he did not even stop to let Alois answer. “Will we be lifting weights? I saw some of the knights lifting heavy things at the camps and they said it was to keep up their strength while there was no fighting. Or maybe, maybe-”

“He’s going to explain, you idiot, so shut up!” Lindsey snapped, unable to stand another word of his jabbering.

“Oh, right,” Hector smiled at Alois sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Alois shook his head. “I’ll give you pass today, Hector, because it’s your first day, but talking over a superior often warrants a punishment. Next time I won’t be so nice,” his gaze softened and he turned back to the two boys. “No weights. Firstly, you’ll begin with something easy: a warm up and then running laps around the courtyard. You’ll each complete ten laps, then I’ll move you on to the next exercise.”

“Oh, okay,” the ginger boy exclaimed and began to hum to himself as he warmed up. Lindsey grumbled but did his best to shut off the noise, stretching and limbering up in preparation for the exercise.

Once the two boys were sufficiently limbered up, Hector turned to Lindsey with his usual grin. “I’ll race you! Come on!” with those words, he took off running.

Lindsey stood there for a moment, dumbstruck. How could that child be so cheerful after he had just had his hopes dashed not once but twice? More importantly, why did he think Lindsey even wanted to race? He wanted nothing to do with him!

Hector suddenly spun on his heel, facing his companion while jogging backwards. “Come on, you’ll get left behind!” he cried.

Was that stupid ginger taunting him?! Lindsey felt his jaw involuntarily tighten as anger flared through him. He was not going to be left behind!

Grimacing, he set off after Hector. Soon, he caught up with him and from there, easily overtook him. The ginger boy gave off a tiny squeal of excitement and quickened his pace, before long levelling with Lindsey but as soon as he did, he slowed, running side by side with his partner.

“This is fun, isn’t it?” he exclaimed. Lindsey scowled, not replying but instead running faster. He could feel his heart racing and the blood pumping through his entire body whilst beads of sweat ran down his spine but the ‘Pit take him if he was going to let that boy beat him. Though he conceded Hector did have a point: it was kind of fun.

The dark-haired boy immediately ground his teeth at the thought. No, he was not falling for this idiot’s logic and he most definitely was not going to be his friend, not if he kept taunting him! All he needed to do what was Alois said. If he just obeyed him, he’d finish sooner, which meant he could get away from Hector.

With the two racing like that, the ten laps were over very quickly. So engrossed were they in the competition that they only realised they had completed their task when Alois stepped in front of them, preventing them from running any further.

“Alright, that’s quite enough boys. You both did very well,” the knight said, putting his hands on his hips. “On to the next task…”

Hector gawped at the knight master with wide, excited eyes even as he announced that they would be doing more exercises. Each time, Hector made it into a game, challenging the other boy to try to race him or see who could jump the highest or complete the exercise quicker. Each time, Lindsey grew more and more frustrated. He was used to being taunted but having the taunts be delivered in such a cheerful way with such a wide smile was new. There was no way that could be genuine. Nobody could be so happy all the time, could they?

Around midday, Alois finally called a break for lunch. As if right on cue, Vivian brought out a sliced loaf, pickles and chunks of cheese along with cool fruit juice to refresh them all. Lindsey grabbed his share and sat down a little further away from Hector and Alois, tucking into his food.

“How are you getting on, honey?” Vivian asked, kneeling down beside him.

“Okay,” the boy shrugged in between mouthfuls. “He’s annoying though,” he said, side-eyeing Hector.

His mother sighed. “Well, he does have a lot of energy, I’ll give him that. You’ll get used to it. Just give him time and get to know him,” she ruffled Lindsey’s hair before the sound of footsteps made her look up. “And speaking of…look who’s here.”

“Hi!” Hector exclaimed, waving to the two with his bread. He flopped down beside Lindsey and grinned toothily up at Vivian. “Thank you for the food, Mrs Rosach! It’s so good!”

“I’m glad,” she smiled back at him and pushed herself off the ground. “I’ll leave you boys alone.”

“Wait, mum-” Lindsey called but she was already gone, leaving him alone with Hector. He turned his eyes warily towards the ginger boy, though only his eyes. His body remained firmly angled away from Hector, trying to give off signals to show the latter was not wanted.

All of those signals went over Hector’s head. He munched on his sandwich, oblivious. “Your mum’s nice! She makes such good food too,” he swallowed. “I had so much fun training with you. I’m really looking forward to doing more.”

“Mmm,” Lindsey murmured, eating his own food. Was the boy serious? Had he really had fun with him? He could not help but feel a small stab of happiness before immediately suppressing it. No, how could the idiot have had fun with him if he was being sour all the time. It was probably more taunting. And yet, he seemed so sincere…

“Sir Rosach is really nice too. He’s a good trainer,” Hector tilted his head. “Is he your dad?”

Lindsey felt his entire spine go icy cold. His mouth opened and closed like that of a fish thrown out on to dry land as he wondered what to say. He would never acknowledge Alois as his father but not doing so would let this boy know about his parentage. Then, inevitably, would come the scorn that Lindsey had faced throughout his whole life.

With a shaky voice, he replied. “N-no,” internally bracing himself.

“Oh,” Hector blinked. “But isn’t he married to your mum?”

“Yes,” Lindsey bit his tongue, his stomach falling out from under him.

“But if he’s not your dad and he’s married to your mum…” the red-headed boy tilted his head like a confused puppy. “Did your real dad die?”

“No…” Lindsey clenched his fists, his heart striking against his ribs like a war drum.

“So…you don’t have a dad?” Hector continued to stare at him blankly. “How does that work?”

“It works by making me an illegitimate piece of crap which everyone looks down upon, alright?!” the dark-haired boy suddenly screamed, leaping to his feet. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know either! You knew and that’s why you’ve been making fun of me this whole time with your stupid cheerful grin, haven’t you? Having a laugh at the expense of- of-”

“N-no,” the other child stammered, staring at Lindsey.

“Everyone does, don’t play dumb! I’m sick of it! I’m sick of being treated like I’m evil just because of how I was born!” he continued to yell. “Now leave me alone! I’m sick of you! I’m sick of how nice you are and how happy you are all the time and- argh!!”

His fingers dug into his hair in frustration. Before he even realised what he was doing, Lindsey stormed out of the courtyard and up the stairs into his own bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him. He climbed up on to the shaky bed, not even minding his sweat-drenched, dirty clothes, and pulled the blanket off. For a moment, he wanted to rip it to shreds but the thick wool did not give way. Instead, he clenched it tightly, so much so that he could feel his fingers digging into his palms.

He had blown it again! Not even one day into training and he had snapped at the other boy. But so what? He was an obnoxious, loud, mocking little prat who would have probably treated him just like all the other kids and adults who found out about his parentage. No doubt his mother and Alois would be disappointed but it did not matter. Not like he wanted to be a knight anyway; they had only talked him into it.

Lindsey dove under the blankets, pressing his face into the pillow. He definitely did not want to have friends either, not ones like that brat. After all, he had managed just fine without friends in the past.

Inexplicably, he felt his eyes stinging. The boy shook his head, burying it into the scratchy woollen fabric. Looking for a distraction, he pricked his ears, waiting for somebody to come get him.

Nobody did. The stairway remained silent without a single creak to indicate anybody was coming up it. Lindsey waited and waited but as more time passed, it seemed that he had been forgotten.

As the emptiness wore on, he realised one thing; he did not want to be alone. Lindsey curled up under the blankets, hugging his knees to himself, wanting somebody, anybody to come get him.

He did not even realise he was beginning to fall asleep until the stairs creaked. The boy threw the blanket off himself and sat bolt upright in his bed, putting on the most neutral expression he could muster just in time for someone to knock softly on the door.

“Hi, it’s Hector,” unlike earlier today, his voice was soft and small. “I asked your mum what you liked and she said fruit and sweet things so I brought raspberry jam and oatcakes.”

Lindsey groaned upon hearing the other boy. He would have much rather had his mother, or even Alois, than this loud-mouthed, obnoxious ginger moron, who was no doubt angry that Lin had yelled at him, not to mention thought badly of him due to the reveal of his parentage. But…he did not sound angry or aggressive, or – unusually for Hector- even annoying. In fact, he even seemed a little remorseful. Plus, he had brought jam and oatcakes, which even the thought of made Lindsey salivate.

He combed through his hair with his fingers, wiped his face and sat crossed-legged on the bed, doing his best to look stern. “Fine, come in,”

Hector slowly pushed the door open with his shoulder, clutching a tray upon which was a pot of jam with two spoons in it surrounded by a sea of oatcakes. He smiled apologetically, holding out his peace offering, before strolling into the room and placing it down on the bed beside Lindsey.

Once that was done, the red-headed boy smiled. “I hope you’re feeling okay,”

“Y-yeah,” Lindsey looked up at him, wary. Any moment now, this polite façade was going to drop and the insults would pour out of his mouth like sludge from a gutter.

“Good. I got scared when you shouted at me, and so did your mum and Sir Rosach. He said there should be no more training for today at least,” Hector picked up an oatcake and one of the spoons, smearing jam on the biscuit. “I’m glad you’re better.”

“Uh huh…” Lindsey carefully reached for an oatcake and the other spoon, which he used to scoop out some jam and put a tiny blob in the centre of the cake. He nibbled on it like a mouse even as Hector stuffed it into his mouth and reached for another one.

“It was really nice, wasn’t it, all those competitions we did? I’ve never really done activities with another person before,” the ginger boy continued to jabber, flopping down on the floor in front of the bed.

This was wrong. Even after Lindsey had yelled at him, even after he had told him he was illegitimate, Hector was still being nice. He was being more than nice, in fact. He had brought him food, and had made it clear it was his idea, not anybody else’s. It would have been pleasant if it had not felt so…wrong.

Lindsey swallowed the oat and jam lump in his mouth, looking away from Hector. “You’re not going to be mean?” he tentatively asked.

The red-haired boy stared back at him, blinking. “No. Why would I be?”

“Most people…” Lin bit his lip. “When I tell them about my dad, they get mad. They call me names. Some even try to beat me up.”

“Oh,” Hector took another oatcake. “I’m sorry. That’s bad, they shouldn’t do that to you.”

Lindsey’s head jerked up as though he was a puppet on a string, his eyes wide as he stared at Hector. “What?”

“They shouldn’t do that,” the boy repeated casually.

“But…but…” Lin stammered, dumbfounded. “But it’s a bad thing. And it makes me a bad person.”

Hector shrugged. “I guess it’s a bad thing, but you’re nice. You don’t deserve to be called names or beaten up for something that’s not your fault.”

Lindsey opened and closed his mouth, his green eyes so wide it looked as though they were about to burst out of his skull. All his life he had been told he was worthless because of his lack of father, that he deserved everything that came to him, and all his life he had known how to respond: with anger, with shouting, with fists. Yet here was somebody who knew about his illegitimacy and did not care, who acknowledged him as a good person. He had no idea how to respond to that.

For a brief moment his eyes began to sting and he quickly closed them tightly, suppressing the tears.

“Are you okay?” Hector asked, tilting his head.

“Umm…” Lindsey swallowed and looked at him again. “I think so?” he gave the boy a tentative smile. “T-thank you.”

“That’s okay!” Hector exclaimed loudly and grabbed one of the oatcakes, dipping it thoroughly in the jam and handing it to the other boy. “Here.”

Lindsey took it, despite the fact that he still had his unfinished oatcake. Killing two birds with one stone, he put them together and shoved the whole concoction in his mouth. When he had chewed and swallowed it, he looked up at Hector and bit his lip. “I’m sorry I yelled at you at the courtyard,” he rubbed his feet against each other. “I thought you were making fun of me, or you were going to, when I told you about…my dad.”

The other child shook his head. “No, I want to be friends,” he grinned widely. “If we’re going to be training together, won’t it be nice if we were friends?”

“I…I guess,” Lindsey murmured. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a friend before.”

“It’s really great! We can train together and play together and talk about everything and go to the forest and go swimming in the lake and-”

“Do we have to swim?” Lindsey looked away. “I can’t swim.”

“Oh. That’s okay, you can learn in the lake!” Hector clapped his hands. “It’s really nice, especially in summer when the water is warm! It’s so cool! You can even see the knights patrolling around it sometimes!”

“That does actually sound nice,” Lindsey admitted. The corners of his mouth felt tense and it did not take him long to realise that he was smiling. “If Alois lets us.”

“Yeah, he will. If we train hard and work hard, he should let us!” the red-haired boy exclaimed, reaching out a hand to take another oatcake.

Lindsey smirked. “You’re going to eat them all,” he chided.

Hector blinked, startled, and picked up two, offering one to Lin. “We should eat them all together then.”

“We should, yeah,” the boy replied, accepting the oatcake and picking up his spoon. “So…I guess you know about my parents but what about yours? I heard them come around but I didn’t meet them.”

“That’s okay, I’ll introduce you!” Hector exclaimed, practically jumping up and down in place. “I love both my mum and my dad, they’re really nice and sweet and kind. Mum works as a herbalist and dad as a wheelwright…”

***

It was getting close to dinnertime and since Hector had gone up to Lindsey’s room, neither Alois nor Vivian had seen hide nor hair of the two boys. By the looks exchanged over the table where they were setting up for the meal, neither was sure what to think of it.

“Look on the bright side, Vivi: if they were fighting or if Lindsey had run off again, we would have known,” the knight remarked, smiling at his wife.

“We would…but it doesn’t seem like either of them to just disappear. I hope they’re alright,” Vivian put down the plate she was holding and headed for the stairs. “I’ll go have a look.”

As she walked up the steps, she was suddenly struck by a sound she had almost never heard before: Lindsey laughing. Her curiosity piqued, Vivian hitched her skirts and practically raced up to the landing, walking towards the door to his room and listening in.

“How are you still alive after that?” Lindsey remarked on the other side.

“The knights were nice and pulled me out. I even got an apple out of that barrel!” Hector’s unmistakable voice chimed. “But I smelled of apple for days on end, no matter how much my mum washed me or what herbs she used. Apparently people could tell I was around by the smell.”

“Oh Woo…” there was a sigh from the other boy but it was hardly an aggravated one. “If you do anything like that during training, I’m not helping.”

“Pah, I was five. I won’t do anything so stupid these days now that I’m eight,” Hector exclaimed proudly.

Vivian was almost loathe to knock on the door, startling the two boys into silence for a brief moment before Lindsey called out. “What?”

“Dinner is almost ready, boys, if you want to come down,” she replied. “You can continue your conversation downstairs.”

“Mmkay,” Lin said and turned to Hector, who by now was sitting next to him under the blanket. “Guess we better go?”

“Yeah!” the red-haired boy leapt out like a fox from his den. “I wonder what’s for dinner!”

“We’ll have to find out,” Lindsey walked up to the door, opening it. “You first.”

“I’ll go scout!” Hector bolted out of the door and down the stairs, running past a startled Vivian. She had to grab the bannister to stop herself falling over. She watched the red-haired boy turn a corner before looking back up towards her son, who had been doing the same thing. And oddly, he was smiling.

“Mum?” he called out to her. “Why is he such an idiot?”

She shrugged. “Some people are just born that way, sweetheart.”

He turned back in direction that Hector had gone. “At least he’s a likeable one.”

Vivian smiled. “Did you make a friend?”

“…I think I did.”

Her smile grew even wider. “Good,” she stretched out her hand towards him. “Now come on. Let’s all have a nice dinner together.”

“Okay,” Lindsey trotted towards her, still unable to believe what he had just said. He had a friend.

[Celestial]

So you thought after that monster of a fic I would stop writing Absolon? Well...so did I, until Shinko roped me back into it again. So we bring you a collab between me and her, involving Absolon and Clan Dun. This takes place about five years after the first fic.

Woo Among the Wolves

Prologue

SPOILER: Click to show

A soft blue-grey prickled at the corners of his sight as Absolon leaned against the cool rock, catching his breath. “How...how much...further?” he called to their guide up ahead. “Until we get there?”

“Not far. We are deep in Clan Dun’s territory, Bringer of Spring. You only need to climb over this mountain, head along the path of the valley before going over another mountain,” the man cried back before springing along their path, limber as a mountain goat. He could not take them all the way but he had agreed to show them as far as he could. “We need to get to the next settlement before nightfall. I’d rather not linger out in the wilds.”

“That is up to Absolon to decide: if he needs rest, we are staying with him!” Ivar shouted to the guide. He stopped next to the mage, putting an arm around him. “Are you alright? If you want to take a break here, we can.”

The tall grass rustled as a white streak dashed out of it, materialising into the form of Snowflake. He looked up at the two men with his hazel eyes, giving off a mewl and winding himself around their feet.

Absolon smiled as he looked down at the cat for a moment before his eyes flickered back to Ivar. “I’m fine now,” nevertheless, he pressed himself against the blond man, resting his head on his shoulder. “I only needed a few moments to catch my breath.”

“I’m glad,” Ivar said and smiled. “You’d hope after all these years of travelling, you’d be fit enough to go anywhere.”

“Normally, yes,” Absolon shook his head. “But these mountains are steep, steeper than even the ones covering Clan Tobiano’s territory. It’s hard going,” he smiled. “I don’t have long legs like yours, Ivar.”

“Want to make use of them?” the Roan replied wtih a sly grin. “I can carry you.”

“And slow yourself down? No,” the mage shook his head again.

“Even if you make yourself lighter with magic?”

Absolon laughed softly “Still no. What would the Dux of Dun think if the great Bringer of Spring was carried in like that? He’d think I was injured, or am sick.”

“Point taken,” Ivar chuckled. “Woo forbid, we make a bad first impression on the Duns and undermine your entire reputation.”

“I do appreciate the offer though,” Absolon said, planting a kiss on the blond’s lips before untangling himself from his grip. “Let’s move on though, before our guide wonders where we are.”

“Yes, we b-” Ivar was cut off by an aggressive hiss rolling out of Snowflake’s mouth. The two men glanced down at their feet to find the cat’s fur standing on end, his ears flattened against his head as his hazel eyes were fixated on something unseen behind them.

Absolon’s hand flew to his wand while Ivar reached for the iron dagger in his belt. The two huddled closer to each other, lining up behind the agitated Snowflake, weapons ready as they scanned the space which the cat was so fixated upon. Just in case, Absolon murmured a quiet Protegwoo, creating a green, gossamer veil in front of them. Woo willing, it would be of some aid if they had to fight.

With only a few weak rays of light streaming down through gaps in the forest canopy, seeing anything beyond a few dozen feet in front of them was a challenge. Both men started at movement in the distance only to realise it was a bird or a deer, or even just their overactive imaginations. Snowflake, however, refused to calm. Something was definitely out there.

Beside him, Ivar gasped. Absolon turned to him but before he could see anything, the blond scooped up Snowflake and grabbed Absolon by the arm, pulling him down and pressing both him and the cat against the ground.

“Ivar-”

“Quiet!” he hissed, his face pale as snow as he struggled to keep Snowflake under control. “Or it will hear us.”

“It?”

The blond man bit his lip and gestured with his head towards something through the leaves. Absolon peered through the foliage. At first, he saw nothing. Just as he was about to turn back to Ivar and ask, it stepped out from between the trees.

A horse and rider, both black as ravens, stopped in front of their hiding place. Perhaps the horse might have been called beautiful if its flesh was not rotten in places, hanging off its frame like rags caught on a tree. It snorted, blinking its red eyes as it stamped a single bloody hoof against the ground. The rider ran a hand through its mane before straightening in the saddle. Just by looking at them, it was impossible to tell if they male or female, a fact further complicated by the fact they had no head. It instead was tucked under their arm, its scraggly hair hanging limply around a face that looked as though it was plastered together out of cottage cheese, split in half by a rictus grin. A spiked whip hung off the belt that kept together a morass of fur and leather that passed for clothes, or perhaps armour. It was difficult to tell: much like everything else about the creature, it was rotten.

Absolon turned back to Ivar, his eyes wide. “What is that?” he gasped, struggling to keep his breath even.

“A dullahan,” the Roan replied, unable to tear his eyes away from a creature. “A fairy creature.”

“Why is it here?”

“I don’t know. But dullahan are never a good sign. What most commonly draws them, however, is disaster or death,” Ivar’s voice shook. “The more the better.”

A shudder ran down Absolon’s spine. His eyes flickered back to the Dullahan as he continued to watch it, terrified yet unable to tear his gaze away from the creature.

There was a loud angry yowl from Snowflake, followed by a cry from Ivar. The mage spun around, seeing Ivar clutching his hand while the cat sat bristling on his lap.

“Are y-”

“Quiet!” Ivar hissed but it was too late. The dullahan sat up, alert, their body turning towards the hiding place the two men had chosen. They lifted up the reins of their horse and gently nudged its flank, making it walk towards the shrubs.

The pair ducked down, clutching hold of their respective weapons. Ivar reached out with his free hand, taking hold of Absolon’s sleeve as they both looked to each other for reassurance.

Their breathing felt entirely too loud and their hearts seemed like they would burst out of their ribcages as the fairy approached. The hooves of its horse rustled the undergrowth, sounding like the shuffling of a corpse. Suddenly, with a scream of terror, it leapt back. Absolon looked over his shoulder, and in between the residue of angry red that the sound had left in his vision, he glimpsed a shimmering surface of spring green in between them and the dullahan that faded as soon as the fairy had stepped away.

Of course! He had cast Protegwoo earlier! Absolon breathed a sigh of relief, thanking the Woo for giving him the foresight to do so.

The black horse snorted, shaking its head as the dullahan patted its neck. The fairy shifted in the saddle, their body turning towards Absolon and Ivar’s hiding place. Even if their eyes remained focused somewhere else, their necks still prickled as they felt they were being watched.

Several moments passed in stalemate before the dullahan lost interest. It flicked the reins of its horse and the creature dashed off through the forest, leaving nothing behind but the lingering memory of its presence. Despite this, Absolon and Ivar both kept their eyes on Snowflake, neither daring to move until the cat relaxed and began to groom himself. Only then did they dare to breathe.

“What...what would have happened if it saw us?” Absolon asked.

“I’m not sure. Legends vary,” Ivar remarked. “It wouldn’t have killed us, but a dullahan seeing you usually means that death will soon follow. Or it would have attacked us, either by spilling blood on us or with that whip,” he sighed. “Best let it pass unseen.”

The mage nodded in agreement. “But if it’s here…” he turned to the Roan with frightened eyes. “You said they are drawn by death?”

“Yeah...” Ivar ground his teeth together before leaping to his feet. “We should hurry. If there are dullahan here, something bad is afoot. We need to get to the Dux of Dun before it strikes.”

“You’re right,” Absolon pushed himself to his feet, scooping Snowflake into his arms. Briefly, he closed his eyes, praying to the Woo. Praying that Ivar was wrong and that the dullahan was simply a fluke. “Let’s go.”

They had barely advanced a few dozen feet before they saw moment up in the trees ahead of them. Both men tensed, their hands drifting for their weapons again, only to relax when they saw it was only their guide.

“There you are. I was thinking you had gotten lost,” the man said, sounding slightly exasperated. “Are you alright? You both look pale,” he frowned. “Did something happen?”

The two exchanged glances, wondering what to tell him. Finally, Ivar turned back to him, a deep frown etched into his face. “You tell us,” he said dryly. “What is happening in the Dun lands that we should be aware of?”

Their guide looked down at his feet. “There’s been rumours. One thing I do know is that the Dux has called for his men to gather,” he bit his lip. “It’s why I don’t want to go all the way with you. I have a family to feed; I can’t heed his summons.”

Absolon frowned. “What exactly is happening?”

“Some say it’s war, some say a disaster has occurred further north, some say it’s simply to build up defences. To be honest, I do not know for certain. But that is even more reason to keep moving, if there are things afoot that concern even the Dux,” he turned, gesturing after himself. “For all your power, Bringer of Spring, I would rather not leave you and your companion out in the wilderness.”

The two men did not bother to argue against him. Neither wanted to encounter the dullahan again. Quickening their pace, they continued to scramble up the mountain’s slope, heading towards their eventual destination.

Part One

SPOILER: Click to show

The city was called Nez-Gata, or so the local people said. It was nestled high on a seaside cliff, a dizzying drop at the fort’s backside and high walls at its font. Everywhere the cry of gulls was audible, and on the east end of the city there was a low, neverending ambiance of crashing waves pounding against the sheer cliff.

The walls, as well as the distant, towering slate-gray facade of the Dux’s dwelling, were made of stone, as were some of the buildings closest to the wall. This, their guide explained, was a defensive measure, to keep enemies from firing flaming arrows over the walls and turning the city into kindling. Only houses within a certain distance inside the walls were permitted to be made of cheaper materials, such as wood heavily insulated by dried clay and mud.

Of course, this tactic was somewhat negated by the presence of the tents.

There had to have been dozens of them outside the walls, and there were even more inside. Hastily erected canvas structures, clearly new, sometimes with entire families trying to crowd together inside a single small lean-to. Tension was palpable from all of the people as they went about their buisness, dark muttering and grim expressions on nearly everyone’s face. The atmosphere reeked of fear and despair.

Neither of those feelings were strangers to Absolon but it was rare, even here in the north, for them to be so thick he could have sworn it was possible to touch them. Not even the vague warning from their guide had prepared him for this. Faint grey murmurs faded in and out of his vision, only occasionally pierced by the cries of gulls above them, so sharp and yellow that he twitched almost every time he heard them. It would not be so bad if he did not know what the gulls represented, lurking just beyond the high cliff fort like a wolf in the trees, waiting to strike.

His breathing quickened, preparing for the unseen predator. Almost without realising, he pressed his left hand to his chest and drew closer to his companion. The blond man beside him responded immediately. His fingers first traced the scars that were etched above the stump of Absolon’s right hand before moving on, up his arm until his hand came to rest on his shoulder.

“It’s alright,” Ivar murmured quietly to him. “Don’t focus on it, focus on me; my voice, my touch, whatever helps you.”

Absolon nodded and closed his eyes, savouring every note of his beloved’s indigo voice, the beige echo of the touch of his skin, the soothing feeling of Ivar’s presence beside him. He wished he could embrace him, bury himself completely in the blond’s touch, but it was best not to do so with so many people around to see them. To compensate, under his breath, he murmured passages from the Book of Woo, focusing on the sound of his voice and the ever-familiar words that reminded him of the Woo’s love and mercy. As long as he had Lord Woo and Ivar, he was safe.

A small mewl came from the space just by his feet, followed by the feeling of fur brushing against his legs, accompanied by a lavender colour flaring in his eyes. Snowflake; the white cat had caught up with them and must have sensed his distress. Despite the panic that surged through him, Absolon managed a tiny smile.

Thanks to their combined efforts, the palpitations of his heart began to slow down and his fear simmered to more manageable levels. Good. He had not had an outburst of rogue magic for a while but it was best not to take risks. He needed to make a good impression on the Dux of Clan Dun, and with things being as tense as they were, the last thing people needed was him losing control.

“I’m fine now.” he murmured, stepping away from Ivar and slowly opening his eyes. Leaning down, he gave Snowflake a pet in return. “Thank you.”

“It’s what I’m here for, and what he’s here for,” the other man grinned at him. “You’re not nervous? It isn’t like this is the first time. If Roan, Overo, Tobiano, Grey and Bay have listened to us, why not Dun, fierce mountain clan as they are?”

“It’s...it’s not that,” Absolon stood up though he kept his head low. “It’s the ocean...it’s so close.”

“Ah,” Ivar said, understanding immediately. “Don’t think about that. Focus on why we’re here, what we have to do,” he squeezed Absolon’s shoulder. “What the Woo wants us to do.”

He nodded and smiled up at his beloved before lifting up his left hand and gently prying the blond’s fingers from his shoulder, savouring their texture and the beige colour it produced in his eyes. Drawing a deep breath into his lungs, he reached around to where his wand holster hung, brushing against the red wand that rested inside it. It was still there, ready to serve him at a moment’s notice, a fact that the young man found deeply reassuring.

Lifting up his head, he fixed his brown eyes on the dwelling of the Dux and took a step forward, followed by another, walking without thinking of what lay beyond the high fort. Snowflake paced beside him, calmly heading in the same direction as him as though by pure coincidence. Ivar followed behind, though unlike the cat, he never strayed more than a few inches from Absolon, almost resembling a dog at heel. However, his blue eyes were not focused on the fort but instead dashed around them, scanning the crowds for any signs of hostility or threat.

Indeed, as they walked through the tents and huts, soft grey whispers and pale gasps followed them. Men looked up from either sharpening swords or carving shields, women stopped and gawked as their children pointed towards him. All around, the same words kept swirling.

“Is it him?”

“It has to be. Do you see his hair?”

“And his right arm.”

“...he’s a bit short, isn’t he?”

“Does it matter? It has to be him! The one who defeated the Shifter of Seasons!”

Absolon swallowed, feeling his heart speed up. With his white hair and grey robes, he made a distinct figure, easily recognisable from the rumours that had been swirling through the north after the battle he had fought with Cebeline. Nevertheless, despite the whispering that floated through the air around him, he kept his head high, focused on his goal ahead. By now, he was growing used to such a reception: it had been the same in the other clans he had visited.

Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Ivar checking on him, to which he responded with a tiny nod. Stopping to blink in order to get the grey stain out of his vision, he approached the entrance to the fortress, showing more confidence than he really had.

The fortress was a tall, conical structure, which clearly served as much as a watchtower as it did a dwelling for the Dux. There were guards stationed at balconies along several rings around the tower, as well as at the top- and a pair of guards at the entrance, each of them flanked on one side by a huge, wire-coated grey wolfhound. At the sight of Ivar and Absonlon, both dogs bristled, low growls rumbling in their throats.

“Stop!” One of the guards said sharply, moving forwards towards the men. His eyes flicked from Absolon’s hair to his hand, and for a moment he faltered slightly before he went on, “What’s your business- who are you?”

“My name-” Absolon was cut off as a carmine hiss invaded his hearing and vision. He glanced down at the source of the noise only to find Snowflake hissing and spitting at the two guard dogs, his back arched and his fur standing up on end.

Ivar ground his jaw together and quickly scooped up the cat in his arms, stroking him behind the ear. Snowflake purred slightly at the touch but he nevertheless continued to glare at the hounds, his ears flat. Once he was sure that the cat was not going to attack and have them be turned away by the guards before they could get a word in, Ivar lifted his head up, his eyes narrowing as he watched the guards.

Absolon took a deep breath and exhaled before he met their gazes. “My name is Absolon. You might know me as…” he swallowed. “The Bringer of Spring. I am here to speak with the Dux of Dun.”

The two men exchanged glances. The one who had spoken first relaxed his posture somewhat- though only by a hair. “I see. So you’ve finally come. I shall tell the Dux of your coming and see if he shall grant you audience, but be warned that he is abominably busy so you may have to wait for a time.”

A sigh of relief escaped from him and Absolon found himself smiling gratefully at the two men. “That’s alright, I can wait. Thank you,” he bowed his head before glancing back at Ivar. “But please ask that he grant an audience to me and my companion both. I’d like him to be there.”

“Very well,” the guard replied. His eyes rivetting to the small dagger sheathed at Ivar’s hip he added, “Though given recent… tensions your companion will be required to disarm within the fortress.”

Ivar paused for a moment, his gaze flitting between Absolon and the guards before he nodded. “Very well. Hold him,” he placed Snowflake in Absolon’s arms, and after making sure he had a good grip on the cat, the blond undid the leather cords tying his dagger to his belt. Wordlessly, he handed it to the guards and stepped back.

Absolon watched this exchange with some unease. Only when Ivar was by his side again did he turn his attention fully to the guards. “What do you mean by ‘recent tensions’? We’ve heard vague rumours but...” his eyes flickered back behind him, towards the tents. “What is happening here?”

As one of the two men turned to head into the fortress, the other- the one who’d been speaking- folded his arms. “It is a matter for Dun Clan, not Roan. Though I suspect you shall find out soon enough, if you haven’t already.”

Ivar bristled at that answer, his mouth twitching slightly as he stopped himself scowling. “I might be of Roan but Absolon is not. He asked you a question; maybe you should answer him.”

“It is not a matter I am at liberty to discuss,” the guard retorted. “If he grants you audience you may ask the Dux about it if you wish, but I have my own allegiances to consider.”

The blond man’s hands clenched into fists before Absolon stepped in front of him, shaking his head.

“It’s alright,” he said quietly, his brown eyes meeting Ivar’s so that the latter could see the pleading expression in them. “If they don’t want to tell us, it is none of our business. Like you said, we have a task to do. That’s all that matters.”

“Yes, of course,” Ivar bowed his head to the guard. “I apologise. We shall wait until we are granted an audience.”

The man nodded, and within a few moments his companion returned to announce that they had been granted an audience- though that they would need to wait an hour or two as the Dux was “presently indisposed.” They were escorted to a small but comfortable guest chamber in the meantime. Snowflake wasted no time in leaping from Absolon’s arms and exploring his new surroundings, poking his scarred muzzle into every corner to make sure nothing evaded him. He was more than content to let the cat wander, however. With a sigh, Absolon sat down on the fur-covered bench that provided the scant furnishings for the guest room and took the now quite tatty Book of Woo out of his pack, opening it at a random page.

Ivar sat down next to him and took advantage of the solitude to wrap an arm around his beloved. “Read it to me?”

“There’s no passage I have not read to you, Ivar,” Absolon leaned his head against the blond’s shoulder, putting his right arm around him and placing the Book in Ivar’s lap. “We can practice reading together?”

He laughed a little. “Can try. I not so good at reading or your tongue. Doing both…”

As he spoke, Absolon briefly closed his eyes, savouring how the green tinted the normal indigo of Ivar’s voice. ““You do need to practice” he smiled up at Ivar. ““I’ll help you if you don’t know a word, as I always do.”

“I’m counting on it,” Ivar bent his head down to the other man, stealing a kiss from him which Absolon was all too happy to give.

When they had parted, he leaned once again into Ivar’s shoulder and placed his left hand on the Book of Woo, holding it open. “Start at the top of the page.”

The blond nodded and slowly, hesitatingly, his accent still thick, he began to read the Woo’s word for himself.

At length, the two men heard a knock at the door. Once they had untangled themselves from each other and called for the visitor to come in, one of the fortresses workers informed them that the Dux was ready to meet with them. Leaving Snowflake behind, since the cat seemed comfortable where he was, they were lead into a wide, circular audience chamber, with benches set all along the walls. At the head of the room, set into a small niche in the wall, was a tall wooden chair in which sat the man who could only be the Dux of Dun. He was tall and muscular, with piercing silvery-blue eyes like winter ice and long, almost waist length dark ginger hair. A light stubble adorned his face, and there were scars along his hands and forearms that spoke of battles fought in the past. Though for the most part he was dressed conservatively, in a woolen black overtunic, matching trousers and leather boots, he had one adornment that definitely stood out- a silver and black wolf’s pelt draped over his shoulders in a cape. The head of the wolf had been made into a sort of clasp, the lower jaw removed and the eyes replace with a pair of shiny stones. Though most of the upper jaw’s teeth were in tact, the right canine was missing- for it was hanging around the Dux’ neck on a leather chord.

“So,” the man rumbled, his voice deep and rough rough, its colour a dark brown which put Absolon in mind of tree bark in fading light, “They tell me you are the one that has been weakening the power of the Shifter of Seasons in the north. Absolon was it?” He inclined his head politely. “Well met, boy. I am Sindre, Dux of Dun.” Glancing towards Absolon’s companion he added, “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Ivar of Clan Roan,” the blond bowed deeply to Sindre. “It is an honour to be granted an audience with you, Sire, especially given how busy you seem.”

“Yes. It is greatly appreciated that you would take the time to listen to what we have to say,” Absolon nodded. Clutching the Book to his chest, he stepped cautiously forward towards the Dux. “I’m sure you can guess why I am here, Sire but I will say it anyway,” with some hesitation, the young man met Sindre’s eyes. “I have come to give you the word of my god and ask your help in spreading it across your lands. He is far kinder and much more powerful than the thing you currently worship. If you accept His love, you will never have to make any more sacrifices to her, nor will you have to fear the long winter ever again.”

“So the stories have said,” Sindre agreed. “Certainly you may do as you wish- tell the people of Dun of this god of yours, the god of kindness and not death.” He sighed softly. “Though I would that you had come any year but this one. I’m afraid that what you want to do, you must do without my help. My resources are needed elsewhere.”

Absolon’s eyes widened. “But...but...Sire! Neither me nor Ivar know these mountains, and your people might not know us. To them, I am a stranger, and one with magic too; they might not listen to me. But you are their leader, they will listen to you,” he took a step forward towards the Dux, clasping the book and his hand to his chest. “We cannot do this without your support, your protection and your authority, and we need you to make sure there are no more sacrifices when we have to move on. Please!”

He swallowed. “If you doubt my words, I will prove the Woo’s power to you. I can show you that he is much stronger than the creature you fear. Just give us a chance!”

“Young man,” Sindre said, his voice pained, “your power over the Shifter of Seasons is well known and spoken of in these mountains. But at present, She is the very least of Clan Dun’s worries. I have literally no men I can afford to spare you- they are either unequipped for travel, or needed in the west.”

Confusion spread unhindered across Absolon’s face. “What could possibly be worse than a long winter? Or killing children?!”

Before the Dux could answer, Ivar stepped forward, stopping by Absolon’s side. “It’s just as our guide said,” he remarked and looked up at Sindre. “The tents outside prove you’ve called your people to you. The guards spoke of rising tensions but did not want to say any more to us, but in Roan, the Dux would only call the men if something serious was happening and it seems like that’s the case here,” his blue eyes narrowed. “What is going on, Sire? Why exactly can’t you help us?”

The Dux shook his head. “Last autumn, our neighbors, Clan Rabicano, started to grow… restless. They do that from time to time- thieves and cutthroats, the lot of them, would rather steal what others have worked hard for than strive to produce their own food and goods. When they get testy, we drive them off. But my men reported something odd about the nature of the thievery last fall. They weren’t just hitting a village and running- they were sweeping wide strokes across our borderland. Scouting.”

He lifted the fang around his neck between thumb and forefinger, growling softly. “I had my suspicions as to what they were up to, though I hoped I would be proven wrong. Sadly, I was not. As soon as the snows melted, they launched an all-out offensive assault on our territory. They strike, steal, and raze what they cannot steal. Instead of fleeing back over the border, they hold the land they take, and advance ever east. Further into our heartland.” He met Absolon’s eyes squarely. “I cannot help you, Bringer of Spring, because all of the men I have are needed to defend my people. Because the Duns are at war.”

Absolon’s stomach dropped from under him and pressed the Book of Woo closer to his chest for comfort. War. During his time here in the north, had heard of clans going to war, of the struggles and squabbles between them but this was the first time he had ever encountered such a conflict. Of all the clans, they had to be warring against Elijah’s old clan too! It was almost impossible to think of the kind older monk as a “thief” or a “cutthroat” and yet, given all they had seen, it was unlikely Sindre was lying.

Oh Woo...he glanced sideways at Ivar, silently begging for help, but to his dismay, the blond’s expression showed that he was just as startled and lost as Absolon was. Shivering slightly, he turned back to Sindre though this time, he could not meet the Dux’s eyes. “Is there...nothing we can do to convince you to help us?”

Sindre’s voice was a low growl. “You ask that I condemn all of my people to being slaughtered by the Rabicanos so that you may have protection from men when you would tout yourself the better of a god? I am sorry, I really am, lad. But until this war is ended, I simply do not have the resources.”

At those words, a lump rose up in Absolon’s throat, which he quickly suppressed. He clutched the Book of Woo tightly, focusing on its weight, the texture of its cover and pages and above all, the words inside. He had to remain calm, collected and above all, do not give up hope. If the Woo had not flown away from him during his blocks, He would surely not abandon him now.

“I understand, Sire,” the young man’s voice was barely above a whisper as he bowed. “Thank you for your time. I shall pray for the Woo to grant you protection and a quick victory. Goodbye for now.”

With that, Absolon turned around and started walking out of the audience chamber. Ivar watched him go before turning back to the Dux. For a moment, his blue eyes lit up with fury but it was soon extinguished. He too, bowed and rushed out after Absolon, catching up with him and leaving by his side.

As soon as they were out of the chamber, he placed a hand on his beloved’s shoulder. “You did what you could. It’s just, a war...” the blond ground his teeth together. “Could the Rabicanos not had worse timing?”

Absolon, not wanting to remove his one good hand from the Book and risk dropping it, contented himself by rubbing his cheek against Ivar’s fingers. “This...this is a test. It has to be,” he forced himself to smile a little. “Nobody ever said this task would be easy. Lord Woo simply wants us to find another way.”

“For such a kind god, He does love testing us, doesn’t he?” Ivar chuckled.

Absolon smiled. “Every test of His is designed to make sure we learn and grow. We simply must rise to overcome His challenge,” his eyes turned to meet Ivar’s. “It isn’t like we have any other choice.”

“No, we do not,” the blond sighed, his shoulders dropping. “So...what do we do?”

“I…” Absolon’s breathing quickened. “I don’t...really know,” he clutched the Book tighter, “But the Woo will give us guidance. If this is what He wants, He has to.”

Part Two

SPOILER: Click to show

The two men’s attention was drawn by the sound of an odd sort of shuffling from nearby. As they turned towards the noise, a man emerged from around a blind corner at the end of the hallway. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, with chin length dark brown hair that fell in ringlets from his head, and a muscular build. There was an uncanny resemblance between the stranger and Sindre, underscored by eyes an identical shade of silver-blue. He was dressed in a simple off-white cotton shirt, dark brown pants, and a black leather tunic, the entire ensemble offset but a black and tan scarf around his neck made of some sort of animal hair that didn’t look to be wool.

The newcomer tilted his head arms folded and expression resigned. “He told you no, then? I thought he might.”

His voice was deep- even deeper than Sindre’s, but with a smoother, slightly melodic quality to offset the older man’s roughness. For a moment, Absolon was forced to close his eyes as the deep, reddish-purple colour, almost resembling red wine, flickered over his vision.

Once it was gone, however, he found himself frowning for a moment in confusion at the stranger’s words before it occurred to him that he must be speaking about his conversation with the Dux. He wondered how the newcomer could have known about it but given who the mage was and what his presence in any fort signified, it was probably quite obvious why he was here.

Absolon nodded. “You’re right; the Dux rejected us and our message.”

“And what is it to you?” Ivar spoke up, taking a subtle step to place himself between Absolon and the stranger. “Who are you and what business it is of yours what the Dux said to us?”

The man gave a slightly amused smile, his eyebrows lifting. “I like to keep up with my father’s latest short-sighted decisions. You can’t mitigate things if you don’t know what there is that needs mitigating, and if I’m to take over from him someday, the experience is handy.”

Absolon’s eyes widened. “You’re the Dux’s heir…” he bowed to the newcomer. “It is an honour then, to meet you.”

“Yes, it is,” Ivar also gave a bow, though his was more reluctant and half-hearted than his companion’s. This did not escape Absolon’s attention, however. He stepped forward and keeping the Book gripped tightly in his left hand, rested the stump of his right against Ivar’s shoulder. The blond turned his head towards him before nodding, allowing the younger man to get a little closer to the Dun.

Absolon lifted his gaze up towards the man in front of him. “By mitigate, you don’t mean…” his heart sped up before he could help himself. “Despite the war, despite everything, are you willing to help us somehow?”

“My father and I do not see eye to eye,” the Dun cautioned. “I can’t convince him to change his mind. However, I think he underestimates the threat that is represented by the Shifter of Seasons. He’s a very… practical man. Earthy. If there is a coping mechanism that works, he feels no inclination to change things, at least not in a high-priority capacity.” The man clucked his tongue. “I’d like to hear what you have to say. Then, if your god does indeed seem to be the answer to our woes, I will help you.”

There was no hiding the smile that spread across Absolon’s face. “We’ll tell you everything you want to know!” he exclaimed. Briefly, he closed his eyes, mouthing a silent thank you to the Woo for looking out for them. Ivar continued to remain tense and his blue eyes remained hawkishly upon the Dun heir but nevertheless, he smiled a little at his companion’s happiness.

“Before we do, however,” the blond spoke up. “Could we at least get your name?”

“Jarle,” the Dun replied. “I am Jarle of Dun. And you two? Sorry, I’m afraid only my father was given the report of your arrival.”

“You know my title, I’m sure, but my Woo-given name is Absolon,” the young man gestured with his head at his companion. “That is Ivar of Roan, my...partner,” his cheeks redded a little.

Ivar chuckled softly. “I suppose you could call me that, but yes, I am.”

“Well met, Absolon the Bringer of Spring and Ivar of Roan,” Jarle replied, inclining his head politely. “Unless you had some pressing matter to attend, perhaps we might take this conversation to my chambers? I imagine you might prefer the chance to sit down and not linger in the hallway.”

“Yes. Especially since your father rejected us. I don’t know if I feel comfortable with him overhearing,” Absolon replied and smiled at Jarle. “Please, lead the way.”

Jarle nodded, gesturing for the visitors to follow him as he turned back down the hallway. Despite the fact that, as one might have expected from the future leader of the clan, Jarle walked tall and straight, head held high, it was impossible to miss the fact that the man never once lifted his feet fully as he was walking. Instead he scuffed them audibly against the floor, making a distinct, rhythmic “fwssh-click” sound with every step he took. Faint dark grey and dirty mustard yellow flickered across Absolon’s vision as Jarle walked, making him blink rapidly as though a speck of dust was trapped in his eye. It did not take any time for Ivar to notice the signs and come to his side, his expression flickering between concern and irritation when he lifted his gaze to the Dun ahead of them. Catching his eye, Absolon shook his head and shot him a smile; the colours were irritating at best, not worth his companion’s concern. This appeased the blond slightly and he seemed to relax but nevertheless, he remained alert, watching Absolon in case he suddenly took a turn for the worse.

Eventually the trio made it to a small door at which Jarle turned, withdrawing a key and clicking it into the keyhole. The door swung open, and from within there was a scrabbling of claws on stone as a blur of black and brown surged towards them from within. The creature skidded to a stop in front of Jarle, resolving into a massive dog. It stood almost as high as Jarle’s hip at the shoulder, and a thick, nearly three inches of fluffy hair made the animal look even larger. It resembled a wolf, if a wolf could have been given the likeness of a pom-pom, with brown fur striped in streaks of black that came together into a black mask over the dog’s muzzle. It had a splash of white on its chest, the underside of its tail, and white socks on its paws. The dog play-bowed at Jarle’s feet, tail wagging frantically, and the man chuckled softly.

“Sorry, I hope you don’t mind dogs,” he said, reaching down to pat the animal on the head. “This over excited fellow is Pillow. Trained to be my partner in battle, but when he’s not needed for that he’s about as dangerous as a rabbit. A very excitable, people loving rabbit.”

As if to confirm this, Pillow turned his attention to Ivar and Absolon, sniffing at them curiously as he panted before licking the blonde man’s hand. Ivar blinked suddenly, caught off-guard by the dog’s friendliness towards him, but he nevertheless smiled and gave Pillow a scratch behind the ear. Absolon watched the dog with some concern but when it became clear that it was not going to bark too much, he relaxed a little.

“It should be fine,” he said, silently praying he was right. Dogs had never been a problem by themselves; the noise they made, ebony black with a hint of red, was another matter entirely. That was five years behind him and yet, he had found the habits he had gained during the first eighteen years of his life hard to shake off.

He walked a little deeper into Jarle’s room, glancing around at his surroundings before turning his attention to the Dun. “So you...wished to hear what we have to say?”

Jarle nodded, hooking a hand around a rope tied around Pillow’s neck and using it to gently drag the dog away from Ivar. He gestured to a collection of stools set around a table in the corner of the room, saying, “Please sit- my duties for the day have been seen to already, so we should have plenty of time to talk.” Heeding his own advice and slipping into one of the chairs as Pillow curled up at his feet, the man clucked his tongue. “I know the tales of your feats- of how you defeated Her, and brought spring to the people of the hill country without a need for tribute. But very little has made it this far north about the god in whose name you work.”

The two men sat down on the stools, keeping close to one another, and Absolon took the opportunity to rest the Book of Woo on the table. “I confess, it does make me sad, having my story precede that of the Lord Woo,” he said quietly before a tiny smile crossed his face. “But I suppose telling His story is the task that is given to me.”

He opened the Book of Woo on the Book of Heart, skimming over the translations of certain difficult words he had written in the margins to remind himself. “The Lord Woo is a kind, merciful god. His strength is great and he shares it with His people too,” his hand drifted down to his wand. “It was how I was able to defeat her; the Lord Woo gave His power to me. However, I am not alone; the Woo has shared this gift with many of my people, down south. And He does this without any need to give Him anything except love and devotion.”

Jarle glanced towards Absolon’s wand. “I’d heard of that; magic that isn’t fairy powers.” He tapped a small bracelet of grey metal on his left wrist- no doubt made of iron, a material many of the northern clansmen kept on them for protection against the unseelie. “If your god does not take tributes, what does He get out of sharing his powers with humans?”

“Our faith, the knowledge of our happiness and the satisfaction of seeing us, humans, thrive,” the smile on the young man’s face was warm and broad. “The Book of Woo compares it to the care and love a parent gives a child.”

The Dun closed his eyes a moment. “I see.” Opening them again after a moment, he clucked his tongue again. “And does your Woo, also like a parent, have rules and punishments for defying them?”

Absolon paused, considering this. “Only those who kill, steal, hurt or lie are punished and even then, it hurts Him to do so and He would gladly forgive them if they seek forgiveness,” a small sigh escaped from him. “Sometimes it feels like the Lord Woo is punishing you even if you did nothing wrong,” he smiled again. “But I realise now that when that happens, the Woo is only testing you so that you may grow and become better. It is what He did to me.

Jarle blinked, frowning slightly. “What do yo mean?”

The young man in front of him lowered his eyes. “I...when most people hear a sound, they only hear that sound, right? I don’t; when I hear a sound, I also see colours. Same thing happens when anybody touches me,” he lifted his head back up to Jarle. “Whenever you speak, for example, a very dark reddish-purple flashes in front of my eyes. When I speak, however, I see bronze.”

He sighed, pressing his hand against his chest. “These days, it’s only a flash of colour but for most of my life, this ability caused me pain. I could barely get through a conversation before the layers of colour overwhelmed me, triggering a deep ache in my chest,” Absolon paused, swallowing. “It was constant agony and I prayed the Woo to make it go away. Instead, He told me to come here, to the north. I never would have done so without that pain, and as a consequence, I’d have never known about the plight of the northern clans. It got me started on my mission.”

Closing his eyes, he forced himself to recall the next parts of the story. “But the pain only got worse. I wondered what sin I had committed, what I was doing wrong. It was that which drove me to face the one you call the Shifter of Seasons,” opening his eyes again, Absolon smiled. “And that’s when it happened; the Woo not only took the pain away but gave me the strength I needed to face her. He also left me with a mark of His favour,” he ran a hand through his white hair. “That’s when I realised that Lord Woo was only testing me, seeing if I was the right person for the task He had in mind for me and whether I am worthy of the power I have been granted. As awful as that pain was at the time, I would not take it back: it gave me everything I have now,” here, he shot Ivar a small glance, “and it gave me the ability to help even more people.”

Jarle pondered this, his expression pensive. “Your god… makes you see colors when you hear sounds? And drove you to his bidding by paining you with this?”

“No,” Absolon shook his head. “Everything I have done so far has been of my own free will. Lord Woo gives His children free will so that they may follow their own paths and decide what is right for them. I took the hardest path and I got help from Him in my mission,” he put his hand on the Book in front of him. “I admit, I am guided very much by the faith I have in my god, but that faith is born out of love, not fear. I would never fear the Woo, and I have no doubt that if I ever find myself in a situation with no escape again, like I did when I faced her, He will come to my aid. However, I am equally sure that this is a task Lord Woo wishes that I do myself and I know I can do it now that I have passed His test.”

Jarle clucked his tongue. “The power your god granted you, that you used against Her- may I see it?”

“Of course!” the young man reached into the holster at his hip, taking out the short red wand contained within. “What do you wish to see? I can create light, fire, ice, water...or perhaps you -or Pillow-” he shot a glance at the dog by Jarle’s feet. “Have something that needs healing, like a cut or a bruise? I am at your service.”

The Dun was visibly startled by Absolon’s enthusiasm, blinking and flinching back at first in surprise. After a moment’s consideration, he pulled back the sleeve of his shirt, revealing a decent sized welt- purple in the middle, going slightly green on the edges.

“I got this in combat practice two days ago,” he said. “You may demonstrate on it.”

“Alright,” Absolon leaned closer, examining the bruise. It looked sore but it was obviously not serious; there was no need to expend a lot of magic. He pointed his wand at the site of the injury. “Contusa Sanwootur.”

Spring green light rushed out of the tip of the red wood, encircling and absorbing into the bruise. It barely lingered for a second before disappearing, leaving Jarle’s skin without even a yellow tint to show that there was anything there before at all.

“Impressive,” Jarle conceded, his eyes wide. “To instantly repair wounds that would normally take days… What else can you fix with this power?” His voice suddenly pitched with excitement, he asked, “Could you heal a more serious wound? Or cure a sickness, or blindness?”

The young man lowered his gaze. “I can heal more serious wounds, but with sickness, the best I can do is alleviate the symptoms while the body heals naturally. As for blindness…” he slowly shook his head. “If there is a way, I was never taught it. I’m sorry.”

“Ah,” Jarle’s expression saddened for a moment, but then he shrugged. “So you are powerful but not omnipotent; I suppose that is relieving in a way, that the legendary Bringer of Spring is as human as the rest of us.” He reached down to pet Pillow, prompting the dog to thump his tail against the floor.

Absolon blinked at the Dun’s words, startled for a moment into silence. “Of course I’m human,” he choked out. “People seem to think I am some great hero and I wish they would not. I have flaws...and I make mistakes…” his gaze drifted down to the burn scars that decorated the stump of his right hand.

“And among those flaws is being far too modest,” rich indigo cut through his vision as Ivar spoke up and a hint of orange crept in when the blond put his hand on his shoulder. “Absolon might have flaws and make mistakes but there is no denying he is a great person,” his voice lowered. “He gave me hope and a reason to live. It’s no exaggeration to say I’d be dead without him, and I’m probably not the only one. All of clan Roan owes him a great debt. He deserves his reputation, and more.”

Crimson flushed across Absolon’s cheeks. “Stop it, Ivar,” he murmured.“You know better than anybody what kind of person I am.”

Ivar chuckled, squeezing Absolon’s shoulder. “I do, which is why I say what I say” he turned to Jarle. “Make no mistake, Absolon might be human but he is a great man with a lot of power and, most importantly, a good heart to guide it. I have every faith in him, and I would follow him and his god to the ends of the earth if he asked it of me.”

The younger man’s blush deepened. Nevertheless, he could not stop the smile spreading across his face or the butterflies fluttering in his stomach at his beloved’s words.

“Ah,” Jarle looked between Absolon and Ivar with something akin to amusement in his expression, before he sobered again. “So- you fought Her, and since then, any who accept your god have not had to suffer the long winter? Even though they do not give Her tribute?”

Absolon looked up and nodded. “Everyone who accepts the Woo receives His protection, and Lord Woo is a far more powerful god than she ever will be. I have no doubt she knows this,” he paused, recalling the look in Cebeline’s eyes as she lay on the ground, cloven in two by the lightning he had called down. “She won’t dare touch those who Lord Woo has taken under His wing, and if she does…” the young man swallowed. “I will fight her again.”

Silently, he prayed that he would not have to. The loss of his hand had been a mistake born of desperation, one he was unlikely to repeat again. Nevertheless, out of the dim memories of that day, the clearest that stood out was the agony of the burn and the pull ripping his chest open. Such pain did not make one keen to even risk repeating the experience.

Jarle smiled thinly. “You have courage, Absolon of the southlands. That’s good- you will need it if you still wish to spread your god’s message to the people of Dun.” He stood, clucking his tongue. “I will gladly help you, but it is not as simple as my taking you in place of one of my father’s men- the matter of the Rabicanos must be addressed first, or I fear my people will not be in a receptive frame of mind for religious conversations.”

Ivar frowned. “But that means we are back to where we started,” he stood up and met Jarle’s eyes. “We cannot do anything while your clan is at war with Rabicano.”

“Which means we have to stop it,” Absolon looked between his companion and the Dun. “We must end this fighting. Even if the people will not listen to the Woo’s message, at the very least we can free them from the fear of bloodshed.”

“And how can we do that, Absolon?” Ivar’s voice was gentle but it bore more than a hint of skepticism.

The younger man deflated. “I...don’t know,” he clasped his hands together, leaning them against his forehead as though praying. “There has to be some way.”

“For now, perhaps you ought put the matter aside,” Jarle suggested. “At least until you’ve rested. You’ve no doubt had a long journey to get this far north, and plans are not best laid when you’re tired.”

“He’s right,” Ivar rested his hand on Absolon’s shoulder, gently squeezing it. “We’ve made some progress and you and I could use the rest. Especially in a proper bed and not on the road.”

A little smile formed on Absolon’s face. He lifted his eyes up to the blond, giving him a small nod. “That would be nice.”

“I know,” Ivar smiled back before looking back to Jarle. “Is there a place where we can stay here? It’s alright if it’s just one room; we’re used to close quarters.”

“I’m afraid that I don’t live here at the fortress anymore,” Jarle replied apologetically. “I have my own house a bit away. But we can spare you a bedroom there, if you like, I’ll just have to ask my daughter to cuddle up with Mama and Papa for a few nights.” Quirking an eyebrow, the Dun added, “And given she’s four years old and clingy, she may never recover from the imposition.”

Absolon laughed, covering his mouth with the stump of his right hand. “We’ll do our best not to inconvenience your wife and daughter,” he bowed his head deeply to Jarle. “But we would be grateful if you extend your hospitality out to us. Thank you.”

***

Jarle’s home was surprisingly simple, for housing the next Dux of the whole of Dun Clan. One might almost have surmised that he’d moved into the first building that came available when he left his father’s fortress. It was only two rooms, a living space and a master bedroom, with a bed tucked into the corner of the living room that presumably belonged to Jarle’s daughter. The minute he walked in, there was a high squeal of, “Papa!” and a blur with a cap of red-brown ringlets tackled Jarle’s legs, wrapping around his knees.

“Papa, lookit, lookit!” the small girl chirruped. “My tooth is all wiggly! See, see?”

The child demonstratively wiggled one of her teeth with her tongue, prompting a chuckle from Jarle as he ruffled her curly hair. “So it is- that’s your first loose tooth, isn’t it? You’re very lucky, Toril, I didn’t start losing teeth until I was six.”

The child giggled, reaching towards the dog following at her father’s heels to pet him- then freezing when she caught sight of the strangers behind Jarle. “Who’re you?”

Absolon shot her a sheepish smile. “Sorry, we should have introduced ourselves,” he kneeled down in front of Toril, something which made him almost as tall as the girl herself. “My name is Absolon. I’m a...friend of your papa’s, I guess.” He held out his left hand to get in a gesture of friendliness.

“And I’m Ivar,” the blond stepped out from behind his companion, though he did not bow like Absolon did. “And this,” he held up his arms, displaying the white cat in them. “Is Snowflake. He’s our cat.”

Snowflake had remained in Ivar’s arms for the entire duration of the journey from the fortress to Jarle’s hut, keeping his ears flattened and his hazel eyes firmly on Pillow. As soon as he caught Toril’s scent, however, his ears pricked up and he leapt out of Ivar’s arms, padding carefully towards the girl.

“Oooh, he’s so pretty!” Toril cooed as the cat approached her, kneeling to meet him. “Can I pet him, Mister Ivar? Please?”

“If he lets you,” Ivar nodded.

“He should,” Absolon gave the cat a few strokes along his spine. “He…” the young man sighed. “He likes children.”

As if to prove his point, Snowflake ran up to Toril, rubbing himself against her legs. His tail was stuck firmly upward, save for the tip which twitched back and forth, indicating interest. The little girl giggled, reaching out to stroke the cat across his back. “Hi kitty! I’m Toril! You’re really fluffy, almost as fluffy as Pillow!”

“Almost, but not quite,” Jarle noted with a crooked smile. “He got his name for a reason. Where’s your mama, love?”

“She’s out in the back,” Toril replied, giggling as Snowflake’s whiskers tickled her hand. “Weeding the turnip beds.”

“We’ll leave her be for the moment, then,” Jarle replied, stepping around his daughter to lead his guests further into the house. “Say baby, do you mind sleeping with Mama and Papa for the next few nights? Papa’s friends need to borrow your bed for a while.”

“They don’t got beds?” The girl asked curiously, tilting her head.

“No. We’ve come from very far away” Absolon shook his head and smiled at Toril, bowing his head. “So it would be very kind of you if you let us sleep in your bed for a short while.”

“And in return, you can play with Snowflake,” Ivar grinned, putting his hands on his hips. “I think that’s a fair trade.”

The girl smiled broadly. “Okay! I’ll be real good with Snowflake, promise!” The child looked up to her father. “Are they here to help you with important Dux stuff, Papa?”

“Sort of,” Jarle agreed. “Actually…” he glanced towards Absolon. “While I go catch my wife up on what’s happened, perhaps you’d like to share your story with Toril?”

“Story?” The girl brightened, looking at Absolon eagerly. “I like stories!”

“Well, I have lots of stories, Toril, ones belonging to others and a few of my own,” Absolon kneeled down on the floor, his left hand fluttering over the pouch in which he kept the Book of Woo.

Part Three

SPOILER: Click to show

The next morning, after Absolon and Ivar had been given time to rest from their journey, eat, and talk amongst themselves about the situation, Jarle again approached them.

“Walk with me?” He invited. “I believe what we have to discuss, my daughter and wife need not be privy to.”

Absolon tore himself away from Ivar’s grasp as soon as Jarle approached them, standing up from the space on the bed where he had been sitting. “What is it?” He asked, clasping his left hand over his stump.

“If I have to hazard a guess...” Ivar said, also standing up and walking towards Jarle. “We still need to figure out a way to end this war.”

The Dun nodded. “So long as the Rabicano clan wages war, you will not be able to do your Woo’s work here or in their territory. Something will need to be done about them.” His eyes narrowed, and he gestured for the two men to follow him. “But they are greedy and bloodthirsty. They will not back down just by us asking them politely.”

“I’m not going to fight them,” Absolon said almost immediately, his voice unwavering. “The Woo teaches us that violence does nothing except create suffering. I will not go against His word.”

“Clan Rabicano, however, won’t care for that,” Ivar murmured, his blue eyes carrying a look of sadness as he turned to the younger man. “You have so much power. If we have no choice-”

“There has to be a choice. With you, with Crom, with her, with all the clans that we have converted before, there was always a choice,” Absolon exclaimed, clenching his hand to his chest. “Besides, if we fight Clan Rabicano, there is no way they will listen to us. We’ll never be able to get them to accept the Woo’s word if we come bearing bloodshed,” he stared up at Jarle, wide-eyed. “Can we not negotiate with them? You say they are greedy and bloodthirsty but they cannot be monsters! Surely they will listen to reason?”

Jarle sighed, his back to the duo as he walked ahead of them, making his expression unreadable. “It is not about being monsters, man of the southlands. It is about the mountains being treacherous and ill providing for those who live here. Every bean plant or potato or nut tree we can nurture and coax through the spring and summer is precious, and the difference between survival and starvation in the long darkness of winter. Rabicano is pushing out competition for those finite resources. It is as much about survival for them as it is for us- we simply make due with what we can scrape up, whilst they would want more.”

Absolon lowered his eyes and shook his head. “There has to be a way...there’s always a way,” he suddenly looked up. “You must both have something the other wants. Why not trade or negotiate? Down south, Clan Tobiano and Grey did that...in a way,” he swallowed. “It’s better than fighting. Anything is better than that.”

Jarle’s hands clenched into fists, and he paused midstep so that Absolon and Ivar nearly stumbled into him. For a moment he said nothing, then in a somewhat strangled voice he admitted, “Dun lands are… very poor in resources. We generally do not like to say as much to outsiders, but while we can survive here, it is not with the benefit of excess, nor is there much that would be of interest to other clans for trade. The only thing the Rabicanos want is land, and food, neither of which we can afford to give up.”

Absolon winced at the yellowish colour that had suddenly invaded Jarle’s voice, and lowered his head at the pain in the Dun’s words. He opened his mouth and immediately closed it, unsure of what to say.
Ivar sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s self defence,” he murmured. “Surely you understand that.”
“Of course I do, but that doesn’t mean I like it,” Absolon’s jaw tightened before suddenly, his eyes widened. “Jarle, what if I speak to them? To the Rabicanos?” he pressed his left hand to his chest. “If Clan Dun knew who I was, they will know who I am too. Maybe I can convince them to leave you alone.”
“Absolon...” Ivar stared at him. “You are great and powerful, but if a clan is so set on acquiring their neighbours territory, I doubt even you can stop them.”
“It’s worth trying. I’d rather try anything before resorting to violence. Besides, we would have had to go to Clan Rabicano eventually,” the younger man replied, looking back at Ivar, silently pleading with the blond to trust him.

The Dun finally turned to face his guests, folding his arms and giving Absolon scrutinizing look. “What will you say to them? Merely preaching the wrongs of violence isn’t going to get their attention nor their respect. They would laugh in your face.”

“I know that,” Absolon said with a heavy sigh, wilting a little under Jarle’s gaze. “But I have more than that,” he lowered his hand to grip the handle of his wand. “I have my magic. If they believe that might makes right…” his eyes flickered downwards. “Then that’s the way I have to convince them.”

Jarle nodded slowly. “That could get their attention, were it showy enough. Prove to them you are the stronger, and at the very least you will get them to pause and consider. But it will be dangerous- to speak to them, you’ll have to travel directly into the war zone. I can guide you there, and I will do my best to help protect you and Ivar, but I am only one man. And you will no doubt see the results of their carnage before you see them. Are you prepared for that, Bringer of Spring?”

Ivar glanced sideways at Absolon, waiting for his companion’s answer with anticipation. Absolon, however, lowered his eyes, sinking deep into thought. After a while, however, he gave a single, solemn nod.
“Yes, I am,” he murmured. “I will accept whatever danger comes, and whatever I might see. It won’t be the first time I experience either anyway,” the young man glanced between Ivar and Jarle. “As long as I have your help-”
“Always,” Ivar replied, quickly reaching out and brushing against Absolon’s hand, smiling at him. “Where you go, I go, you know that,” he turned to Jarle. “And you do not have to worry about protecting us; we’re capable of looking after ourselves. We only need your guidance, since we don’t know these mountains as well as you do.”

“Very well then,” Jarle agreed. “I want this war ended and the Shifter of Season’s power broken as much as you do, so whatever I can do to help. There are some things I must prepare first- travelling in these mountains is not a light undertaking as I’m sure you’ve discovered already- we will leave at dawn the day after tomorrow.”

***

Sindre was far from pleased when his son informed him of his intention to help Absolon and Ivar- Jarle returned from the meeting with his father in a foul mood, answering any questions directed at him curtly until the rest of the occupants of his cottage opted to just leave him alone. He had brightened by the following morning, and set about gathering any equipment and supplies that they would need for the long journey to the border.

Toril was beside herself when her father revealed that he was leaving, begging him not to “go away” and citing that “everybody that’s gone away doesn’t come back!” Absolon did his best to reassure the girl that her father would come back, that there was somebody very powerful who was going to look after them and protect them. As if to demonstrate, he showed the girl some of his magic, casting both defensive spells to demonstrate how they would be protected and simple spells to make light or draw in the air to entertain her. Toril eventually calmed down and allowed herself to be distracted, but the following morning when it was time to depart, she was still sobbing quietly when she hugged Jarle goodbye.

The Dun did not leave his entire family behind in Nez-Gata, however. When he led Absolon and Ivar out of the city, it was with his fluffy dog Pillow trotting at his heels. He explained that, as he’d mentioned before, the dog was trained for battle, and would help to defend them if they ran afoul of the Rabicano raiders- or anything else in the mountains that might mean them harm, tapping his iron bracelet meaningfully.

Neither Absolon nor Ivar minded this addition, with Ivar even acknowledging they needed all the protection they could get. Snowflake at first did not seem to realise the dog was coming with them but eventually, even he could not ignore Pillow’s massive presence. The cat continued to trot by Absolon’s side, seemingly not caring about the other animal’s presence, not even giving him so much as a glance.

However, three days into their travel west, this truce by ignoring the issue was destroyed when Pillow seemed to decide he wanted to make friends with the small fluffy white creature. As Jarle, and Ivar were gathering wood for a fire to stop for the night, and Absolon went away for evening prayers, Pillow slowly scooted over to Snowflake, tail wagging madly and body held in a play bow. He whined beseechingly, only to be met once again with the cold shoulder from the cat, who continued to lie in the grass and clean the remains of his last meal off his fur. Pillow whined again, rolling completely over on his back and back onto his belly again, before scooting still closer. After another minute of no reaction, the dog inched into range, and then gave the cat an exuberant lick on the top of the head.

Snowflake’s reaction was instantaneous. Claws out, he swatted at Pillow with his paw, catching the dog on the side of the nose. Without waiting to see if Pillow recovered, he leapt to his feet and dashed away, a white streak as he climbed onto a nearby rock formation that was too tall for the dog to get him. Satisfied now that he was not going to be disturbed, the cat resumed his bath, licking his paws and rubbing them over his face.

Pillow, whining with confusion, tucked his tail and darted over to Ivar, hiding behind the blonde man and looking up at the cat- whose fur was still slightly cowlicked- with a sad expression.

Ivar blinked, not seeming to realise what had happened at first before Pillow’s moroseness and Snowflake’s sudden position away from the group clicked for him. He laughed softly and reached down, giving the dog a friendly rub behind the ear. As soon as the blond touched Pillow, however, Snowflake immediately leapt down from the rocks and ran to Ivar’s side, rubbing himself all over his legs and purring softly, eager to attract his attention. Amused, Ivar kneeled down to stroke him as well but when his knees touched the ground, Snowflake leapt on to them, continuing to rub his face against Ivar and purr.

Jarle, watching this, gave a soft snort. “I would not have figured your cat for the jealous type. That one’s an only child if ever I saw one.”

“He’s used to only having me and Absolon around most of the time,” Ivar replied, giving the cat a stroke under the chin. “Though I’m glad he’s acting like this, in a way. He prefers Absolon; it took me a while to gain his trust, let alone have him be so affectionate.”

“Animals have minds of their own,” Jarle agreed. “I’m glad he humored Toril, even if she is not one of his chosen humans.” To Pillow he added, “And you deserved that, buddy. You know you aren’t supposed to lick faces, that isn’t polite.”

The dog looked towards his master with a whine. Taking a risk, Ivar carefully reached over and gave Pillow a pat on the head, removing his hand before Snowflake could notice.

“I’m not surprised he liked your daughter,” Ivar lowered his eyes, running his fingers absently down the cat’s spine. “He...used to belong to a little girl too. A friend of Absolon’s.”

Jarle frowned slightly, his brow furrowing. “I get the sense this is a matter I shouldn’t pry into,” he said. “Things like this never are. I’m glad that Snowflake’s new masters are good to him. Animals… can be like children in many ways. Innocently trusting, until given reason to be otherwise.”

“They are...sometimes even when they are given a reason to mistrust, they trust anyway,” Ivar sighed and shook his head. “Nevertheless, Snowflake has made himself useful to us on many occasions. He’s got a keen sense for fairy creatures, and is not afraid to fight them if they get too close,” the blond gestured at the cat’s scarred muzzle. “Neither me nor Absolon know where he got these but I doubt it was from a mouse or a bird.”

Jarle chuckled softly. “He has the look of a warrior. And a cat who can warn you of unseelie approaching would be a useful thing to have indeed. Though it is my hope we will run afoul of no such creatures during our journey- the Rabicano will be threat enough.”

The blond glanced aside, deciding not to mention the dullahan that they had met on their way to the Dun fortress. “Even if we do, I’m confident we’ll be safe,” Ivar lifted up his head. “Absolon’s magic repels them, and the lesser ones can even be warded off with this,” he pointed to the woocifix hanging off his throat before smiling humorlessly. “Nevertheless, like you, I’d rather avoid any fairy thing instead of fighting it; it’s the most safe option of all.”

Jarle looked at the woocifix curiously. “That is similar to the one Absolon wears, but his is just one feather. What is it? They both look to be made of wood, not iron or silver, yet they repel the fairies?”

“Both of them are symbols of the Woo, though his is only one feather because it is…” Ivar paused, trying to find the most succinct way to explain the concept of a monk. “He was once part of a group who dedicate their whole lives to the Woo; the single feather represents that.”

He twirled the cord from which the triple-feather hung around his fingers. “But since it is a holy symbol, the fairy know that the wearer is under the protection of the Lord Woo and attacking them is far too risky. That’s why it repels them, even though it’s simple wood,” the blond smiled. “At least, that’s Absolon’s explanation. I am not quite sure how it works myself, but it works so I do not question it further. That’s what faith, true faith, is, after all; believing even if you might not fully understand why.”

Jarle looked down at Pillow, the dog having slunk over to him sullenly. “It is easy to give trust- like an animal trusts their master. The hard thing is to keep one’s faith when they have been betrayed, or to give faith freely to another afterwards. I want to believe in your god- the stories certainly attest to his power over the Shifter of Seasons. It is just… difficult. When it is little more than a concept.”

“You’re far from the only one,” Ivar closed his eyes, sighing deeply as his hand drifted down to the woocifix again. “I can attest to the difficulty of keeping faith once it has been betrayed, and the difficulty of accepting a new one. After rejecting her worship, I threw all of my faith into the Woo because it was all I had. I desperately wanted to believe. As time wore on, I feared that might have been a mistake,” his blue eyes flickered open and he turned to look at Jarle directly. “But I was wrong. I believe now, completely and totally. You simply have to give it time, wait and believe,” he smiled. “The Woo will not disappoint you. Neither will Absolon.”

Jarle gave a crooked smile. “Well, you know him best. He is a very idealistic man; good natured, and he clearly has strong morals, but I worry that he expects far better of the world than it is usually capable of providing.”

The blond sighed, a fond smile spreading across his face. “That he does. Yet I doubt he’d be able to go around spreading the Woo’s Word if he did not believe this land would accept them. Somebody needs to believe in the goodness of this world,” Ivar sighed. “I try to bring him down to earth as much as I can, but Absolon sees the heavens everywhere. Nothing can change his mind, and believe me, there have been circumstances in which many people would have.”

“I certainly hope you are right,” Jarle said. “That I am going against my father at all and marching straight to the battle lines of the Rabicano is a tremendous amount of faith on my part as well. If he can live up to that, I imagine there wouldn’t be a man or woman in Dun Clan that would not follow him.”

“He’s already exceeded the expectations of Clan Roan, and not just Roan. I don’t believe he’ll disappoint you,” Ivar nodded. “For what it’s worth, we’re both grateful for the chance. I certainly am.”

“As am I. I am sorry you had to go against your father to help us” Absolon emerged behind them, bowing his head to Jarle before going to sit by Ivar’s side. “And I swear, as long as the Woo is with me, I won’t waste that chance.”

Jarle nodded his head in acceptance before saying dryly, “For now, perhaps you could take a look at Pillow’s nose. Much though he deserved to get scratched, I’d prefer him not to get the cuts infected digging in the dirt.”

Absolon blinked. “Why, what happened?” His eyes widened and he glanced first at Jarle and then at Ivar, trying to get answers.

The blond laughed. “Snowflake happened. Pillow tried to get a little too friendly with him,” Ivar gave the cat another scratch under his chin, to which Snowflake responded by languidly closing his eyes. “Don’t let him see you working on Pillow; he’ll never let you out of his sight again. I’ll keep him distracted but be quick.”

“Alright,” the younger man said with more than a hint of amusement in his voice. He stood up and walked over to the dog, kneeling by his side. Lifting up Pillow’s head, Absolon examined the scratches, which as he suspected were superficial at worst; it would be an easy fix. He took out his wand and pointed the tip at the dog’s muzzle. “Episkey.”

Green light flowed into the cuts, knitting the flesh together. It only took a second but when the glow had faded, the scratches had disappeared, leaving Pillow’s nose intact again. The dog grinned up at Absolon, licking his hand as if in thanks. Absolon grimaced, closing his eyes briefly against the snot-green that suddenly stained his vision. He snatched his hand away, wiping it on his robes to get rid of the drool. Once that was done, he put his wand back into the holster and patted the dog on the head before going back to sit next to Ivar.

Seeing him, Snowflake leapt out of the blond man’s arms and patted over to Absolon, climbing up onto his knees. He stopped suddenly and his tail twitched before he pressed his muzzle against Absolon’s hand, rubbing against it vigorously, a treatment the cat applied also to his legs and his wand holster.

Ivar shook his head, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. “Can’t have you smelling of the dog, clearly.”

“Poor Pillow, so unappreciated,” Jarle remarked, reaching towards the dog and scratching behind his ears. “At least you’ll always have me, hm?”

Pillow wagged his tail frantically, as if in agreement. The dog pricked his ears suddenly, turning to face the gathering gloom beyond their camp, and a few seconds later Jarle heard what the sharp-eared dog already had; the sound of a wolf howling. It was joined by a second, then a third, and soon a whole chorus of voices were ringing over the mountains.

“Heh,” Jarle gave a small smile as he continued to scratch Pillow’s ears. “Seems our hunt brothers are in a good mood tonight. It’s not a hunt song, at least I don’t think so. Just a pack song. Singing because they can.”

“So we should be safe,” Ivar said. Though his tone was confident, his hand nevertheless hovered an inch closer to the dagger hanging off his belt. Snowflake, meanwhile, jumped off Absolon’s lap, his fur standing on end.

“H-hopefully,” Absolon grimaced slightly, shutting his eyes out against the deep gold that had suddenly invaded his vision. He prayed for a break in the sound, just long enough for his vision to clear, but the wolves kept singing. When one paused for breath, another picked up its part, meaning the deep gold continued to permeate his eyes.

Ivar frowned, immediately catching on to what was going on. Rotating his body around, he dug his fingers into Absolon’s hair, taking care to position his wrists over his ears. The younger man relaxed a little as the sound of the howls gave way to the burgundy beating of his beloved’s heart. Smiling, the blond pulled his head a little closer and began to hum. It was a simple hymn that Absolon had taught him, without even words, but they were unnecessary. Ivar’s indigo voice, combined with his heartbeat, was enough.

Jarle watched this with eyebrows raised, waiting until it seemed like Ivar was done before speaking. “You don’t care for the wolves howling then? We’ve always considered it a pleasant sound. Dun Clan reveres the wolf as the masters of these mountains, and any among our people who can hunt a wolf without anything save a knife no longer than his hand is a hero worthy of great respect. They wear a wolf’s fang on their neck, and like the wolves we sing a special song in their honor.”

“You mountain men and your customs,” Ivar said, his mouth quirking sardonically before he shook his head. “I don’t mind the howls, we had wolves in our forests too, but Absolon...sometimes the colours of sounds get too much for him, or the colour of one sound is unpleasant. I suspect it’s the latter, since it isn’t too noisy right now.”

Only when the wolves had stopped howling did he remove his hands, letting Absolon go. The young man carefully opened his eyes, blinking to get used to the light of the fire again. Taking a deep breath, he leaned back, giving Ivar a nod of thanks before turning to Jarle.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said quietly. “I’ve never liked the colour of wolf howls, and when it was continuous like that, I couldn’t stomach it.”

“I’m sorry to hear,” Jarle replied, genuine sympathy in his voice. “Usually hearing a pack singing while on a journey is good luck, and among our people we would sing as well to show our thanks to the hunt brothers, but if you don’t care for wolves I shan’t for your sake.”

Absolon blinked, looking directly up at Jarle. “Do you sing?” He asked, his voice betraying more than a healthy dose of curiosity.

Jarle looked surprised by Absolon's interest, then he chuckled and rested his palms on his knees, closing his eyes.

"Far away o'er hill and vale
Flash of teeth, flag of tail
Following the hart's scent trail
Never falter, never frail

Oh, hunt brother sing to me
Show me the way that I should be
Submit your pride to nobody
Wild, strong, brave and free

They sing their song into the mist
O'er all the moon has kissed
Through the trees they dash and twist
No matter what, they will persist

Oh, hunt brother sing to me
Show me the way that I should be
Submit your pride to nobody
Wild, strong, brave and free

But that which makes them lords of all
To strike lynx, bear and man with gall
Victory even should one fall
Never silencing their call

Pups born in the spring adore
Stand strong together peace to war
Secret we of Dun adore
Love and trust forevermore

Oh, hunt brother sing to me
Show me the way that I should be
Submit your pride to nobody
Wild, strong, brave and free!"

Jarle's resonant bass voice, already somewhat melodic in speaking flowed smoothly in song, somehow becoming even deeper. Its corresponding colour too, became richer and deeper in hue, resembling the darkest shade of a fine red wine. It filled Absolon’s vision and he closed his eyes, but unlike with the wolves, it was an expression of pleasure; he did not want his surroundings to distract him.

Only when the song ended did he open them back up. Glancing sideways, he saw Ivar smiling slyly at him, clearly recognising how much he was enjoying the sound. It was only then did Absolon realise he was leaning forward towards Jarle and sat back, relaxing.

He sat silent for a few moments, his mind mulling on the colour, before the young man lifted his eyes up to Jarle. “That was wonderful,” he murmured, smiling. “Both the song, and your voice. They were beautiful.”

“As beautiful as my voice?” Ivar asked, his tone gently prying but not without a tone of humour.

“Well, yes but...you’re special, Ivar,” Absolon blushed, glancing sideways at the blond man. “It’s not a fair comparison.”

Jarle bowed his head. “Thank you, regardless. I appreciate the compliment. As I’m sure our southern neighbors would attest, singing is a very valuable skill for our people, since it affords a way to pass the time and keep our spirits up through the long, dark months of winter. I’m afraid most of the songs I know are hunt songs, however, which may not be to your taste since you don’t like violence and killing.”

“Ah, yes. I’m sorry,” Absolon bowed his head. “You’re right, I probably would not be able to enjoy your voice fully that way.”

“There’s a very easy solution to that though,” Ivar chuckled softly, touching the younger man’s shoulder. “Why don’t we teach Jarle some other songs? Southern, Roan ones or…” he glanced up at the Dun. “Wooist hymns, if you’re in the mood for those.”

Absolon gasped, his brown eyes widening. “Oh, yes, please,” he smiled at Jarle. “I would love to hear you sing those, especially with your voice!”

“Hymns?” Jarle echoed. “What is a ‘hymn’? Is that a word from the southlands?”

“It is,” Absolon nodded. “It’s a song, except written in praise of Lord Woo. It’s usually sung in a church,” he paused. “That’s a building dedicated to the Woo’s worship.”

“Ah, I see,” Jarle nodded. “It must be nice, having a god so kind that your people have an entire class of songs dedicated to praising him.”

“We have to find some way to show our gratitude to the Lord Woo for what he does for us, after all,” Absolon replied, lowering his head. “Though they are still beautiful even if you don’t believe, for their music if nothing else. If you want to learn one…”

Jarle clicked his tongue, seeming to ponder the idea. Then he nodded, “If you would teach me the words, I would like to learn. Though hopefully you have some translated into our tongue since you’ve started your mission.” He gave a wry smile. “Unless you’d like to hear me make a mockery of yours trying to emulate unfamiliar sounds.”

“No, we won’t force you through such torment,” Absolon shook his head before settling into thought. “I’ve been working on a translation of the Book of Woo, but precious few hymns. Your language and mine sound so different, it’s almost impossible to keep the tune and carry over the rhythm. But…” he smiled widely at Ivar.

The blond caught his eye and laughed, covering his face in embarrassment. “Absolon, no, they’re not ready yet. I still want to tweak a few things, especially before singing them to a Dux’s son.”

“Please?” Absolon murmured, his fingers brushing against Ivar. “I’ve heard them and they sound perfect. At the very least, you can get an opinion from somebody who is not me.”

“Alright,” the blond turned his head to Jarle. “The tune is from the Roan lands, so I’m not sure if you know it. Have you heard of a song called ‘The Forest Sleeps’?”

Jarle shook his head. “I have not, but I’m certain I could pick it up without too much trouble. You compose, then, Ivar?”

“I do,” Ivar nodded. “Picked it up when I was a boy to pass the long, lonely winter nights, and I’m glad I did.” he stood up, dusting his tunic off before looking down at Jarle. “I’ll hum the tune first so you can pick it up and then sing the lyrics? Then you can try those.”

The Dun nodded, ruffling Pillow’s ear absently. “Sounds reasonable.” With a sardonic expression and a slight incline of his head he added, “Teach, oh master, and I will learn.”

The blond chuckled and cleared his throat before first humming the tune as promised. It was slow and relaxed, posing no difficulty in catching the notes and tempo.

Once Jarle had picked up the song, Ivar drew in a deep breath and paused for a moment. He mumbled some things under his breath before lifting his head up and beginning to sing.

Once we clansmen of the north,
Knew only fear and freezing earth.
Inside our bellies, hunger clawed,
The only gift of our cruel god.

But like the dawning of the sun,
Word of the Woo to spread begun.
In our hearts, a once-dead hope grew,
And up to you, our voices flew.

We call to you,
Through the frozen air
Hear us, oh Woo,
In our northern prayer

We raised our arms up to the sky,
So you may hear us from on high.
Though we were not of your own kin,
In your fair eyes, this was no sin.

A fire was lit from your holy spark
To chase away the cold and dark.
With your love, our people you bless.
And to you, our faith we profess.

We call to you,
Through the frozen air
Hear us, oh Woo,
In our northern prayer

Kept warm from the cold winter night,
We are safe in your sacred light.
Shelter us beneath your white wing,
Until comes the first thaw of spring.

We call to you,
Through the frozen air
Hear us, oh Woo,
In our northern prayer

Jarle listened, intrigued. “You are indeed a talented lyricist,” he remarked. “Perhaps if I might hear it once more?”

Ivar nodded and proceeded to launch into the song again, this time with far more enthusiasm. After a second repetition, the Dun listening with his eyes closed and occasionally mouthing along as if to affix the lyrics in his memory, Jarle gave a firm nod. Then, when Ivar began to sing for a third time, Jarle’s low bass rose beneath Ivar’s baritone, their voices rumbling together like thunder if thunder could have been given the power of song.

Not only did the two sounds harmonise but the dark, almost black, wine colour of the Dun’s voice was a perfect compliment to the deep indigo that was so characteristic of Ivar. The tones blended together, filling Absolon’s vision with a rich, vibrant royal purple that enhanced the already pleasant sound of the singers. Before he even knew it, he closed his eyes and leaned back against a nearby rock, basking in their voices as a cat would bask in sunlight.

Only a few moments after the two had finished singing and the colour had faded did Absolon open his eyes. He gazed up at the two men, his mouth curled into a wide, delighted smile.

“That was beautiful,” he said quietly, almost reverentially. “You both looked and sounded beautiful.”

“Oh, we looked beautiful, eh?” Ivar chuckled.

Absolon went slightly pink. “I meant...the colours of your voices, they...”

The blond grinned, walking over to him. “I know what you meant, don’t worry,” he leaned down and pecked Absolon’s cheek, to which the younger man responded by blushing even harder. Ivar seemed even more amused by his reaction but did not tease his beloved further, instead standing back up and turning to Jarle. “So what did you think?” he folded his arms. “Did my song move you to sudden spiritual understanding of our Lord Woo?”

The Dun gave a slightly awkward laugh. “Well it was enjoyable. If this is how your god is repaid for his kindness in the world, I can see why he would have devotees. Regretfully, I must yet think on the issue. I want Her power broken in the north as much as any, but I cannot change my own heart so easily.”

“Ah, well, I suppose expecting my lyrics to inspire instant devotion is giving myself too much credit,” Ivar shrugged, grinning before waving his hand at Jarle. “It’s alright. Most people are hesitant at first; you’ll come around in your own time.”

“The Woo would not force anybody to come to Him, not until they were ready” Absolon nodded, looking up at the Dun. “Even if you don’t come to worship Him, I still appreciate what you are doing for us. To undertake such a dangerous journey and offer your assistance to us is more than enough as far as I’m concerned.”

Jarle smiled wanly. “Thank you- I appreciate the sentiment. Though on that subject, perhaps we should get some sleep- we’ve a long ways to go yet.”

“That is probably for the best. Except-,” Absolon took out his wand, murmuring an incantation. Several green lines as thin as horsehairs shimmered into view around them and wrapped around the group in a dome before fading from sight, as though they were never there in the first place.

The young man smiled at a job well done and returned his wand back into its holster, in time to free his left hand to suppress a yawn.

Ivar smiled, leaning over and putting an arm around his beloved. “Well, now we’ll know if anybody tries to get to us, so you best get some sleep,” he glanced around at both Absolon and Jarle. “I think we’re all going to need as much as we can get it.”

Jarle watched the spell settle inquisitively before nodding, “Right- good night then; at dawn we move on.”

Part Four

SPOILER: Click to show

It was hard going, travelling to the border of the Dun lands.Though strictly speaking it wasn’t a very far distance, having to wend around the mountains meant that the trip took far longer than it might have over flatter territory, and the near constant slope of the land made the trip an exhausting one to boot. Occasionally the trio would stop for the night in a small village, but most of the time no such convenience was available, and they had to camp in the wilds. As Jarle had indicated, it was very rocky land, and they passed few if any farms. Most of the people in the Dun territories were either shepherds or hunters, very poor even by the standards Absolon had come to expect of the northern clans. However, they were also a hardy people, proud and staunchly refusing to show the fear they all had to be feeling over the encroaching Rabicano invaders.

In spite of their relatively poor homeland, the Duns that the group stopped with were remarkably generous with what little they had. They could not generally afford their visitors a full belly, but at the very least they would offer them something- potatos, perhaps, or goat cheese. Jarle usually took these gifts with his thanks, and would vanish for a few hours to return with freshly killed rabbits or pheasants for their hosts. When asked about this he explained to Absolon and Ivar that it was just tradition- the clan had to look out for its own, and though there was very little to go around they made sure to share it all equally and ensure everyone could rely upon everyone else, since there was no telling when one who had plenty might suddenly find themselves the one in need. “When all you have is nothing, there’s a lot to go around,” he added dryly.

It was a sentiment that both of his companions could appreciate. Before long, they too picked up on Dun’s habit of returning the generosity they were given. Though they had nothing material they can give- neither felt confident enough to hunt or gather in this strange land- they found other ways to help their hosts. Ivar took it upon himself to help them with various household tasks, from preparing and cooking the animals Jarle had caught and helping store the extras for the winter to making various repairs around the home where they were staying. Absolon too, helped with repairs where he could, though unlike Ivar, he relied more on his magic than craftsmanship. His skill as a healer, however, came in useful as it had done in Eo. The Dun clan led a hard life and it was all too readily reflected in their injuries. In those cases, Absolon was more than willing to assist and often, people were grateful to him for fixing in an instant a wound that would have otherwise taken months to heal. Snowflake too, did a small share of work by killing the rats and mice of the house, though that benefit was purely incidental to the cat’s hunts for nourishment.

They also took the opportunity whenever they could to speak to the people they met about the Woo. Usually it was during the evenings, after they had eaten their evening meal but before it was time to sleep, when Absolon retold them stories from the Book of Woo or Ivar sang one of the hymns he had written.

Eventually, when they reached a fairly sizable village, and Jarle gave the announcement his companions had been anticipating and dreading; they were almost to the battle lines. Another two or three days travel would bring them to the borderlands that were slowly and steadily being eaten away by the Rabicano.

Absolon could not help but shudder when he heard the news. He had known about clan conflicts and had seen plenty of awful things during his time in the north but for the first time, it struck him that he was going to be at an actual war front, with all the horrors one might witness there. Of course, the Woo would protect him and see him through this challenge, just like He had done with every other task He set before Absolon. Nevertheless, the young man found himself reaching for Ivar’s touch to soothe his nerves, something the blond was more than happy to provide.

“We should probably stay here for a short while to gather all the provisions we need for our journey,” Ivar remarked to Jarle before giving him a sardonic smile. “If Clan Rabicano are anything like you describe them, we’re probably not going to find much in their territories without resorting to theft.”

“Likely not,” Jarle agreed, absently stroking Pillow’s head as he spoke. “We cannot ask these people to part with their supplies on charity, but you have both already proven yourselves skilled enough to pay them back for what they provide, if you are willing to do so again.”

“Of course. I don’t mind a bit of hard work,” the blond turned to Absolon, smiling slyly. “And he certainly never minds helping people with his magic, or misses the chance to preach the Woo’s word for that matter.”

Absolon blushed, at which Ivar’s grin grew wider. “It’s true though,” he murmured, leaning closer to the younger man’s shoulder.

“It is, but when you put it like that…” Absolon’s eyes flickered down to the ground and back at Ivar.

The blond man laughed. “You are too modest,” he planted a small kiss on his beloved’s cheek before pushing himself up off the ground, standing up. “We best not waste daylight hours though. I don’t know about you, Jarle, but if there’s work to do, I’d rather get to it while I’m still fresh.”

Their supply run proved a bit more challenging here than it had further into the interior of Dun lands. The people were wary, suspicious, often unwilling to bargain with anyone but Jarle himself, who was a member of their clan and the Dux’s son besides. But they weren’t hostile, at least not openly. Just clearly very, very afraid.

As midafternoon came along, Jarle found himself bargaining with an elderly woman who’s nephews were the village fishermen, and who kept a huge drying rack behind her house with which to preserve the fish. She had no living children of her own- only an orphaned granddaughter, whose mother had died in childbirth and whose father had apparently been slain two years before by a kelpie.

The child, it transpired, was their means of convincing the old woman to part with some of the salmon and trout hanging from her drying rack.

“Igne has been ailing for over a week now,” the woman fretted, wringing her hands. “She’s hot as an oven, her breath is crackling in her chest, and she moans that there’s a monster sitting on her chest, crushing her bones. Naturally nobody will come near, thinkin’ maybe the unseelie have cursed her, but really now, she’s a child. She’s in pain and delirious- I have seen no monsters.”

At the thought of a little girl, scared and suffering while others around her say she has been cursed, Absolon found his heart rising into his throat. “I’ll take a look at her, and I swear by the Woo’s name, I’ll do everything in my power to heal her!,” he exclaimed almost as soon as the old woman had finished her story. He walked briskly ahead, only stopping to look back at her when he realised he should not enter her house without permission. “Please take me to her and I’ll do my best to figure out what is ailing her. Please, as quickly as possible.”

The woman was clearly startled, and she glanced towards Jarle dubiously. The Dux’s son gave a lopsided smile. “The man is very eager, but he means what he says. He will do his best to heal your granddaughter.”

She bit her lip, but then nodded. “Very well then- if you are truly the Bringer of Spring, I will believe that you can do this thing.” She gestured, leading the men into her cabin. Inside, the little girl in question was huddled on a pile of furs on the floor in one corner, another fur on top of her. She was flushed, sweating, and as her grandmother had explained, her breathing was jagged and rasping.

Absolon only needed one look at the girl to know what was ailing her. He had seen it plenty of times, in Eo and on his travels around the clans: pneumonia. His face contorted into a wince, both in sympathy for the child and at the grey-yellow wheezes that came from her mouth every time she took a breath.

Shaking his head to dismiss the thought, he turned back to the two who had followed him inside, his eyes in particular alighting on the blond man. “Ivar, take Snowflake- if you can find him- and go out into the forest. I’m going to need the ingredients for both a cough suppressant and the fever reducing potion.”

His companion grimaced. “I don’t know if we can find chestnut around here.”

Absolon closed his eyes as the girl took another gasp for air. “It can be substituted. The most important thing is yarrow, and I did see some on our way. You know what we need and what can be substituted,” he lifted his head up to the blond, meeting his gaze. “Please. If you can’t find an ingredient, we’ll figure something out. Just...try, for me.”

Ivar thought about this for a moment before nodding. “Alright. Pray to the Woo for me. I’ll be back before nightfall,” he shot Absolon a smile before giving the old woman a shallow bow and exiting the hut.

Absolon watched him leave before turning back to the girl, stepping closer to her bed and looking her over. Steeling himself against her coughs, he turned back to her grandmother and Jarle. “While we’re waiting, could you get some water and a cloth for her? It’s a mundane thing but it will help a little with her fever until Ivar comes back and I can make the potions.”

“There’s a cistern out back,” the child’s grandmother remarked. “I’ll draw a bucket of water.”

The old woman turned and walked out of the cottage, and as the door creaked shut behind her, Jarle folded his arms, clicking his tongue absently. “I think I recognize this- we see it a lot in winter, though it normally vanishes with the first thaw. To see it so late in spring, no wonder the villagers are whispering of an unseelie curse.”

“Perhaps, but she’s little and I don’t need to tell you that little ones are more prone to illness. Poor her,” Absolon murmured, kneeling by the child’s bed. He touched the handle of the wand in his holster, trying to think of a spell, any spell to ease the girl’s pain while they waited. Cooling her was not the way to go; the fever was necessary for healing and her grandmother would return soon with water to ease her thirst.

Shaking his head, he gently put a hand under her back, trying to get her up but to no avail. She was too heavy for him to budge with only one hand. Absolon turned back to Jarle. “Could you help me shift her into a sitting position? It will help with the cough.”

Jarle approached obediently, wincing slightly as the child gave a shallow cough that set her whimpering. He knelt beside the mage, and gently propped up Igne. Her eyes fluttered open, but they were filmy and unseeing. “Papa?” she rasped blearily, making Jarle wince. He didn’t reply, but he did gently brush a hand through her sweaty hair to comfort her.

“Should I hold her, or prop her against the wall?” he asked softly, though as he was speaking Igne whimpered again and burrowed her face against his chest.

“N-no,” Absolon shook his head, biting his lip as he watched the little girl cuddle against Jarle. “Leave here where she is. She needs the comfort and you won’t catch her illness anyway.”

He sat still, watching Igne as she clung on to the Dun. Taking out his wand, he pointed it at a spare blanket lying beside the girl. “Woogardium Leviosa” Absolon murmured. The blanket rose and he carefully manoeuvred it over to cover her back, preventing her from getting more chilled. This would have to do until her grandmother and Ivar returned.

Placing his wand back into his holster, Absolon sat down on the bed behind the girl. “I am sorry, Jarle. This must be especially hard for you, since you have a daughter around her age.”

Jarle gave Absolon a wan smile. “But you’re going to save her, right? She won’t have to die. That’s why you do all this, isn’t it? So that no more children will have to die pointlessly.”

Absolon was silent for a moment before lowering his eyes. “I am not all-powerful, Jarle. Even with my magic, I cannot guarantee that I’ll save her,” he raised his head suddenly. “But I’ll do everything I can for her, and if Ivar comes back with the right ingredients, she’ll have the best chance I can give her. I’m not giving up without a fight.”

The Dun met Absolon’s eyes for a moment, then he looked down at Igne again. “Death is the final, dreamless sleep from which we never wake. I suppose for some that would almost be a relief, because it would mean that they are no longer haunted by the nightmares of their life’s traumas. But for such small children, who have barely gotten to live at all…”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Absolon murmured, swallowing a lump that suddenly rose up in his throat. He could not help but clasp his hand over his stump, murmuring a prayer for the souls of all those children who had died, whether it be in her clutches or simply of cold, starvation of sickness. Still remaining in a praying position, he sighed. “I can understand that, however...wanting death, I mean, to stop the nightmares of life. But for a child...a child should live and be happy. Not have to go through the horrors of life before their time.”

He shivered, pressing his elbows against his chest as the memory of the water that had taken his parents engulfed him. “I would not wish that on anyone.”

The Dun’s expression took on a light of confusion. “You speak as if you know of wanting death very intimately, Bringer of Spring.”

“I do,” Absolon pressed his hand against his sternum. “The winter before I faced her, the colours got so bad that I could barely hear or touch anything without pain ripping me apart inside. It’s...it’s the real reason why I went to fight that deity that day,” his voice lowered to a whisper. “I wanted to die without it being a sin.”

“You wanted Her to kill you,” Jarle said softly. “But she didn’t. You defeated her instead.”

His words were cut off by the return of Igne’s grandmother with the water. She set it down beside Absolon, murmuring that she would be outside with her nephews if he needed her again before she walked back outside. Jarle turned his attention back to Absolon. “You… were afraid your god would punish you for killing yourself. But how? Once death claims you, there is nothing else.”

“Not if you believe in the Woo,” Absolon took a cup from a nearby table and dipped it into the pail that Igne’s grandmother brought. “Lord Woo guarantees a space beside Him to all of His followers after they die as long as they have not committed a grievous sin. Taking a life given by the Woo, even your own, is one,” he leaned closer to the girl before stopping. “Jarle, mind uncurling her from you so I can get her to drink? Or better, maybe you could give her the water yourself, since she seems comfortable with you?”

“I can try,” he agreed, accepting the cup from Absolon’s hands. It took several minutes of coaxing, but he finally managed to get the child to accept a few sips of the water. She almost immediately lapsed back into semi-consciousness, and he set the cup down beside himself. “I’ll try again in a few minutes. I don’t want to push her too hard.”

He glanced up at Absolon, his lips drawn thin. “So that is why you disapprove of us fighting the Rabicano to protect ourselves. Because your Woo abhors killing.”

“Yes,” Absolon nodded immediately before lowering his head. “I know sometimes there is no choice, but I would rather try to find some other way before violence becomes an option.”

He swallowed nervously. “It’s why I’m here, to try to talk to Rabicano. But if I can’t convince them...” a visible shudder ran down his spine, making him bite his tongue.

“You will never win them,” Jarle said, his voice hard and blunt. “Not if you come bearing condemnations from your god. All you will be telling them is that they must trade a deity who cares nothing for them for one who condemns them. I too have killed men, Absolon, because they had turned to banditry and were attacking my people.”

Absolon shook his head. “I’m not condemning you for that. That was in self-defence, to protect your own people, because you had no choice,” he looked up at Jarle, his eyes wide. “Killing innocents and killing men who are attacking you are different things, not just in the eyes of the Woo but even in the laws of the clans, are they not?”

He swallowed, pressing his arms to his chest. “There is far more to the Lord Woo than condemnations. There’s kindness, and protection and love but also freedom. Freedom to make the choice and decide what is right. Above all, the Woo forgives. Even if you made the wrong choice, it isn’t too late,” the young man was almost breathless now. “He will forgive anyone who asks for it.”

Jarle averted his gaze. “And what of those who are already gone? Who die before they have the chance to be forgiven? Or someone who gives insincere remorse for actions they in no way regret?”

Absolon pondered this. “You can pray for those who are gone and hope the Woo will hear you and forgive them. But those who are insincere...” he shook his head. “He would know.”

Jarle gave no reply to this, his eyes clouded. He turned his attention back to Igne, clicking his tongue as he stroked the child to smoothe away the sweat from her small body. Finally he said softly, “You confuse me, Absolon. In the same breath that you speak of your god’s goodness, and his omnipotence, you also speak of being so miserable you didn’t want to go on with life, and of trying to cheat his laws by attempting to kill yourself in such a way that it wasn’t truely killing yourself. I want to believe, but I am not sure what to really feel.”

Absolon smiled a little. “The Woo is good and kind, but many challenges are ones we need to overcome ourselves. For me, belief in Him is what gave me the strength and the hope needed to not reach the level of despair until that fateful winter. When I did, that’s when the Woo intervened; when hH took the source of my misery away so that I would not want to die.”

He ran a hand through his white hair, closing his eyes briefly at the memory, of the light and in particular the sudden absence of pain. When it had passed, Absolon once again looked up at Jarle. “I want to break her hold on this land, and that is my reason for spreading the Woo’s word,
but I also want to share with others the faith and hope that He gives me,” he met the Dun’s gaze. “But you may believe and feel what you deem right, Jarle, whether it is only for now or for later. Lord Woo may be omnipotent but He gave humans free will to decide what is best for them. That includes you too.”

Jarle looked down at the young girl in his arms. “Absolon, you are a very idealistic person. I admire that, but in some ways I also pity it. Because eventually the world is going to disappoint you. That is ultimately why your words are so hard for me to understand and take to heart. They ring false with the reality I inhabit every day of my life.” His eyes clenched shut. “I cannot ask your god to forgive me for that for which I can never forgive myself. It wouldn't change anything.”

“Jarle…” Absolon murmured, swallowing. Carefully, he stretched out his hand and placed it lightly on the Dun’s shoulder, blinking slightly at the rough grey texture of his clothes. “The Woo will forgive you no matter what, but you are right: to get that forgiveness, the most important thing is to be willing to forgive yourself, eventually. But no matter what you did, it is not something that is unforgivable,” he smiled. “Perhaps that and everything else you said does make me an idealist, and perhaps the world will disappoint me eventually, but until that day comes to pass, I will keep striding on with my ideals. I have to, if I am to finish what I started.”

“Then for all of our sakes as well as yours, I hope the fortunes are kind to you,” Jarle said simply. He turned his attention back to the child, adding, “These people need you. And deserve your help far more than I do.”

Absolon pondered this, opening his mouth before closing it again and nodding. “Nevertheless, Jarle, I am very grateful to you for all the help you have given me and Ivar. I will not forget that. As for your good wishes, I shall entrust that to the will of the Woo,” he replied gently, bowing his head.

His brown eyes swept over Igne and, upon noticing she had begun to look uncomfortably warm again, Absolon took out his wand and pointed it at the child. After whispering an incantation, a tiny green light flared at its tip before going out again. As it did, a soft breeze began to blow around Igne, ruffling her hair and the beads of sweat that had pooled on her forehead.

“That should help her feel a bit more comfortable, at least until Ivar comes back,” Absolon said, placing the red wand back into its holster. Please Woo, speed Ivar along. Let him come back soon so I can help this child.

***

It was a few hours after Ivar had returned with the herbs and Absolon dosed the child with a medicine for her fever. Snowflake arrived soon after, carrying the remains of a young rabbit, but seeing the girl’s plight, he hopped up onto her bed- wisely leaving his prey behind- and curled up next to her. With the vigil over her secured, Absolon and Ivar had stopped for a meal briefly- Jarle having taken it in turn to go into the forest to chop some firewood for a pigkeeper in exchange for some jerky from his stores, Pillow trailing loyally after- when a scream for help rent the air.

Absolon almost dropped his food as soon as he heard it, closing his eyes as the shrill red sound flooded them. Grinding his teeth, he immediately shut his eyes in an attempt to stop it overwhelming him.

Ivar’s reaction upon noticing his distress was immediate. He grabbed the bowl of porridge and the spoon Absolon was holding, allowing the latter to cover his ears to help reduce the level of noise that was currently blinding him.

“Should we go?” the blond asked, gesturing in the direction the scream came from. “Maybe help is needed?”

Absolon thought for a moment before nodding, still keeping his hand and stump of his arm tightly clasped over his ears. Ivar placed a comforting arm around him and the two men moved as quickly as they could towards the cries for help.

It didn’t take long to locate the source, for one of the buildings in the center of the village was belching thick, black smoke from its windows. An ash-coated boy who looked to be no more than fifteen darted out with an empty bucket, gasping as he pelted towards the well nearby.

Absolon’s stomach dropped out from under him as he beheld the scene. In an instant, he turned to Ivar, eyes wide.

“Cover my ears,” he cried. “I need to focus.”

Ivar obliged, moving to stand behind Absolon. As soon as the mage removed his hand and arm from his ears, he covered them with his own, drowning out the screams and cries for help, leaving Absolon free to cast.

He took out his wand from its holster and held it out, pointing it towards the fire. A standard Agwoomenti wouldn’t do to put out the fire.

“Agwootempet,” he said. A torrent of water drawn from the air formed around the burning building and crashed down upon it like a wave against a cliff, soaking it. Absolon repeated the spell again until the fire had been completely extinguished by the magically drawn water.

The villagers, standing off to one side, gawked at Absolon, awe written plain on their faces. A man staggered out from inside the building, soaked to the skin, with his clothes clinging to his muscular frame and his long, dark hair hanging drippingly over his eyes.

“What on earth-” he sputtered, falling backwards into a sitting position and coughing.

Breaking from Ivar’s grip on him, Absolon rushed towards the man, kneeling down beside him. “Are you hurt?” he asked frantically, his brown eyes dashing over the exposed parts of the man’s body, checking him for burns. “Woo, I didn’t think there was still someone in there.”

“I w-was trying to stem the f-fire,” the man said, rubbing his face vigorously as if to try and scrub off the water. “What happened, what manner of fell fairy magic was that?”

“It wasn’t fairy magic, it was Wooist magic. My magic,” Absolon bowed his head. “I didn’t have time to think, I’m sorry. I thought it was the best way to put out the fire,” he muttered a quick incantation under his breath to dry the man’s clothes. “Hopefully this makes up for it.”

The man stiffened as the water evaporated from his clothes, hair, and skin, sky blue eyes going wide. Then he relaxed, slightly, understanding dawning on his face. “You’re him, then. The Bringer of Spring. My apprentice said you was in town, but I didn’t have time to look.”

“Well, I came to you instead,” Absolon smiled a little before looking behind the man at the building behind him that still had wisps of steam curling off it. “What happened here?”

The man winced. “Got a bad metal mix on the iron. It was impure. Cracked while I was handling it and still cherry red, and fell on a pile of wood for the forge. Went up like a struck match before I could blink.”

“Great Woo…” the mage murmured before breathing a small sigh of relief. “You don’t seem to have any burns or other injuries at least. You’re lucky,” he lowered his eyes. “I pray your forge is fixable too. If there is anything I can do to help with repairs…”

The man sighed, rubbing his face. “There’s a nasty hole in the roof, and it’s scorched along the inside, but shouldn’t be beyond repair. You needn’t trouble yourself, sir, you’ve already done enough for me.” The man moved to stand, wincing as he took in the saturated exterior of the forge. “I’ll have to take out anything that needs to dry off, though.”

“We can help with that at least,” Ivar exclaimed, stepping forward and offering his hand to the man. “I’m sure it won’t be any trouble.”

“Not at all,” Absolon shook his head, standing up to stand beside Ivar. “We’re here to help anyway, it would be silly of us to turn our backs to you now,” he smiled at the blacksmith. “And perhaps I can do more with my magic for you. May we take a look inside your forge?”

“I suppose so,” the man agreed, turning towards the building with a beckoning gesture. “At this point I think I need all the help I can get. It’s just me and my apprentice mostly, and with times being as they are…”

“That’s why we’re going to help,” Ivar said, accepting the man’s invitation to come inside. Absolon followed him, stepping through the low doorway and into the forge itself.

The building did not do much to make itself stand out from the other Dun dwellings that they had been in on their way to the border. What distinguished it were the typical tools of the trade of a blacksmith scattered around in various places around the forge, all varying degrees of soaked thanks to Absolon’s efforts to put out the fire. The remains of burned wood that had started the fire lay by the far wall next to the furnace, surrounded by charring, smoke marks and other damage from the fire. Most notable of these, as the blacksmith had mentioned, was the hole in the roof.

Absolon approached it first, taking out his wand and examining the hole. As he did, however, something caught his attention. Frowning with confusion, he turned back to the blacksmith. “Some of this roof looks newer than the materials around it,” he said. “If it is not prying, has this been repaired before?”

“Aye, along with the walls,” the smith admitted. “This forge has been in the village for generations, and fire’s a bit of an occupational hazard. All it takes is one ninny apprentice not paying attention, or one impurity creating a weakness in the iron for disaster to happen.”

“I see,” Absolon replied absently, turning back to looking over the burn damage. He bowed his head, lost in thought for a moment before turning back to the blacksmith.

“Back when I was learning magic- apprenticing, I guess- at the monastery, they took us to study rune chains- the things that make up a spell, like letters in a word. They did that by showing us the rune networks around the chapel that would keep it fireproof even if one of the many candles in there was knocked over. I still remember it well,” he admitted with an embarrassed smile. The few other mage boys at the monastery had found the exercise dull but Absolon had loved it: not only did he have the quiet of the chapel to work in but he had also become fascinated with how the runes interlinked with each other, weaving together a single, functioning spell. “Would you mind if I placed that spell on your forge? That way, even if accidents do occur, it won’t be a disaster again.”

The man looked surprised, then wary. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? What if the magic attracts… them? They’ve a barrow very closeby, or so the tales go.”

Absolon blinked, confused. “Do you mean the fairies?” he shook his head. “Woo’s magic usually repels fairy creatures, not the other way around,” the young man placed a hand on the wooden feather hanging off his neck. “I promise you, upon the Woo’s name, your forge will be safe from fire and whatever things lurk around here.”

“Forge isn’t what I’m worried about,” he admitted. “It’s so full of iron the seelie wouldn’t come inside. Just… the magic drawing their ire to the village is all. Makin’ ‘em twitchy.”

“Unseelie run from Absolon’s magic, and as for seelie, we’ve been travelling these lands for a while now and we’ve not had any conflicts with them so far. I’ll vouch for his powers,” Ivar told the blacksmith, stepping towards him and grinning up at Absolon. “And if somehow we’re both wrong, you can come back here and fix the damage too, can’t you?”

“I…I suppose,” the young man murmured. “If we have time.”

The man shifted uncomfortably, clearly not entirely reassured by Absolon’s noncommittal answer. However, eventually he nodded. “Alright. If you can protect the building from catching fire again, that’d be a tremendous help.” Glancing at Ivar he added, “Meantime, I don’t suppose you could help me get my things out into the sun so they can dry?”

“Of course. I might as well do something useful while the mage works,” Ivar said with a laugh and flashed Absolon a smile, an action which caused him to blush a little. He immediately turned away and began to work on the spell, sketching out the runes in the air using light from his wand.

The blond, meanwhile, picked up the nearest thing to him- a cloth in which the blacksmith’s hammers were wrapped up, and began to heft it towards the exit. As he did, he turned to the man, who had also began to take his things out. “Fairy barrows and the Dun/Rabicano border? You certainly have interesting neighbours.”

“Keeps us on our toes for certain,” the smith agreed, dragging a grass stuffed cloth that appeared to pass him for a mattress. “The fairies don’t usually bother us none, but there’s stories of villagers who went out trying to find where the barrow is and never came back, so we try our best not to provoke them. Wish the human enemies were so easy to avoid trouble with.”

Ivar sighed. “The humans are the ones that give you the most trouble? That doesn’t surprise me,” he returned into the house, carrying some of the man’s cookware and bowls. “You’re lucky at least you have seelie living beside you. If they were unseelie, like they were in my village, you’d have to deal with two sets of raiders. Though at least fairies can be repelled easier than rival clans.”

The man shuddered. “Not sure if unseelie or the Rabicano are worse. My sympathies.” He looked around then lowered his voice. “Is it true then? That the Bringer of Spring is travelling with the Dux’s son to stop the Rabicano march?”

Ivar grinned widely. “It’s all true,” he nodded eagerly at the blacksmith. “That’s why we’ve come all the way out here, to see what can be done about them. And something will be done. Jarle is a capable man, and I have my utmost faith in Absolon.”

“If you can get them to stop their march, it will be a miracle,” the smith said fervently. “If you can get them to turn back over the lands they’ve taken, I will fall on my knees before this god of yours.” His voice hitching slightly, the man said, “My daughter. She married the son of the village elder three days west of here. I don’t know what’s happened to her.”

Ivar swallowed, freezing in place as he took in the man’s words. “I’m sorry. I pray that she is safe, wherever she is,” he placed a hand on the smith’s shoulder. “But it is not too much to hope for a miracle, not with the Bringer of Spring doing all he can to make one materialise,” the blond man smiled. “Fireproofing a forge is the least of what he is capable of. Mark my words, his power is enough to make the seelie blush.”

The smith raised his eyebrows. “I count us all fortunate he’s on our side. But… thank you. And good luck.”

“Thank you,” Ivar smiled and nodded. “I’d be stupid to say we’re not going to need it.”

Part Five

SPOILER: Click to show

Once they’d managed to finish helping the smith fireproof and dry out his forge, Jarle, Absolon and Ivar were offered shelter for the night at the home of the village elder, who managed to produce enough furs for a few respectable sleeping pallets.

Jarle left Pillow outside, not wanting to impose a dog upon the elder’s hospitality. Well trained since puppyhood, Pillow agreeably settled in front of the building when commanded and was more or less in exactly the same position he’d been left in when Jarle checked in on him right before the trio of humans and Snowflake retired for the night. The Dun didn’t even bother to tie the dog up, confident that he would remain in his place without such measures.

It was well past midnight, but well before dawn, when for the first time since Absolon and Jarle had known the animal, Pillow started to bark. Loudly and rapidly, snarls interspersing the dog’s bellowing calls.

Absolon awoke with a start and immediately had to cover his ears to protect them from the red barks and black snarls that assaulted his senses. His scramble out of the furs sent Snowflake flying off him and awoke Ivar, who had been curled up under the same furs. The blond, hazy from sleep, automatically reached out to Absolon next to him in order to comfort him before he too, heard the barking. Despite the fog clouding his mind, he instantly pieced together the connection between it and the younger man’s distress. Without wasting time, he wrapped an arm around Absolon and rested his other hand on his waist, urging him to follow without saying a word.

“Jarle, what’s going on?” he shouted to the Dun. “What is wrong with Pillow?”

The cat, meanwhile, had run towards the door of the hut but immediately, his ears flattened and his back arched, ready to attack. It was as though he had detected a fairy presence, except Pillow did not bark at all at fairies.

The Dun, already on his feet and grappling with his pack, snapped, “That’s an alert- he’s trained never to bark unless there’s an attacker nearby. Hurry, we’ve no time.”

Without waiting for a response, Jarle yanked his battle axe out of the pack, then shot out the door. Pillow’s calls immediately fell to a low growling as his master came within viewing distance. However, the dog’s silence made it possible to hear a far more ominous sound- shouts, shrieks, and the unmistakable clang of metal.

With Pillow’s barking subsided, Absolon removed his hands from his ears and immediately, the noises of the battle washed over him. He gasped, his eyes widening but immediately, he turned and grabbed his wand from where he had hung it before rushing back towards the door. Ivar was hot on his heels, clutching his dagger and their cloaks, stopping only to pin Absolon’s around his shoulders. The younger man swallowed and muttered a quick prayer to the Woo above for protection before taking Ivar’s hand and stepping outside together into the early morning air.

They entered a scene of chaos. The village was swarming with armed and armored men, wielding spears and swords that they were already putting to deadly use on the Duns. Even as Absolon and Ivar watched, a man was stabbed through the middle with a spear as he tried to run away, and he immediately fell to his knees with a cry of agony. A woman was slashed down the chest as she stood before the door to her house, begging and pleading for mercy for her children.

Jarle was already running towards the raiders, sticking his fingers in his mouth to give a sharp, short whistle. Pillow shot forward like an arrow loosed from a bow, the normally docile dog reaching the first raider in his line of sight- the man who had slashed the woman in the doorway- and leapt. The man had just enough time to turn in surprise before the dog’s jaws closed over his neck, and he fell backwards with a gurgling cry.

Absolon froze, his face twisted into a silent scream as he beheld the carnage. He was not sure what he was more shocked by, the raider’s cruelty or the dog he had known for a while now as a sweet, gentle creature suddenly turning so vicious. He did not even notice the raider approaching him before a piercing red scream ripped through the air, followed by a loud carmine hissing as Snowflake sprung on to the man and began claw at the attacker’s face. It proved enough of a distraction for Ivar to get behind him and slash the man’s throat with his dagger.

Seeing the blond stand over the now limp body of his attacker, Absolon felt like he had just had a bucket of cold water dumped over him. Ivar met his gaze, his jaw clenched together.

“We have to stop them,” he shouted. “You have the power, Absolon, do something. Me and Snowflake will protect you.”

The young man nodded blankly before blinking and swallowing, forcing himself to concentrate despite the shock and the noise of battle which flashed in his eyes like sparks from a fire. He drew his wand and ran forward, closer to the action, and pointed it at the ground.

“Glacius!” he cried and a layer of ice coated the earth beneath the raiders’ feet. Not enough to put off men used to the northern cold but hopefully just enough to slow them down.

Jarle, seeing this, glanced backwards at Absolon in confusion before refocusing his attention ahead. The raiders seemed to have identified Jarle, Ivar, Absolon and their animals as able combatants, because several of them were converging on the five. The forerunners slipped a bit on the ice, windmilling their arms, and Jarle took advantage of the distraction to slash the nearest in the arm with his axe, making the man cry out and drop his sword. A second blow to the neck was sufficient to dispatch him.

Meanwhile, another of the men- Rabicano soldiers, they had to be- had managed to skid across the ice field and was aiming his spear at Snowflake, having apparently seen the cat help down his comrade. Before the blow could land, however, Pillow launched himself at the raider with a sound more like a banshee shriek than anything canine. The dog plunged his fangs into the raider’s wrist, wrenching his aim away.

Ivar took advantage of the man’s weakness and plunged his dagger into his chest, sending the Rabicano falling down on to the ground. The cat’s back arched and his fur stood on end as the raider fell so close to him but upon noticing Pillow, he relaxed and gave the dog a single meow. There was no time to get comfortable, however, as more raiders closed in, and Snowflake once again plunged his claws into their most vulnerable spots, going for unprotected skin to hurt and disorient his enemy.

Absolon, meanwhile, cast a quick Protegwoo around the five combatants, creating a faint greenish shield around the them. A raider swung at it but his axe recoiled, much to the man’s surprise. Taking advantage of his confusion, Absolon threw a stunning incantation at him, paralyzing the raider to stop him from doing further damage. However, with the mass of heavily armed men closing in on them and his shield’s energy only temporary, they needed more of an advantage.

“Ivar, Jarle, grab Snowflake and Pillow, cover their eyes and close yours!” he shouted, raising his wand up above the group.

Jarle glanced in Absolon’s direction briefly, but only for a split second before his attention refocused on the danger ahead. He gave a sharp whistle, and Pillow loped towards his master and stood, snarling and bristling, at the Dun’s heel. He knelt beside his dog, placing the hand that wasn’t holding his ax over Pillow’s eyes and clamping his own closed.

Ivar did the same, hugging Snowflake close to him and shielding the cat with his own body. Once he was sure all of his companions were safe, Absolon lifted his wand up as high as he could and shut his own eyes.

“Lumos Maxima,” he murmured.

A bright flash of light emanated from his wand, shredding the darkness like a wolf shreds an animal’s pelt. Their eyes having become accustomed to the night, the Rabicano raiders stood no chance. Many cried in agony and clutched their faces, suddenly finding themselves blind.

“Ivar, Jarle, now! Go!” Absolon cried and aimed his wand at a nearby raider. “Iwoobulus.”

Jarle, blinking somewhat at the flash that had pierced through his shut eyelids, didn’t need a second telling. He stood, whistling again for Pillow and diving into the fray, ax at the ready. Still stunned and reeling from the flash of light earlier, the raiders were unprepared for the assault, and scrambled back as he felled one after another.

Whichever ones Jarle missed or managed to get away were soon set upon by Ivar. Though his dagger was a far less efficient killing tool than the ax the Dun wielded, he made up for it by striking either at the raiders’ throats, between their ribs or slashing at their arms or legs to disable them. Snowflake aided in this task greatly, fearlessly latching on to the raiders and clawing at their faces, their arms or legs, providing enough of a distraction for somebody far more deadly to finish them off. Indeed, the only mercy came from Absolon: all he did to any raider who came at them was merely paralyze them with a quick spell.

“Fall back!” one of the men cried, waving his spear in a circle in the air. “The fairy is too strong, fall back and regroup! Archers, cover our retreat!”

“Archers?” Jarle panted, taking a stumbling step after the retreating Rabicanos only to stop short with a gasp of pain as his side seared from a laceration that a lucky spearman had managed to inflict upon him in the chaos. He put a hand up to his torso, wincing again as it was almost immediately saturated with blood.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of yellow-orange flit through the darkened sky-

“Fire!” Ivar swore loudly. “Absolon! They started a fire!”

At the flash of indigo suddenly filling his eyes, Absolon whirled around and immediately gasped as he beheld the first flickers of flame rising up from a nearby house. He had only a moment to comprehend it before he spotted Jarle, still standing but obviously struggling with a wound. Torn between going to help his friend and saving the village, an idea suddenly struck him.

“Ivar, the forge! Take the villagers to the forge!” he shouted. “The spell I cast should keep it from burning!”

“What about you?” Ivar called back. “We need your help in putting out the fire.”

“I need to help Jarle first,” Absolon replied, already speeding off to the side of the injured Dun. The blond glanced back at him, concern flickering across his face before he made up his mind and ran to where the flames were. Snowflake, surprised by the sudden lack of attackers, paused for a moment, wondering where to run, before choosing to head after Absolon.

It took Absolon only a moment to see the deep wound in the other man’s side that had been inflicted on him. He murmured a Protegwoo spell, casting a green shield around them both to stop any stray arrows or attackers coming near them. Involuntarily, he winced as the strain of the Pull crept past his wrist but stopping the use of magic was not a choice, not now.

“Absolon, my duty as future Dux is to my clan,” Jarle snarled, trying to push the mage’s wand away. “Leave me, help them!

“I am not leaving you. This will only take a few seconds,” Absolon replied, pointing the wand at the Dun’s injury. “Vulnera Sanwootur.”

Jarle clenched his jaw a little, but seemed to realize Absolon wasn’t going to be dissuaded and that he would only waste more of both their times continuing to fight him. He allowed the tendrils of green to sink into the laceration on his side, knitting the edges of the flesh together until the wound was far thinner than it had been to start off.

As the green light faded, he put a hand over Absolon’s. “That’s enough, friend. Come on, we have to hurry.”

Absolon did not even think to argue. Any further healing could wait after the village was no longer burning and, Woo willing, the Pull has subsided slightly. Placing his wand back into its holster, he hitched up his robe with his left hand and followed Jarle in the direction of the flames, Snowflake hot on their heels.

Ivar was already there, directing those who were too sick or infirm to fight the fire in the direction of the forge. He turned sharply as he saw Jarle and Absolon, a look of visible relief passing across his face. “Glad you’re alright,” he remarked to the Dun. “But this is bad: their archers set several buildings on fire and it’s already spread. Everyone’s doing all they can to stop is going further but damage has already been done.”

Jarle nodded, his mouth thinning. He turned to Absolon, absently petting a tense, quivering Pillow as he spoke. “Putting the fire out at this stage is probably not possible- we’ll have to let it burn itself out. But if we can soak the nearby buildings, we can keep them from going up as well. Can you still help?”

Absolon flexed and unflexed his one remaining hand and bent it back and forth at the wrist experimentally before nodding to Jarle. “I can,” he reached into his holster, wrapping his fingers far too tightly around the wooden handle of the wand in order to stave off some of the strain in his hand.

There was a light touch on his arm: Ivar. His blue eyes had an edge to them; clearly Absolon’s gestured had not escaped his notice.

“You’re alright to-”

“I’m fine. It’s only past my wrist,” Absolon replied, shaking his head. “I have the power and I need to do this,” he glanced down at the cat by his feet. “Pick him up though. He’s best out of the way.

Ivar removed his hand and scooped up the cat into his arms, holding him tightly in case he tried to wriggle away. Absolon took his wand out, lifting it high into the air and cried “Agwootempet.”

As he spoke the spell, he swept his wand out in a broad stroke in front of the fire. Water sprung into being in a wide band, soaking all it landed upon. He repeated the spell several times, each time directing the water in a different direction around the fire until the buildings surrounding it were well and truly soaked. Gasping from the effort, he reached out and dug the stump of his right hand into his forearm to try to ease the feeling of being pulled.

“What’s going on?” Jarle demanded. “Are you injured?”

“No. Between the forge and this battle, I’ve simply used too much magic today,” Absolon explained. “There’s limits to my power, you see. Don’t worry; some sugar and rest and it will go away in time.”

“I see,” Jarle replied, his brow knit with concern. “You should take Snowflake and head to the forge- see if there are any people there injured who need help. Ivar and I can keep looking for anyone trapped or lost in the smoke.”

“Right,” Absolon confirmed.

“Will you be alright? With the Pull, I mean?” Ivar asked, glancing down at his arms.

“It’s not as bad as it could be. If it gets to my shoulders, I’ll stop,” came the answer. “Now go. You and Jarle have things to do.”

The blond man nodded and placed Snowflake down, who immediately ran up and rubbed himself against Absolon. With that, Ivar went to Ivar’s side, waiting for his instruction. Absolon, meanwhile, strode towards the forge as quickly as he could, not wanting to linger in case somebody did need his help.

Entering the forge, he immediately began to assess the situation. The building was full of people, some of them standing, pacing, others sitting with their heads in their hands. Close to the entrance, the old woman from earlier was sitting with her ill granddaughter, Igne, held tight in her arms. The woman looked up when Absolon entered the room, and her eyes flickered with recognition.

“My nephew,” she warbled, her age roughened voice cracking from smoke inhalation. “Please- he was stabbed-”

She indicated a man sitting not far from her, though he was slumped over against a nearby woodpile and his eyes hung at half-mast.

Absolon did not even need to be told twice. Immediately, he kneeled down beside the man, examining him for wounds, though it did not take long for him to find the deep, gaping hole in his side. This was going to be a long night but he could deal with the Pull. The wounds these people endured at the hands of the raiders were no doubt worse.

He pulled out his wand and pointed it at the man’s injury. “Vulnera Sanwootur.” With a faint green light, the wound began to knit together.

Part Six

SPOILER: Click to show

Eventually Ivar and Jarle joined Absolon in the blacksmith’s forge, carrying a final few Duns on their shoulders as they came. Those with minor injuries were treated the old fashioned way, to save on Absolon’s magic, but given the situation the mage was still very pulled by the time all was said and done.

His spell held, however, and the fire didn’t touch the forge. A few of the villagers even managed to fall back to sleep, although Jarle remained antsy and his dog tense for several hours until exhaustion finally drove him into a light doze.The same could hardly have been said of Absolon, who collapsed on to Ivar as soon as he had finished casting and immediately fell into a deep sleep. Ivar remained awake, absently stroking his beloved’s hair and hand in a sleepy daze but like Jarle, he was too anxious from the day to be able to enjoy a restful sleep until much later. Snowflake, however, once he cleaned himself of the blood, dirt and smoke he had acquired during the battle, slept as soundly as he did on any other day.

By the following morning, the fire in the village seemed to have burned itself out. The Duns slowly began to emerge and assess the damage, the trio of travellers not far behind the early risers.

“Looks like it took out part of the forest too,” Jarle noted, his voice soft as he looked around. “That’s… bad. We need these woods for hunting, gathering nuts and berries, wood to keep warm in the winter…” He glanced around at his companions. “I need to asses this. See how bad the damage is. I’ll have to report it to Father once I’m back in Nez-Gata, in case he needs to send out an appeal to the clan for help for these people.”

“Shall we come with you?” Ivar asked. “Two pairs of eyes are better than one and we can cover more ground if we’re together.”

“May I also join you?” Absolon chimed in. Biting his lip, he looked away, down at his left arm. “I’ve still not fully recovered from how much magic I used up so I cannot help the villagers with major repairs, but I can keep watch for danger and stave it off while you run,” he shuddered. “Those raiders are still out there.”

“Raiders...and with the villagers being so scared of the local fairies, we could probably use Snowflake’s help,” the blond man laughed softly and gestured at the cat who was at that moment winding around Absolon’s legs. “And we both know who he is most likely to follow.”

Jarle smiled wanly. “Alright, if you’re sure.” As he started towards the burnt out forest he added, “I think the men we saw last night were not part of the main front- that is supposed to be days away still. Likely they were scouts. Slipped past Dun lines to test the lands beyond for weaknesses they could exploit.”

“So they know we’re here…” Ivar’s mouth thinned.

“That’s good,” Absolon said firmly. “If they know about us, they’ll know about me. That should make it a little easier to arrange a meeting with them,” his shoulders drooped at the thought. “He still did not know what he was going to say to the Rabicano chief and last night had not buoyed his confidence in their mercy.

“As far as I could glean, they seemed to think Absolon was a fairy,” Jarle said. “I heard a few of the men calling him that as they retreated. It was dark and he was behind you and me, Ivar- they might not have seen his white hair or missing hand and put together that he was the Bringer of Spring.”

“So we still have some element of surprise,” Ivar snorted. “Whether that benefits us or not, we’ll have to see.”

“I’d rather they knew,” Absolon stated. “I need every scrap of this reputation that we can use.”

“And you’ll have plenty of time to prove it to them when we meet them,” the blond man’s hand slipped into his and he smiled. “By then you’ll be back to full strength too: enough to stun them into silence so they can hear what you have to say.”

Absolon was not so sure but nevertheless, he leaned his head on Ivar’s shoulder, taking in the strength of his presence. “I hope you’re right.”

“I hope he is right too,” the Dun murmured, his shoulders tense as he surveyed the destruction around him, the village by now a distant dot through the trees. “That village would have been lost last night without your help, Absolon. It pains me to admit but… I do not think Dun Clan can win this war. Not in the long run. If you cannot convince the Rabicano to stop, Dun may not exist anymore by the time the Shifter of Seasons expects her tributes.”

Absolon’s shoulders suddenly felt very heavy. It was not like he was unused to difficult tasks- converting the north to the Woo’s way was hard enough- but preventing an entire clan from being overrun by a neighbour through his own words and deeds was a new thing completely. He could only pray the Woo would give him guidance, as He always did, but they were rapidly running out of time and He was still silent.

“I will convince them,” he finally said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. “For your sake, Jarle, for the sake of all the villages we’ve gone through, for your family, for your clan…Woo willing, I will.”

Jarle opened his mouth, clearly meaning to reply, however anything he might have said was cut off by a loud, protracted hiss. Snowflake had suddenly gone tense as a bowstring, the cat’s fur fluffing up on his spine and his back arched. At Jarle’s side, Pillow too had gone stiff, the dog’s head held low and his hackles up as he growled.

Metal scraped against leather as Ivar drew his dagger and positioned himself almost reflexively in front of Absolon, his blue eyes fixated on the spot at which the two animals were displaying aggression. Absolon swallowed, his concern about the impending Rabicano meeting drowned by the immediate danger they were in now. He took out his wand and quickly murmured a prayer to the Woo to keep them safe.

“More raiders?” he whispered.

“Very quiet raiders if they are,” Ivar replied and carefully took a step forward, holding his dagger in front of him.

Jarle shook his head, his ax also drawn. “Not raiders. If it were human enemies Pillow would be barking to try and scare them off. Which means-”

Before the Dun could finish his sentence, the very air around the trio distorted. A white mist rose up from the earth below, and the air around them went cold. Jarle swore vehemently, yanking his iron bracelet off his wrist with his teeth mere seconds before the enemy appeared.

Wolves- six of them, massive creatures as big as a draft horse and white as freshly fallen snow. With every movement of their bodies they seemed to leave an ethereal imprint in the air behind them that took several seconds to vanish, and they’d surrounded the travelers before they had time to blink.

“Great Woo almighty,” Absolon whispered under his breath. Ivar’s words were far less reverential.

Snowflake hissed, his spine arching as far as it would go and every hair of his white coat standing rigidly straight and yet he could not hold a candle to the size and might of those wolves. The cat knew that, which is why he pressed himself against Absolon’s legs, practically stepping on his feet.

“What do we do?” Ivar asked him, pressing himself against Absolon’s back. “Mine and Jarle’s weapons are iron but…”

“Fairies are best fought with magic,” Absolon replied. “I’ll distract them. Ivar, Jarle, get through their ranks and run.”

Raising his right arm, he held the feather hanging off his neck aloft using the stump of his arm, looking the wolves in the eye. “Get back. In the name of the Woo, get back,” he cried to them, trying not to shake where he stood. He had never encountered fairies like this before, Woo even knew if His holy items would work on them.

One of the wolves bared its fangs, a low, echoic voice that was more than half snarl coming from its direction. “Silence, Son of Man. Your god is a foreigner in these mountains, and your words have no weight here. You get back, unless you wish to lose your other hand.”

Absolon winced, slightly disoriented by the colour of the fairy’s voice: dark green with more than a hint of a wolf’s yellow howl. He swallowed, slowly lowering his arm, letting the feather fall against his chest and as soon as the colour cleared, held up his wand.

“Ivar, Jarle, on my signal,” he whispered.

“And you?” the blond man asked, more than a hint of worry in his voice.

“I’ll run too,” Absolon replied and pointed his wand at them, “Protegwoo,” he whispered, casting a thin protective ward around them but keeping it attached to him so it would move with them. Then he pointed his wand at the wolf closest to them and opened his mouth to cast the next spell. “Everte-”

However, before the mage even finished his incantation, the wolves recoiled, fur bristling. The speaker took a step forward, yellow eyes flashing as it hissed, “Man-creature, how came you to control this power? Your kind feeds its magic to the Time Tree- we have seen this for centuries beyond measure.”

“All because they mistook them for our own children,” another wolf, this one with a voice that stained Absolon’s vision a combination of yellow and dark crimson, stepped out of the pack. “So explain to us, Human, how you possess power which even your own kind admit belongs to us?”

The mage’s spell died in his throat and for a moment he just stood there, paralyzed like a rabbit. “Well…uhh…” he stared up at them, his eyes wide. “I was born with it. I came from a land which nurtured its mages, because magic is…uhh…well, the Woo gave it to humans.”

“You come from a land that reveres magic as a gift from your god, yet you stand and defend these humans who fear it and feed it to their god?” the first wolf asked. Turning to Ivar it added contemptuously, “This one stinks of her.”

Ivar flinched as though he had just been struck with a whip. “How did you..?” he scowled. “That was a long time ago. A lifetime ago!”

It was Absolon’s turn to move in front of Ivar as he stared the wolf straight in the eye. “Leave him alone. He has repented for his sins many times over,” the mage said with more of an edge to his voice than usual. “I defend these people because I hope to stop them sacrificing children to their god, and I am doing that by getting them to listen to the words of my god, a god who does not take sacrifices. A god who cares enough for His people to give them magic.”

The fairy curled its lip, however anything it might have said was cut off when Jarle took a menacing step forwards. “What do you want from us, fairy? You are not unseelie- you don’t need to eat us.”

The other fairy snarled at him, its hackles rising. “Don’t you lecture us, human! We tolerate your kind when you come into our woods and take what meagre things you need for your survival but the fire you let loose into the forest last night came close to scorching our barrow. Our home!” it bared its teeth. “We’ve already killed a host of your kind. All it would take to end your lives would be to bite your heads off where you stand.”

Jarle went as pale as milk, his eyes widening. The barrow- all the legends warned against disturbing a fairy’s barrow, lest you incur the wrath of the most powerful beings within. And if they’d already killed… The raiders; they killed the Rabicano raiders!

Attempting to temporize, Jarle stammered, “Th-that was Clan Rabicano. They started the fire. My people are innocent in this!”

“Your factions and borders are meaningless to us,” the first fairy spat. “Regardless of who started it, it takes two to fight a war, and when your war threatens our home-” it clicked it’s teeth menacingly, and the other wolves around the group snarled. “There can be no war if the humans fighting it are all dead.”

“Wait! Please, wait!” Absolon cried out, holding his arms out at length as if trying to hold the wolves back. “We’re not here to fight. We’re here to try to make peace between Clan Dun and Clan Rabicano, to end this war for good. We mean you and your barrow no harm, quite the opposite,” he glanced between the fairies. “Don’t kill us, please, I beg you. We’re only trying to help.”

“No harm?” the fairy spat, seeming to double in size. “You dare speak of the pathetic man-creatures meaning our people no harm? What of all the blood, you stupid mage? The magical blood that stains their hands, blood they assume to come from our children? Every year they murder three children, giving them to the Time Tree, and many they do thinking the children are ours!”

Absolon choked as though somebody had just thrown a noose around his neck. “T-three?!” he managed to gasp out, his eyes wide.

“That can’t be,” Ivar shook his head. “Every other clan we’ve encountered only sacrificed children as a last resort. If my own clan did that I would know, given what you’ve said about me,” he glared at the fairies. “It isn’t true.”

The second fairy gave off a harsh, bitter laugh, which in its wolf form exposed far more teeth than the three humans were comfortable with. “And what reason would we have to lie to you, Human? If we wanted rid of you, we wouldn’t use flowery words like your kind do. We would kill you.”

The blond man’s hand clenched into a fist and he spun around towards Jarle, his blue eyes burning with fury. “Explain this,” he snarled.

Jarle recoiled, his jaw clenched. “Isn’t that why you’ve been making this journey? To stop the sacrifices? You think I don’t realize how sick it is, why do you think I’ve been helping you? She doesn’t give us a bloody choice!”

“So you throw your children at her without even considering any other options? One child every few years is bad enough but three, every year, regardless of whether the harvest and the hunt is good or bad?” spittle was practically flying out of Ivar’s mouth. “What kind of monsters are Clan Dun?”

“Harvest?” Jarle repeated, sounding genuinely bewildered. “What harvest? Ivar, have you had your eyes closed this whole time? Where have you seen a scrap of arable land this entire journey? My people can’t give the Shifter of Seasons a harvest they don’t have! As for hunting, if we hunted enough to satisfy Her hunger the animals would all leave our forests and we’d starve to death. I admit myself envious if the lowland clans are so rich in resources that they can give their food away, but here in the mountains such would mean starvation! I hate it as much as you do, it makes me sick and angry but we have no choice!”

“I can’t accept that, Jarle, I just can’t!” Ivar shook his head, clenching his fists. “If you were so determined to save your own children, you would find ways! Instead of simply shrugging, admitting defeat and accepting the bloodshed!”

“Stop it,” Absolon murmured, his wrists pressed against his ears.

The blond man, however, did not hear him: his attention was fixed on the Dun. “If you knew- if you knew what she did to children, if you saw how she fed, like I did, you would recant those words,” he ground his teeth together. “But I suppose it’s nice to be able to shut your eyes and pretend this gristly thing is not happening around you!”

The Dun’s silver-blue eyes flashed with outrage, and before Ivar had time to respond Jarle’s fist connected- hard- with the Roan’s jaw, making him stumble.

“You,” Jarle hissed, his body practically vibrating with fury, his eyes shimmering with moisture, “know nothing about me.”

Ivar spat out a gob of saliva and blood on to the ground and pressed his hand tightly against his jaw where he had been struck, staring death at Jarle. For a moment he remained silent, in shock, before lifting up his own fist. “If that’s how you want to do it-”

“No, enough!” Absolon suddenly leapt between them, that moment of silence giving him just enough time to recover. He grabbed the blond man’s hand, clenching it in his. “Please…don’t fight him. Jarle has helped us so much. We would not have made it this far without him. Why does it matter if it’s one child or three, that is still far too many! We share the same goal, we’ve shared a journey with him, so please…” the mage cuddled closer into Ivar’s chest. “Please, don’t.”

At his touch, it seemed like a jolt passed through Ivar. “You’re right…of course, you’re always right” Tentatively, he put his arms around Absolon. “I lost my temper. I’m sorry.”

Absolon smiled, turning his head so he could listen to his beloved’s heartbeat before looking up and Ivar. “It isn’t me you should apologise to.”

The blond man nodded and looked up at Jarle, thoroughly cowed. “I’m sorry, Jarle. I shouldn’t have said that,” letting go of Absolon, he slowly and carefully approached the Dun before bowing deeply to him. “You’re right: I don’t know anything about you or your experiences. What I went through does not give me the right to judge you.”

Jarle’s shoulders slowly lowered, and he looked away. “There is no condemnation you can fling in my face that I haven’t thought myself a thousand times over. There is a reason I don’t ask for forgiveness of your god. I don’t want it- I don’t deserve it.”

There was a low, pointed cough. “You three done?” the fairy asked sarcastically. “Because your damage is not our problem, nor do we care about your personal spats.”

“Additionally,” the second fairy growled, baring its teeth again. “Give us a reason why we shouldn’t kill you where you stand anyway for what happened to our barrow, and for what your kind do to our children.”

Absolon slowly turned around to look directly at the second fairy who had spoken, his face pale and his breath hitching. “Because...because we can help you?” he clasped his hand over his stump. “If we can make peace between the clans of Dun and Rabicano, I can spread the Woo’s word. This war would stop, and better still, if the Woo is worshipped instead of her, the sacrifices would stop. There would be no more killing of children, human or otherwise,” the mage dared a small smile. “Everyone would benefit.”

The wolves traded glances, the first speaker finally retorting, “And how do you intend to make them stop? What is your plan, little magic man, that we should put our trust and the fate of our barrow upon.”

“I…” Absolon lowered his eyes. “I planned to use my magic. To convince them to listen to me. Clan Rabicano knows who I am; perhaps they would let me speak.”

The second of the fairies tilted her head but even on its wolfish face, it was easy to identify the signs of skepticism. “And how exactly do you plan to use your magic, human?”

“...That I don’t know,” he finally admitted.

“So in other words,” the wolf bared its teeth. “You are wasting our time.”

Absolon shook his head frantically. “No, no, I am not, I swear. I will figure it out, just like I figured it out what to do with her- the one you call the Time Tree. The Woo will guide me, He always has.”

“We are not of your Woo, boy,” the first fairy scoffed. “Mere moments ago you proved that by threatening us with his mark. You want us to stay our fangs from your flesh? Give us a plan, not a vague assertion of faith and the implication you intend to march up to the enemy camp and make it up as you go along.”

Jarle, still not looking at either of his companions but instead down at his still bristling dog, spoke up then. “He will need to impress them. Show them magic powerful enough to give them pause, to make them question if killing him outright is a wise thing to attempt. If he can get them to hesitate, he can get them to listen.”

The mage nodded fervently. “Yes. I do know some magic powerful enough to catch their attention. If I could do the same as I did during the raid, except even bigger-”

Absolon stopped, thinking back to the raid on the village. Before they had retreated, the Rabicanos had called him a fairy. If he had power similar to theirs and they were enough to scare the raiders away, then perhaps…

“You may not be of the Woo, as you noted, and my magic might come from Him, but perhaps, we can share something?” he clasped his hand over his stump, looking up at the fairies. “Please, teach me your magic.”

The first wolf’s ears shot up, and it stared at Absolon in askance. “Teach you? You want us to teach you our magic?”

“It could work,” Jarle said, his brow knit as he seemed to ponder it. “If you could create illusory images similar to what the seelie use, it might be enough to scare them into backing down.”

“Our power comes from all around- from the trees and the grass and the animals too,” the fairy cautioned. “Yours comes from within- you may not be able to work your power in the same way that we do; certainly not on the same scale.”

“I understand,” Absolon replied, bowing his head. “Nevertheless, if you would have me as an apprentice, I can try my best. I have the Woo’s power, and I am a good student when it comes to magic. If it doesn’t work…” he sighed. “I could try something else.”

“A human, learning our magic? Our way of life, our ways of defending ourselves against them?! I would sooner lose it than give it to their kind!” there was a low growl from the second wolf. It leapt between Absolon and its comrade, snarling in turn at him and at the other fairy. “You are both fools to even consider it.”

The first bared its teeth. “They outnumber us a hundred to one, Eimhir. If we go to war with them, we will win, but there will be casualties. If the man-creature wants to try and fight this battle for us, I say let him.”

“Except he wants to fight with our magic, Daimhin. Say he comes away with knowledge of our ways and uses it to win this war; what then?” Eimhir glared at Absolon. “The human will still retain knowledge of our magic. He could use it against us.”

“I swear by the Woo, I shall never do such a thing,” Absolon cried.

“Silence!” the wolf snapped its teeth at Absolon, making him flinch. “Have you not understood that your god means nothing to us? And who knows what threats he might bring down upon our kind?” Eimhir turned back to the other fairy. “At least in our barrows, we know we are safe against the Time Tree. I am not as sure this will be so under this ‘Woo’ the human speaks of.”

Jarle bristled. “You scorn my people for sacrificing children they think are yours to Her, but you would still chose Her over a god who does not threaten us with a long winter if we don’t make sacrifices? If you wipe us all out who will placate Her hunger then? You cannot draw power from the grass, trees, and animals if they all die out from a winter that never ends!”

The wolf’s head snapped around and in an instant, the fairy was almost upon Jarle, its form shimmering as it stopped with its jaws snapping shut a few inches short of his face. “Don’t you dare speak to me like that again!” Eimhir snarled. After a few minutes, the wolf seemed to resolidify again. “I would have no problem with humans killing their own brats if they did not do it with the purpose of killing our own. You hate and fear us, and your lust for land, for resources is unquenchable.”

The fairy turned around, facing Daimhin. “She keeps their population under control. If the white-haired human lets his god come to this land, there will be no room for Her. The humans will breed until they swarm across these mountains like flies on a corpse, stripping them bare. And what will happen to us? We already know how much they hate us, Daimhin,” Eimhir twisted around to glare at the trio of humans. “They would slaughter us for our land without a second thought.”

When Daimhin spoke, it was not with the snarl of a wolf in their voice. Instead it had taken on an entirely different pitch, and seemed to be reverberating from everywhere at once. “Eimhir, you forget your place. I have tolerated your raging at the humans, but I will not be spoken to as such. I am older, stronger, and far more experienced than you. I am in charge here.” Ribbons of multi-colored light seemed to flare from the wolf’s body, and the humans had to look away lest they be blinded. “Your hatred of their kind is no excuse to get surly with me, and if you know what’s good for you, you will back off right. Now. I will not give you a second warning.”

Eimhir snarled, the wolf’s hackles bristling. For a second, the illusion shimmered and began to shift before settling back into the form it held before. “Fine, Daimhin,” Eimhir looked up, glaring at the other fairy. “You’ll remember this. One day when it is too late, you’ll know that I am right,” the wolf tucked its tail between its legs and retreated into the pack, though it was impossible to miss the snarl on its face.

Daimhin sighed, turning to Absolon. “Eimhir speaks the truth about human greed and lust for land- this war is proof enough of that. This is not a decision we can make lightly. So we will consult with our Queen. They should have the final decision in so serious a matter; remember boy, for all your idealistic good intentions, you will live only a short time. Two hundred years from now the world will be entirely different, and you will be long dead with no power to influence it. We who are not bound to time must think in longer strides.”

Absolon slowly opened his eyes to look at Daimhin, having closed them when the fairy last spoke. He bowed his head to the great wolf, clutching his hand to his chest. “I understand. Thank you for at least considering my proposal,” he swallowed. “I can only pray to the Woo that your Queen places some trust in me and the Lord Woo.”

The wolves began to retreat into the trees, until Daimhin was the last one remaining. “We will be here tomorrow at dusk with your answer.”

Without another word, the fairy spun and vanished into the forest. After several seconds of silence, Pillow finally relaxed from his tense posture, giving a plaintive whine. Snowflake too, slowly deflated until he returned to looking more like a cat than a ball of fur. He stretched himself out and padded up to Pillow, holding his tail up high as he looked over his shoulder at the dog.

Ivar breathed out an audible sigh of relief before coming up to Absolon, putting a hand lightly on his shoulder. “So what now?”

“We should finish what we begun and go back to the village. Wait for their reply,” the mage replied and looked back at Jarle. “If you are alright with that, that is, Jarle?”

Jarle glanced towards his companions with a soft noise of assent, clearly still in a foul mood but trying to hide it. Wordlessly he turned back towards the forest, gesturing for Absolon and Ivar to follow.

The pair glanced at each other, wordlessly confirming what they both suspected. Ivar turned away, biting his lip and clenching his fist, guilt clearly devouring him, to which Absolon responded by taking his hand, squeezing it. The blond, however, refused to look up and simply continued on after Jarle, Absolon following behind him.

Part Seven

SPOILER: Click to show

The rest of the day passed largely uneventfully. Jarle gradually seemed to get over his moroseness, though he remained noticeably distracted in his conversations with both his companions and the Dun villagers. The trio helped the villagers to dig out the remains of their homes, see to the wounded who hadn’t required Absolon’s magic the night before, and scrounge for food after much of what they had was ruined in the blaze.

By nightfall they were all exhausted, but before sleep could claim them, there was some unfinished business that needed attending to. Ivar untangled himself from Absolon, who once again had fallen asleep almost immediately, and went over to Jarle, tapping him lightly on the shoulder.

“Jarle? Could I speak to you?” the blond man looked around the hut, which was alive with the sound of rhythmic breathing coming from several other sleeping bodies. With some huts having burned down in the Rabicano attack, the villagers to whom they had belonged to had been forced to pack into the homes of their neighbours, which included the place where the trio were staying. All well and good but conductive to a private conversation. “Mind if we go outside?”

Jarle tensed a little, as if on impulse, but after a moment he nodded. “Sure, alright.”

The man stood, wincing a little as the remains of the wound on his side twinged. He followed Ivar out around the back of the hut until they were out of earshot of the people packed inside, then folded his arms and quirked an eyebrow. “So what did you want to talk about?”

Ivar clasped his hands in front of him, bowing his head. “I wanted to apologise again for what I said to you in the clearing,” he closed his eyes. “I should not have accused you like that. The fairies struck a nerve with their comments and I overreacted to the revelation about the practices of your clan. However, it was no excuse for me being so harsh, not after all you have done for us.”

Jarle winced, averting his gaze. “I never even knew the lowland clans didn’t have the same traditions for the sacrifices- that She would accept food as an offering. For as long as anybody can remember it’s been this way.” His jaw tightened. “Late summer every year, three children are chosen from within our territory. They are taken in autumn to be… pampered I suppose you could say, over the course of the winter. A sort of empty gesture of charity to assuage our consciences.
Then, come spring… they’re given to Her.”

He closed his eyes, trembling now. “At least that’s how it’s meant to work. Sometimes… sometimes there are complications.”

Ivar had been forced to suppress his anger and his horror as he listened to the story but it was all too clear by the stiffness in his body and the tensing of his jaw how he felt. Nevertheless, he forced himself to look up at Jarle. “Complications?” he whispered, his voice straining.

Jarle looked up, his silver-blue eyes distant. “Two years ago, one of the sacrifices suddenly took ill and died, late in March. We don’t know what ailed her, although we suspect it was probably pneumonia. In winter, searching the mountains for a replacement was out of the question. Most of the normal travel routes are impassable and you’d freeze to death without shelter after nightfall. We weren’t sure what to do… then my father came up with a plan. One he did not share with me.”

The Dun blinked hard, gripping his shoulders. “You’ve met my daughter Toril. But what you don’t know is that she’s… my second born. My eldest was a little boy named Mikel.”

“Oh Woo…” Ivar murmured, his blue eyes widening as he stared at Jarle. “But why? A Dux’s son and heir…those were never sacrifices, not in my clan or any other clan we’ve passed through.”

“Mikel was born blind,” Jarle said, his voice very frail now. “You’ve probably noticed… odd tics?” Jarle demonstratively shuffled his feet audibly and clicked his tongue. “These are habits I picked up raising him. Little noise cues so he could tell where I was, or so that if there was a break in conversation he knew I hadn’t left, but that I was just thinking. But my father… he didn’t like it. He said that a blind man could not be the next Dux. That it would bring ruin to the clan. I tried to argue that Mikel was bright and clever even if he couldn’t see, but I could always tell it just frustrated Father.

“He was five, when it happened. He and I were playing out in the yard with Pillow- he gave my dog that name, because of how soft his fur is- we were playing with Pillow, and out of nowhere my father showed up with a contingent of soldiers. He said he needed to speak to me and asked if I would come aside for a moment. I never suspected. Why should I have? He was my father, Mikel’s grandfather. H-he… he told me that there were times when a leader h-had to make painful decisions. That I n-needed to learn not to put my own sentimentality bef-fore what was best for my people. I didn’t understand what he was getting at until I suddenly heard Mikel shriek.”

The strength seemed to go out of Jarle’s legs, and he fell to his knees, shaking. “H-he called out to me- ‘Daddy, Daddy, help me!’ I realized what was going on. I panicked. My sister-in-law told me afterwards that I-I managed to disable six of my father’s men, barehanded, trying to get at Mikel, before one of them clubbed me over the head and knocked me out. She told me, because I don’t remember it. All I remember was my son shrieking for me to save him, a-and then waking up days later in a bed, my h-head swathed in b-bandages and my wife s-sobbing-”

Jarle choked, his eyes streaming with tears. Ivar, however, continued to stare at him, shaking. He put one hand over his mouth, feeling like he was going to be sick for a moment before finally swallowing the bile that had risen up, taking several deep breaths as he did. Even that, however, was not enough to calm him down.

“Oh Woo…” he whispered, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Jarle. Woo, I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine…I don’t even dare imagine what it was like. Please forgive me, please, for…for everything.”

He fell to his knees in front of the Dun, his eyes filling with tears. “I did not know…I had no idea your own son was…was…” Ivar choked on a sob. “Woo, you have every right to punch me again. More than that, even.”

Jarle shook his head, blinking hard. “I… I wanted to kill myself. After it happened. I failed I let my baby die like an animal a-and I couldn’t stop it. I hated my father f-for what he’d done, but I hated myself even more. Y-you weren't wrong about me, not entirely.”

He took a shuddering breath. “Th-the stories were all I had. Even before that I’d hear them, of the man who had defeated the Shifter of Seasons and was rooting Her from the clans one by one. I held on to that hope, for the sake of my daughter and all of the other children in my clan. But it was too late for Mikel. A-and it’s too late for me.”

“No, Jarle. It might be too late for your son but it isn’t too late for you,” Ivar murmured in between sobs, shaking his head. “There is still hope, still some way of finding salvation. I’m proof of it: that anyone can find salvation.”

He took a deep breath, wiping his eyes. “Before…before I met Absolon, I was…I was trained to become one of the Shifter of Seasons’ priests, to take over from the one who lived in our village. The same year that Absolon came there, we had a poor harvest and a harsh winter, during which she died. Because we did not give that…that thing enough food, she refused to end the winter. So I was tasked with delivering the sacrifice.”

A shudder ran through Ivar, so much so he had to hug himself to not fall. “The child chosen was…was a little girl, about seven. Her mother volunteered her, claiming she was a changling child. But that girl was also Absolon’s friend. I took her to the forest, I lead her to her death, I…” he gripped himself even tighter, his fingernails digging in through the cloth and into his skin. “I cut her throat, as I was instructed. I was told it was a mercy. Then Absolon came in to save her, restrained me and healed her wound completely. Then- then she arrived.”

Ivar forced a hand over his mouth to stop himself retching at the memory. “I watched what she did to that girl. I listened to her screams and then saw that…that thing eat. And all I had been raised to do, all I had been lead to believe in crumbled. I realised what I was: a murderer, less than human, whose fate was to give children- innocents- to that gristly death. And I tried to end it then,” he sighed. “Were it not for Absolon and his words about the Woo, I would have succeeded.”

The blond man closed his eyes and lifted his head up to the sky, exhaling. “To this day, I sometimes find it hard to believe the Woo forgave me to let me worship him, or that Absolon forgave me enough to love me. And yet, they both did. Even Snowflake- Greta’s cat- seemed to grow fond of me despite the fact that I took his person away and came back smelling of her blood,” Ivar turned back to Jarle. “So if a murderer like me can be forgiven and find peace, so can a father whose child was killed against his will.”

“H-how?” Jarle whimpered, his voice cracking. “How do I find peace when every day I have to look my father in the eye knowing what he did? Wh-when I’m expected by all of clan custom to have another son, a replacement, because it is my obligation as future Dux? What right have I to salvation and paradise after my death that my son cannot share?!”

Ivar’s smile fell and his shoulders slumped. “I…I don’t know,” he murmured. “I cannot answer that question.”

“Because, Jarle, it was not you who was responsible for your son’s death,” Absolon’s voice suddenly sounded from around the corner. He stepped out towards them, looking away bashfully. “I’m sorry, I woke up after Ivar left and came to find him. I was listening in to most of your conversation.”

He sat down between the other two men and turned to the Dun. “It was your father who killed your son, not you. You loved him and fought as hard as you could to protect him. His death torments you every day, but would he have wanted you to suffer like that?” Absolon tried to smile. “Lord Woo teaches us that love is inexhaustible, that it can be given to others without devaluing what you have. He also teaches us to find solace in life instead of mourning forever for the dead, lest that mourning becomes a parasite that eats away your soul. You have grieved enough, Jarle. If you have another son, he won’t be a replacement but another child that you could love like your firstborn son. As for paradise and salvation…”

Absolon placed his hand in Jarle’s. “I do not know where Mikel’s soul is right now, only Lord Woo knows. I can only pray it is in the same place as Greta’s soul and that that place is calm and peaceful,” he lowered his voice. “I never asked, I never had to, but what do the clans believe happens after death?”

“I mentioned to you once before, though if you didn’t recognize it for what it was I guess you might have assumed I was speaking figuratively,” Jarle murmured, accepting Absolon’s hand as tears continued to pour down his face. “Death for us is sleep- an eternal, dreamless sleep. Peace in nonbeing.”

“That does not sound like such a bad fate to me,” Absolon smiled a little at Jarle. “So your son is at peace, even if he is not with the Woo. The only one being tortured by his death are those who are alive, you most of all. Your son’s death was not your fault. You did everything you could to protect him and letting your grief consume you won’t bring him back.”

He squeezed the Dun’s hand, closing his eyes briefly as colour flooded his vision. “The Book of Woo says that in the wake of a great tragedy, the best thing one can do is try to save others from falling prey to the same disaster in the future, to save them the torment that you currently feel.”

Ivar nodded. “That is how I found peace after what I did,” he added. “By trying to spread the Woo’s word so not a single other child had to be eaten by that thing.”

“That is how I coped with being unable to save Greta too,” Absolon concurred and looked Jarle right in the eye. “And that is what you are doing now, Jarle; saving other parents from having to endure the loss of their children, from having to force a future Dux to make the decision your father made. Even without considering the Woo, is that not a better way to honour your son’s memory than punishing yourself? Would he have wanted his father suffering for his sake?”

Jarle seemed to waver, shivering harder, a new level of uncertainty making his voice tremble. “It… it kept me going. The thought that when you finally came to Dun, maybe, in some small way I could help. I didn’t think it would be like this- the Rabicanos, and Father refusing flat out to listen- but anything I could have done, anything at all, was worth suffering the years of guilt. I-I don’t remember that I tried to save him. I don’t even have that comfort, s-so I wanted something tangible. Something I did remember. I w-want his life to have m-meant s-s-something!”

The man sobbed sharply, hunched over with his fists clenched in the dirt below.

Absolon swallowed and carefully put his arm around the Dun’s shoulder. “You have done plenty for us, from guiding us to giving us official support to helping us figure out what to do. Without you, we could not have made it this far. You are helping save the lives of thousands more like your son. And if you ever doubt or forget that…”

He lifted his arm away from Jarle and lifted the cord with the wooden feather off his body, instead hanging it around the other man’s neck. “Take this. If you ever believe you have not done enough to honour Mikel, look down at the feather and know that, even if our journey is not over, even if we fail, I am forever grateful to you for doing everything in your power to help me. That you have my gratitude and Lord Woo’s gratitude for helping me fulfil His task, even if you cannot bring yourself to find faith in Him.”

The Dun watched as the wooden feather swung slowly in the air below his neck, his silver-blue eyes rife with confusion. “Th-this… Ivar said this was from your home in the south. A-are you really sure about giving this to me? Something of your homeland, your childhood?”

“Yes, I am sure,” Absolon replied. “I was taught not to place value into material things, and Ivar is a skilled woodworker, he can make me a new one. But you, Jarle, you wanted something tangible. I can think of nothing better,” he smiled. “And even if you do not have faith in the Woo, perhaps His blessing will pass from that feather to you too.”

Jarle wiped his eyes on his sleeve, then slowly he shifted from his kneeling position so that he was sitting cross-legged across from Ivar and Absolon. The Dun lifted the feather pendant in his hand, rubbing his thumb across the delicately etched veins. He didn’t speak at first, seeming to be deep in thought. But slowly a gentle smile spread across his face, and he shook his head.

“I still don’t really understand your Woo,” he admitted. “It doesn’t make sense to me, that a god so benevolent and all-forgiving can exist in this world where the man I trusted and looked up to more than anyone else could betray me so thoroughly. That’s why your faith in people’s better natures has always struck me as naive. Because I have seen the very worst of what humankind can do when backed into a corner, in all it’s ugliness. I could never really take your words to heart, they stood in such opposition to everything I know to be true.”

He slowly closed his hand around the feather. “But where it seems you are naive in the ways of men, you yet seem very wise in the ways of the heart, Absolon. When you speak, something stirs me to listen. Perhaps it is merely how earnest your compassion is, but if this is the sort of person who a man becomes when brought up in the ways of your Woo… I should rather have a god who makes good, compassionate fools of men than one who creates men that are cunning, but cold and hollow where it matters.”

He gave Ivar a tremulous smile. “I still don’t understand this god of yours, but… you did say that faith was believing even if you don’t fully understand.” He rubbed his face again, more vigorously this time. “And if I am to be the Dux one day in my father’s place, I want to be an example for my people. An example of a different sort of thinking for my clan.”

Absolon could not help the enormous smile that spread out across his face. He threw his arms around the Dun, hugging him tightly, so tightly that he had to close his eyes against the colours that flared up with the touch. “You will be. You will lead your people well, Jarle, I am sure of it. With the Woo’s love and kindness, you and they will prosper.”

“Though I will ask you to take back that ‘fool’ remark,” Ivar said, chuckling softly.

Absolon glanced back at him, smiling. “It’s true though, Ivar, as you’ve noted many times.”

The blond man shook his head and reached over, running a hand through Absolon’s hair. “I am allowed to say it,” he tore his eyes away from his beloved and turned to look at Jarle. “But I pray that this will give you the solace you so desperately need. And if not...” he placed a hand on the Dun’s shoulder. “You can still take comfort from the fact that you are bringing it to others.”

Jarle had started when Absolon abruptly hugged him, but then he laughed and- briefly so as not to overstimulate the man- returned the gesture. He smiled towards Ivar, “Thank you, my friend. After what my father did, it is difficult for me to put blind faith into a thing, but… that’s what I did with you and Absolon, isn’t it? I held onto my life and my sanity in the hope that the Bringer of Spring would come to my clan and put things right here. There is much yet that still needs to be done but from what I’ve seen of you both I know you won’t give up until you’ve succeeded.”

He reached out and squeezed Ivar’s shoulder in return, then glanced towards Absolon. “What do I have to do?”

“You’ve accepted the Woo into your heart. That’s a start, Jarle,” Absolon smiled at him. “There is a ritual to be conducted, however, if you want me to do it,” he glanced sideways at Ivar. “I’ll have to borrow your Woocifix though.”

It barely took the blond man a moment to get the wooden triple-feather symbol off his neck and wrap the cord around Absolon’s right arm so that it hung off his stump. He then held out his cupped hands, creating a vessel for the water that was needed for Jarle’s conversion.

Absolon, meanwhile, removed his wand from its holster. “Are you ready, Jarle?”

The Dun watched the procedure with interest, shifting to a cross-legged position, then he nodded. “Just tell me what you need from me.”

“Nothing much, just hold still,” Absolon replied gently and pointed his wand towards Ivar’s cupped hands. “I’ll create water and then dab you with some before blessing you with this,” he held up the woocifix hanging off his arm. “If you want to think about the Woo and His word, you may, or you may simply wait until I am done. The real work will begin when you become Dux,” the mage looked at Jarle, poised with the wand in his hand. “Are you ready?”

Jarle nodded, wiping his eyes vigorously on his sleeve before meeting Absolon’s eyes squarely. “I’m ready.”

Part Eight

SPOILER: Click to show

The next day at sunset, as the three travellers and their animals warily entered the forest again, they knew that if the fairies had rejected their appeal that they were in a lot of trouble. A fairy war was the last thing that Dun needed right now. Jarle found himself absently running his thumb across the feather veins of the pendant Absolon has given him if only for something to keep his hands busy as they travelled deeper into the woods.

Though it occurred to him that if Ivar was right, the pendant would help to ward off the fairies if they got aggressive. So there was that.

Absolon and Ivar walked close together, each keeping a wary eye on Snowflake for any sign of the fairy’s presence but the cat seemed content to trot through the undergrowth, occasionally getting distracted by a bird that was singing in a low branch or a rodent scampering through the shrubbery. He seemed perfectly content, so far at least, but that was of no comfort to either of the two. Ivar squeezed Absolon’s hand, making the mage’s eyes flicker over to him but it was clear by the blond’s sombre expression that Ivar thought the same thing he did: if the fairies abandoned them, they had to confront Rabicano on their own, a prospect neither of them looked forward to. That was, assuming the fairies did not decide to kill them, like the one called Eimhir was so keen on.

They finally arrived in the clearing where the wolves had ambushed them, though at present, it was empty, without a single thing to suggest a seelie- or unseelie- presence. A glance down at the cat confirmed it: he had begun stalking something in the long grass.

Absolon exhaled. “So...I suppose we ought to wait? There is still time, isn’t there?”

“Aye,” Jarle agreed. “They might emerge once the sun has set a little further. From what I remember of the legends, seelie don’t like emerging from their barrows by daylight unless they have pressing reason. I don’t really know why, but there it is.”

He scratched Pillow’s ear, the dog equally as relaxed as Snowflake and panting cheerily. Pillow’s head briefly snapped around, but a glance revealed that his attention had been caught by nothing more than a squirrel darting up a nearby tree.

“The unseelie around our forest did not like daylight either: the shorter the days, the more dangerous they became. If they’re similar creatures, it only makes sense it applies to seelie too,” Ivar shrugged, his eyes darting between the two animals, watching them for any signs of unease. “I suppose all we can do is wait.”

“You think they’ll come though?” Absolon asked, his voice wavering. “Their queen might have decided that it was too dangerous to trust me.”

The blond man put an arm around his shoulders, hugging him closer. “They will come. It’s in their interests to trust you too, remember that.”

“Such confidence,” a cool, echoic voice remarked, as at the same moment both Snowflake and Pillow went stiff and bristly. “One might almost be tempted to call it arrogance, were it from the mouth of the one we are presumed to require.”

From amidst the trees emerged a single figure- not a wolf, but a person. A human, at least at first glance, though more than a half-second’s focus would reveal the individual as anything but. Their body was aquiline and slender in a way that seemed feminine, but with a chest flat as a board and no particular prominence of the waistline as was typical of human females. Their skin was so pale they might have been a statue carved from ivory, with waist length hair that rippled between deep ebony and pure silver depending on the light. The yellow wolf’s eyes were replaced by unnaturally large, pupilless orbs that glowed a soft shade of blue from within.

The person was dressed in armor of black, with a translucent cape draped back from their shoulders that looked almost like the wings of some sort of insect, though none that existed anywhere on earth. They quirked an eyebrow at the startled humans. “What, did you think I wore the seeming of an animal because it was my preference?”

“Ah, no, we did not think any such thing,” Absolon stammered, hastily bowing to the creature before looking up at them, studying them in more detail. He swallowed, his hand automatically leaping to the space where the feather would have hung from his neck before he forced himself to lower it. “Are you one of the seelie we met yesterday?” the mage took in a shaky breath. “Has your queen given her answer in regards to us?”

“My name is Daimhin,” they answered. “I was one of the two seelie who spoke with you yesterday. My compatriot Eimhir has been asked to remain behind lest they do something… rash. The others stayed behind because their presence was not necessary.”

The fairy walked closer to Absolon, only to have his path blocked by an angry white cat. Snowflake hissed at Daimhin, the scar on his muzzle curling. His spine arched and his fur standing on end, he swatted at the air in front of the fairy, claws out: a warning to not come any closer.

The fairy looked down at the cat in surprise, then they actually laughed. “Such courage from so small a thing. You have shed the blood of many unseelie in your short life, haven’t you?” The fairy looked up at Absolon. “Reassure the little warrior that I am not an enemy- your petition has been approved by my queen, so your cat has no reason to fear me.”

The mage’s face broke out into an unrestrained smile. “Thank the Woo,” he gasped and immediately scooped the cat up into his arms, placing his right beneath Snowflake’s back legs while using his left hand to hold up his chest. “Hush, Snowflake, hush,” he whispered gently, scratching the cat under the chin. Snowflake looked surprised by this sudden development- it was the first time he had been scratched before he had attacked a fairy- but he settled into Absolon’s arms, deciding to trust him. Nevertheless, his hazel eyes remained fixed firmly on the seelie in front of them, his paws occasionally flexing to show off his sharp claws.

Satisfied that Snowflake was content, or at least content as he could be when a fairy was around, Absolon turned back to Daimhin. “So you’re going to teach me? That is very kind of you and your queen. Thank you,” he bowed his head.

“As best I can, yes,” Daimhin agreed. “As I said before your power and mine work differently, so there will be some degree of guesswork. And I cannot teach you all that we know, such would take decades of your time. But such that is showy, and frightening enough to get an average human’s attention and cow them- that I can try to give you.”

Jarle glanced towards Ivar, then asked, “What should we do while you practice?”

“Keep out of the way,” Daimhin instructed. “The energies I wield for my power can warp what they touch if you are not careful. And keep others away from us. I would prefer not to be interrupted.”

Absolon turned to them. “You should go back to the village. Help them rebuild in the meantime.”

Ivar frowned. “And you? Will you be alright here, with…” he glanced suspiciously at Daimhin.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll keep Snowflake with me, just in case. I promise, I’ll be back by morning.”

The blond man still looked unconvinced but nevertheless, he nodded. Impulsively, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Absolon, planting a kiss on his lips.

“I’ll hold you to that promise,” Ivar remarked with a smile. Absolon opened and closed his mouth again, glancing between Jarle and Daimhin as his cheeks grew red. He had not even realised he had dropped Snowflake until he felt the cat rubbing against his feet.

Chuckling slightly at his beloved’s embarrassment, Ivar let him go and headed back over to Jarle’s side. With a wave, he turned around and they left the glade, leaving Absolon alone with Daimhin and Snowflake, whose fur still stood on end at the sight of the fairy.

Absolon scratched him behind the ear again before looking up at the seelie. His heart beat painfully in his chest but he forced himself to hide his fear. “How should we proceed?” he asked. “Maybe...maybe we should learn about each other first? See what sort of things we can and cannot do?”

“Very well,” Daimhin agreed, inhuman eyes seeming to carry a trace of amusement. Turning, they gestured at the forest behind them. Suddenly every rock was illuminate in silver, every tree and blade of grass in vibrant green, and even the earth itself carried a faintly glowing dusky bronze mist.

“As I said before, I draw my power from the world around myself. Everything has a spark within, a soul from your gods that gives it life. My body acts as a siphon of sorts, drawing the excess of that energy into myself and allowing me to shape it as I chose.” The fairy held their hands together, and a sheen of white mist appeared there, coalescing into a minute maroon horse that reared in Daimhin’s palm. “You merely have to understand the nature of the energy, and the thought language with which to direct its course.”

Absolon could not help but stare, first at the light of their surroundings and then the horse that Daimhin created in their hand. “That’s amazing. I never for a moment thought that the land itself might have magic. I was always taught that it was a gift that came from within,” he took out his wand from its holster. “We humans direct this energy through our wands. Doing It with our hands, like you did, results in…” he swallowed, lifting up his right arm. “This, more or less.”

Drawing his arm back to his side, the mage held up his wand. “We learn chains of runes, along with the incantations to go with them. They have to be spoken, like this: Lumos.” Light flared at the tip of his wand, illuminating the clearing. Through it, Absolon looked up at the fairy. “So do you just think of what you want to do and it is done? Without any incantations?”

The fairy studied the light from Absolon’s wand curiously. “For the most part, yes. We are born in magic and live in it all the time. Such is natural for us. But the land itself does seem to at least somewhat influence your power, son of man.” They pointed to the wandtip. “Green. The soul of this land glows green- the deserts of the south are red, or so the tales go, and the plains to the west are blue. Your power comes from within, but you are of this earth. I think it may not be so different your power and mine, simply a difference in how our bodies must give it direction.”

“I suppose magic might come from Lord Woo but we humans are of this earth. Even if it is a divine power, it is inevitable it would pick something up from us,” Absolon brought his wand closer to himself, studying the spring green light that glowed at its tip. His entire life, magic had always carried a green tint and he had never stopped to ask himself why. What Daimhin had told him was a new concept to wrap his head around but it made sense. Even if, he realised, he would have to take the fairy’s word for the other magic colours.

He flicked his wand, dismissing the light so he would not expend unnecessary power and looked back up at Daimhin. “So, the thought language with which you cast, is it at all similar to runes? Would it be possible to create incantations based on your spells?”

“I know not your runes,” the fairy replied. “Our thought language is simply a way of guiding our power and giving it boundaries. Telling it what it may do, and what it may not do. Otherwise the power breaks free of us, and magic unchained is dangerous and unpredictable. It will wreak indiscriminate destruction upon the world around it until the energy is spent.”

Absolon paused, pondering the implications of this. “The way you make it sound...it is almost like runes. A mage has to mentally recite runes and say an incantation in order to cast a spell. One of them is so the spell knows what to do, another is to limit the power, a third limits duration, and it all has to be in a proper chain. The incantation is how a mage gives those runes form. So, perhaps,” he smiled a little at Daimhin. “If you tell me the steps involved in the spell you think would be most useful to me, I can try to write a rune chain for it? And so learn it?”

Daimhin seemed to mull this over. “Well the magic we use most often, with the most utility, is that for a solid illusion. Such as the wolves you saw yesterday- humans assume we fairies can change our forms, but really it is nothing more than manipulating the light so that others see what we want them to see, and projecting force behind the image so it feels solid to touch. It can be tricky for beginners, especially if you want to give the image certain textures like fur or feathers. But it also means that if you shape it well, the wolf’s fangs will still rend flesh even if the wolf itself is but a false image.”

“It sounds like it is useful, and Clan Rabicano fears you and what you can do. I think this might be the best thing for me to learn. Even if it’s tricky, I need to try,” Absolon nodded and paused, thinking about this. “I think we have a similar spell to what you describe: an advanced mage can create a shape made out of light, and it takes extra power to make it solid, so it should be possible with my magic too.”

He held up his wand, his brown eyes suddenly growing steelier “I want to try this, if I may. Can you describe the steps for me, or at least tell me what I must do?”

The fairy nodded. “In our earliest lessons for the illusory magic, giving shape to light is how we learn. I can explain to you the concepts, but it will be upon you to figure out how to work your magic to do it as we do.”

They called a small orb of green light into their hand. “First, and simplest, is to impose your will upon the color. This exercise allows one to get the hang of manipulating the pure magical energy’s appearance. As you’ve seen, the magic will naturally appear to be green, but by instructing it to bend the light within differently-” the orb suddenly changed to a light shade of magenta. “-one may alter the color. I’m sure this is a principle with which you are familiar, at least?”

“Yes,” Absolon nodded. “Changing colours is one of the early indicators of magic, well, one of them anyway, but it’s always been used to change the colour of objects, not the magic itself. In any case, it was not what I manifested,” he shook his head. “I have never heard of changing the colour of magic itself, it is green by the Woo’s will, but we can change the colour of light.”

Focusing on the tip of his wand, he murmured the incantation. “Lumos,” the familiar spring-green glow appeared right on cue, lighting up both him and the fairy. After a few moments, Absolon pictured a different colour changing the light to a soft blue. He turned his eyes back to Daimhin, waiting for the fairy to tell him more.

“As I thought- you are already educated in the basics of magic, so this simple thing comes easily.” The fairy then held up his orb, bending it into the shape of a butterfly- a butterfly formed from pure magenta energy with no contours or details, but the shape was distinct enough to be recognizable. “Next you give the power form- not yet life, for this is a very complicated affair, but at the very least a shape that is derived from your imagination. In general it is easiest to give it the shape of something living, so that if you have to move the illusion you can do so in a natural way without having to brute force drag it about and draw attention to it. This step will be harder, as you must impose your will upon the magic not only to take this shape, but to keep the shape, in spite of the natural course of magic to be without form.”

Absolon swallowed nervously, staring at the butterfly. It looked so tiny, so simple to do and yet, he had not the faintest idea how to begin going about it. Shaping his magic was possible, there were spells described in the books he had learned from, but he had never advanced that far before he left for the north.

Putting out the light and turning away from the fairy’s gaze, the mage forced himself to think. If he did not know how to do it, he would have to figure it out by going to the runes. They gave raw magic shape, defined what it can and could not do. He would simply have to try to write a rune chain to shape the magic himself.

He sat down on a nearby tree stump, quietly murmured an incantation and began to draw the runes in the air, pondering their order. Ayir and Dov together, then perhaps a Khet, though he would have to be careful what he added in after that, since Khet could have two meanings depending on what rune he used next...

It took a while but eventually, Absolon figured out what might be a viable rune chain. He stared hard at the glowing runes in front of him, committing them to memory before flicking his wand, erasing them from the air. He took several deep breaths and lifted up his hand, opening his mouth…

...and then what? Rune chains were useless without an incantation to give them power in the world and he did not know what the incantation was. He did not even know of any similar ones.

Panic bloomed across his face. The fairy, who had been observing this silently, unmoving, raised a delicate brow.

“Something the matter, son of man?”

Absolon slowly turned to Daimhin. “I don’t know the word to cast the spell. It won’t work without the incantation.”

Daimhin frowned. “Your runes are the language that gives the spell shape, are they not? What need have you of a spoken command if your runes already tell the magice how it must function?”

“That’s just...how it is,” the mage shrugged, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I guess the word brings the magic out into the world? Makes it real instead of just runes?” he shook his head. “Either way, I don’t know how to work without it. I’m sorry.”

“So is that it?” the fairy demanded sharply. “You who would dethrone the Time Tree, who would stop the humans in their war, who asks our kind who have never cared for or trusted humans to put faith in you- you encounter one obstacle and you give up?”

Absolon ground his teeth together. “No, I am not giving up. That would mean giving up on the Woo’s task for me and I cannot do that. This is a test, and even if it seems insurmountable, I must pass it, just like everything else. I just...need to think how.”

He closed his eyes, rubbing his head. Woo, you know everything in this world. Please, give me a hint. Anything.

“Shelve the illusions for now,” Daimhin suggested. “They are useless if you cannot master this. Start with something smaller. Simpler. A spell you already know you can cast, one you mastered from the earliest days of your training in magic. Focus on that spell, on the language of your runes that gives it direction, and on the magic you know pulses inside of your body. Call to the magic and guide it with your runes- but do not speak.”

Absolon nodded, still keeping his eyes tightly shut as he thought back to his earliest magic lessons. After he had called light, the first spell he had learned had been the silencing charm to help him cope with the overwhelming spectrum of sound. It had a relatively simple rune structure too: one rune chain limited its effect on sound, the one immediately after that was for reduction, the next one narrowed its range to one object and so on and so forth. He had used that spell so much he had seen its runes in his sleep. If there was any spell he could cast without words, it was that one.

He opened his eyes again and looked around for an object. A stray moss-covered stone lay by his feet; it would do. Absolon took several deep breaths and pointed his wand at it, imagining the runes in his mind, willing the magic to flow through him and into his wand without being called forth by words. Or rather, he prayed to the Woo it would.

Nothing happened. The mage closed his eyes again, offering a prayer to the Woo before turning his attention back to the stone, thinking of the runes and the magic flowing. Again, there was no result.

Despair began to creep into his gut again and Absolon forced it down like bile. He could only focus on the magic, nothing else. No thoughts of failing, no hint of giving up. The Woo would not let him fail.

His wand glowed with a faint spring green light before the energy sprung from it and flowed into the stone before extinguishing again. His heart hammering, he placed the wand on the ground nearby and scooped up the rock, dropping it again on to the ground. It fell without so much as a clatter.

Absolon gasped and stared up at Daimhin. “So it’s possible…” he smiled widely. “I want to try the illusions again. Please, let me try again.”

“You would run before you can walk, son of man,” the fairy chided, though his voice sounded amused. “Try if you wish, but new learning is not so easy a thing to apply to complicated workings.”

“No, I suppose you’re right,” the mage’s shoulders fell slightly but his smile remained. “I’ll keep practicing. Try more complicated spells that I already know before attempting your magic...if you are willing to be so patient with me, Daimhin, and guide me when I cannot fully grasp something.”

Daimhin nodded. “Patience is a virtue well cultivated when one’s lifespan extends on through many centuries. I only hope your Rabicanos will not make the point of patience moot.”

“Only the Woo knows whether they will, but regardless, I will not keep you waiting for me,” Absolon looked up at the fairy, determined. “I’ll make the most of the time I am given.”

***

He certainly did his best to live up to those words. Though the fading light had forced Absolon to leave Daimhin soon after to retreat to sleep, they had made arrangements to meet again. When Absolon woke up the next day, as soon as he had eaten a meagre breakfast, he kept practicing wordless casting. He started at first with simple spells, perfecting the silencing charm in particular, before moving on to relatively more complex things like levitation, summoning items or creating water. Only the pull creeping up on him finally forced Absolon to stop but not before he had allowed it go all the way up to his elbows.

At first Ivar was furious, cursing the fairy for making Absolon go that far until the mage had explained to him it was his own choice, not Daimhin’s. Placated a little, the blond man still warned him to be careful. He helped massage Absolon’s arms to ease the pull in them and even managed to wriggle a tiny bit of honey from the villagers to try to alleviate it.

As soon as it had gone away, Absolon returned to practicing. By sunset on the third day after his meeting with the fairy, he had succeeded in being able to cast most common spells without the use of an incantation. He had not attempted more complex spells, wanting to save his energy for practicing instead, but the unease of what would happen when he had to cast the illusion still lingered in his mind. Nevertheless, at dusk again, he headed for the place where he and Daimhin were supposed to meet and, in the fading light, waited for the fairy to appear.

Daimhin did so, winking into existence seemingly out of the thin air a little ways in front of Absolon. They were sitting on a tree stump, hands folded in their lap.

“What progress have you made?” the fairy asked without preamble.

He smiled at Daimhin and took out his wand, holding it out in front of him. The runes for Carpe Wootractum ran through his mind and out of habit, Absolon felt his tongue move into position to utter the words but he forced it still, only focusing on the runes and the flow of magic from his centre out towards his wand. At first there was nothing and then a coil of light uncurled from its tip. Absolon mentally directed it to wrap around a nearby stone and it did, retreating back and depositing the stone in his hand before disappearing.

“I think I have learned to silently cast,” Absolon said with a hint of pride, even as he gripped and ungripped his wand in order to diminish the strain of the pull from his fingers: the result of the last several days of intense magic use. However, he knew he did not have time to recover: he needed to learn quickly. “I want to try my hand again making illusions like the ones you tried to teach me.”

Daimhin nodded, his inhuman eyes taking on a light of approval. “Very well, then. As I said before, the best place for you to start will be in shaping your power. Just shaping it- don’t try to give it movement or layer just yet, as that is an immensely complex working.”

Absolon nodded and forced himself to focus. He had made a note of the makeshift runes that he had constructed before the lack of incantation threw him off and now, he called them to the forefront of his mind. The rune chain flowed and with it, he could almost feel the flow of magic through his arm and out of his wand. Light formed at its tip, spread and…

The entire clearing suddenly exploded with light. Absolon screamed, shielding his eyes as the magic writhed and coiled without direction or any semblance of control. Only a gasp of Endium from Absolon managed to snuff it out, leaving the clearing once again empty.

He stood in silence for a brief moment, his eyes still closed as he caught his breath. Thanks to that uncontrolled burst of magic, the pull had crept into his palm. Nevertheless, Absolon gripped his wand tighter and finally looked up at Daimhin. “I’m sorry. I think I got the runes wrong,” he said quietly.

Taking his wand, he wrote the chain in the dirt, looking over them for errors or runes which might contradict each other. “Please, try to explain to me how you shape your magic, step by step,” the mage sighed. “I understand it must be like trying to explain how to breathe for you but...I beg you, please try.”

“You are thinking like a human,” Daimhin admonished. “But even your own magic does not work like that, and I think you know it. The power we draw upon has no rules- we impose rules upon it to give it direction, but even that control is something one cannot fully comprehend. This is not some construction of wood and steel like a human crossbow that has logical mechanisms based in a tangible reality. Controlling magic is about creativity, ingenuity, and instinct, not logic.”

Absolon bowed his head, thinking about the fairy’s words but there was no doubt in his mind that Daimhin was right. Even if humanity had given magic order to control it, it was still a divine power, far outside the reaches of human understanding. He just had to have faith. That, Absolon thought with a little smile, would come very naturally to him.

He kneeled down in front of the runes in the dirt, holding his hand to the stump of his arm. Lord Woo, help me. Let me use this power, even if I cannot fully understand it, he prayed before opening his eyes and looking over the runes again. Immediately, he spotted a contradiction in the rune chain, one which would cancel out the effect of the control runes after it, which he quickly erased and replaced with one which would not cancel out but enhance the next rune. It was a stupid mistake but one that could be made in a hurry.

He continued to look over his makeshift spell. There was no problem drawing out the magic, just controlling it was the issue. Absolon turned his attention to the latter half of the spell. Instead of focusing on the structure itself, however, he relaxed, letting the Woo guide his actions, and set to work. Erasing a rune there, adding one here...he did not think so much about the how and why, only what felt correct.

Eventually, Absolon looked down at the rune chain in the dirt, satisfied with the results. If it was still wrong, he could modify it later. It was a puzzle he had to figure out himself but Lord Woo would not abandon him if he needed His help.

Absolon took a deep breath and stood up, glancing up at Daimhin. “I’ll try again, though this time I pray it is right.”

He once again imagined the power channeling through his arm and the runes guiding it. Light glimmered at the tip of his wand and grew for a second before the magic burst into an uncontrollable stream, only cut off by a cry of Endium.

It took him a few moments to catch his breath and check how far the pull had progressed up his arms. However, Absolon was not deterred. “I will try again,” he looked over the rune chain that was written out in the ground. “Is there any clue you can give me, Daimhin? Anything at all?”

The fairy blinked slowly. “Patience, human. Examine the magic you already know. Spells that you have already mastered. Think of the magic not as a thing to be tamed, but to be coaxed. A neutral force you must persuade to by your ally.” Daimhin sighed softly. “I will contain your magic when it runs afoul- else it will no doubt get away from your power to stop its dissolution. Don’t attempt your experiments alone, merely practice the silent casting and examine what you know of the thought language.”

“I shall. This rune chain is complex, there probably is more than I can even grasp with my knowledge at this stage,” for the first time in a while, Absolon regretted leaving the monastery when he did. “But what if it isn’t just runes...I remember reading that things like this, or at least what I’ve been trying to imitate, aren’t just confined by runes alone. So I will have to keep practicing to master it, even if I get the combination of runes right.”

It seemed like such an insurmountable task, and yet, he had managed to conquer other tasks just as great before. He just had to have faith in the Woo to guide him, and in his own abilities to not fail him. After all, it was not like he could give up, and he had Daimhin for a mentor.

Absolon nodded and looked down at his runes again, trying to see what else he could fiddle with. “I’ll try again a few times while I have the strength in your presence then. I will get this right, even if it takes me a long time. I am willing to swear by the Woo’s wing,” he glanced up at the fairy, smiling lopsidedly. “It does not mean much to you but that promise means everything to me.”

The fairy nodded. “Very well. Let us continue.”

Part Nine

SPOILER: Click to show

And so it went. Though over time Absolon grew more and more comfortable with silent casting, he did not progress quickly in his attempts to master illusion magic. It took him a full week and a half before he finally managed to successfully shape his power into something resembling an animal- and another several days to be able to will it to a specific animal of his choice, in his case, a dove.

However, the Rabicano army was not waiting patiently for Absolon to master the fairy magic. On the contrary, Jarle heard troublesome news every few days from an ally the frontlines, that the Dun defenders were losing ground- slowly but surely. Jarle knew that if his enemies took the land the fairy barrow was situated on, it would be over; the patience of the fairies would run out, and they would slaughter everyone they could find in both clan territories.

The news was a punch in the gut to Absolon; he had not even managed full control of the basics of the spell all the time, let alone began to master its finer points. Instead of reeling long from the blow, however, he buckled down. What time he did not spend eating, sleeping or resting from the Pull, he spent practicing silent casting and poring over the runes of the spell, so much so he found himself dreaming of the rune chain. Whilst he previously stopped practice whenever he was pulled past his elbows, now it was allowed to get all the way up to his shoulders before he forced himself to stop. The constant pain was almost reminiscent of the days before, back in the monastery and then in Eo, when the colours were too much but unlike then, Absolon knew the cause and the purpose. He was carrying out the Woo’s will; he could suffer a little.

Ivar, however, did not share his convictions. Though he tirelessly waited on the mage whenever the latter had exhausted himself beyond the point of being able to move, there was an unconcealed element of anger in his behaviour at how Absolon was treating himself. He begged and pleaded with his beloved for the latter to not work so much, at least not to the point of near-constant pull, and that if he did not manage to figure out the spell, they would find some other way to negotiate with the Rabicanos. While Absolon listened and made his appreciation for the advice known, he made it clear there was no other way; that this was his task and he was going to accomplish it. Ivar took the rejection silently but always with a seething undercurrent of fury. Only Absolon’s near constant exhaustion made an argument impossible: Ivar could not in good conscience bring up the subject while the former was in such a state.

However, the next major development in the situation came neither from the fairies nor the Rabicano- it came from the Duns.

It happened while Absolon was away with Daihmin. The small village where Jarle and the others were stopped- and presently in the process of helping along repairs- received word of an army approaching from the east. Jarle hurried out into the valley just beyond the village, Ivar not far behind. He had a feeling he knew what this was, and his feelings were very mixed indeed.

When he reached the pass that a few weeks before he and the others had used to cross through the mountains, his suspicions were confirmed; it was the Dun army from Nez-Gata. And at its head was his father Sindre.

“Looks like the main fighting force finally gathered and caught up to us,” Jarle murmured to Ivar from where they were observing the army as it passed, up in the cliffs.

“So it’s all-out war. Given the reports, we shouldn’t be surprised that your father decided to come out here personally but...I thought we had more time,” the blond man gritted his teeth, slowly exhaling. “What should we do? Shall I go find Absolon?”

Jarle shook his head. “All our hopes are riding on him mastering this magic. The last thing Absolon needs is a distraction from his work. Besides,” the Dun added, a touch of a derision entering his face and voice as he looked back down at the army below, “in his infinite wisdom my father has already proved he isn’t going to listen to the Bringer of Spring’s words.”

“That’s true. I doubt anything we tell him now will change his mind either. No offence meant, Jarle, but your father does not seem the sort to put any faith in fairy magic,” Ivar said, his mouth thin and his tone strained, looking over the army again. “Absolon is so close, I know it. He’s been working himself too hard not to be,” his blue eyes hardened. “Woo, we just need time. Any amount of time. If only your father could understand that!”

Jarle gnawed on his lip. “This could buy us time by stalling the Rabicano front. But if the two armies engage, people will die on both sides. Yet if they don’t, innocent villagers will keep getting slaughtered.”

“So we’re between a rock and a hard place,” Ivar remarked bitterly before casting a sideways glance at Jarle. “Is there any chance you can convince your father to try to negotiate with the Rabicano armies?” he gave off a sigh. “Given what he did, I would not blame you for never wanting to speak to him ever again, and I doubt either side will agree on any kind of terms, but if this buys us a day, two days, three days at most...it could mean all the difference to Absolon.”

“I can try,” Jarle said reluctantly. “But I don’t know what good it would do. He wouldn’t listen to me. He never listens to me. I’m sure in his mind I’m just some… sentimental failure.”

“We’ll make him listen,” the Roan man stated before putting a hand on Jarle’s shoulder. “I’ll come with you. There are few choice things I want to say to your father anyway.”

Jarle fiddled with the feather pendant, his eyes clouded with indecision. But finally, with a soft sigh, he nodded. “Alright. Let’s skirt around and meet up with them further along the pass. This is… not going to be fun.”

“No, but it is the best we can do,” Ivar took his hand away and stepped backwards, gesturing to the Dun. “Lead the way.”

The two men left their vantage point and descended down a less steep part of the cliff, remaining out of sight of the army. Neither of them wished to be mistaken for Rabicano scouts and shot before they could do so much as approach Sindre. They headed parallel to the direction the Dun warriors were going, eventually finding a hanging valley whose slope was gentle enough to let them come down into the main valley along which the army was marching. From there, they had no choice but to approach them head on, relying on the Dun men assuming that no two Rabicanos would be foolish enough to be walking slowly out in the open.

Indeed, no shots were fired at them as they came close. Ivar walked behind Jarle, figuring the Duns would recognise the son of their Dux better than some Roan they had only seen very briefly, but also to keep an eye on Jarle’s nerves and support him if necessary.

At last, they came to the front lines. The men there immediately bristled, drawing their weapons and pointing them at the two. One man in particular stepped forward, brandishing an iron-tipped spear.

“Halt! Who are you, what do you-” the warrior’s eyes widened as they settled on Jarle. “Sire! What are you doing here?”

“Trying to save all of our hides from the Rabicano cutthroats,” Jarle answered, a brow raised. He was clearly no stranger to projecting authority with the Dun soldiers. “If you don't mind, I would appreciate you not pointing your weapons at me- I only wish to speak with my father.”

“Y-yes, of course,” the soldier’s eyes flickered towards Ivar. “You and him both?”

“I am with Jarle. You can ask him yourself if you like,” the Roan put his hands on his hips. “Now stop wasting time and take us to Dux Sindre, as he asked.”

Cowed, the Dun lowered both his gaze and his weapon. He gestured to the men with him to part before turning back to the pair. “Follow me then, please.”

He lead them through the thick ranks of the clan, towards the centre. Men turned to stare at them, especially at Jarle, their looks of disbelief making their feelings obvious. Hurried whispers drifted from their mouths but they were too faint to determine what it was they were saying.

Finally, they reached the centre of the army and the Dux. The soldier who had confronted them bowed deeply to Sindre. “Sire. I have brought you your son and his companion,” he pointed to Jarle and Ivar behind him. “They asked to speak to you about the Rabicano threat.”

Jarle’s father looked rather worse for the wear- he had deep black rings under both of his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept or had been sleeping poorly. When he caught sight of his son, there was an odd mixture of emotion in his eyes- equal parts aggravation and something akin to relief.

“Jarle,” he murmured. “So it seems you yet live.”

“What, were you expecting that I would throw my arms open for the enemy and tell them, ‘here I am, the Dux’s heir, stab me?’” Jarle demanded. “We have been cautious, Father. We are preparing a plan before we rush into anything.”

Sindre scowled. “I am your father but I am also still your Dux- show a little respect when you speak to me.”

“With all due reverence, sire, respect has to go both ways. As Dux, you ought to understand that better than anyone,” Ivar said as she stepped out from behind Jarle, his eyes narrowed. “Regardless, this is no time for such small quibbles. We’ve come here to ask you, sire, to wait before you throw your armies at the Rabicanos. Try to speak with them; avoid the slaughter you know will inevitably come.”

Sindre sighed. “You think we would not if we had a choice, man of Roan? The Rabicano will not listen. They never listen. They will hear us ask for peace, and take it as a sign of weakness. Of desperation.”

“Perhaps, but as long as they hear you, that is all that is needed. We’ve not been idle here either, Sire,” Ivar said with an edge to his voice before smiling. “They will listen to the Bringer of Spring. He will make sure they listen. Have faith in him, give us some time and you will not have to sacrifice anyone.”

Sindre looked to Jarle, his expression one of disbelief. The younger Dun squared his jaw. “I have seen the Bringer of Spring’s power, Father. If he believes he can do this, I believe in him and his Woo.”

At this, Jarle’s father looked away, his face an inscrutable mask. “You would.”

“And what is that supposed to mean, Sire?” Ivar asked, narrowing his eyes. “You think it’s wrong of Jarle to believe? Or that it’s somehow a sign of weakness?”

“It is not your matter, man of Roan,” Sindre retorted, not looking either of the younger men in the eye. Jarle folded his arms.

“He knows, Father. I told him about Mikel.”

At this, Sindre unexpectedly flinched. “You know that was not my desire, Jarle. I acted in desperation. To save all, for the price of one.”

“And that one happened to be your own grandson! An innocent life is still a life, no matter whose life it is, no matter how few you take!” only when he closed his mouth again did Ivar realise he had been shouting. He cleared his throat. “You would never have had to make that choice under the Woo’s protection. He values everyone, whether they be blind or crippled or even...even a fairy child.”

“Then where has your Woo been before now?” Sindre demanded, his jaw going tight. “The Bringer of Spring has been active in the south, casting his web of protection over the lowland tribes. Only after they were all deemed safe did he and his god turn to the mountains, were Her grip is all the tighter. Do not speak to me as if you are better, Roan. Your people were already saved when my Grandson was taken.”

Ivar flinched. “Do you think we kept this from you out of spite? We have been doing everything we can to spread the Woo’s hold as far as we can as fast as we can. With all due respect, you don’t know what challenges we have faced, Sire,” he ground his teeth together, looking away. “I regret that we did not get to your grandson sooner and given the circumstances, it might have been necessary to sacrifice him. But don’t you dare tell me you’re such a sick man as to feel no remorse over it, or to not grasp the possibility of such a thing never happening again with both hands.”

The other Dun soldiers were shifting uncomfortably at the exchange. Sindre said nothing at first, his expression unreadable. Finally, in a voice so soft the mountain wind nearly carried it away, he replied, “If you think I do not hate myself for what I had to do, you are badly mistaken. But my position does not afford me the luxury of wallowing in guilt or self-loathing. Clan Dun needs me to be strong. To go on. What does it say to them, that I would put my own grief and loss on a pedestal over that of so many other mothers and fathers in these mountains?”

“You lie,” Jarle hissed, his eyes shimmering. “You felt nothing when you had Mikel put to death.”

“I watched, Jarle.”

The younger Dun blinked, caught off guard by this proclamation. The soldiers seemed caught by surprise as well, turning towards their leader with wide, confused, and terrified eyes. Even Ivar was stunned into silence, bowing his head remorsefully. “Woo, I could not live with myself even when I barely knew the child,” he murmured, closing his eyes briefly as he fought the painful memory.
Drawing in a breath, the Roan looked back up at Sindre. “So if you are such a man as to silence your own feelings in order to keep your clan safe, Sire, why won’t you listen to us? We need your help if we can finally end this senseless slaughter, and to gain your help, we need to get Clan Rabicano to back off your lands. Absolon has a way but he cannot do it alone: he needs more time.”
“I have carried the weight of Clan Dun upon my back for nearly twenty years,” Sindre replied, his gaze turned inwards. “Now you ask that I give that weight over to a stranger from the southlands. Condemn me for my actions if you wish- I deserve your scorn. But you ask too much when you ask me to stand aside and wait while my clan suffers. I cannot talk Rabicano into a stalemate while your Absolon does who knows what- they will never listen.”

“You can try, Father,” Jarle insisted. “Sacrifice and loss of life are not the only way to solve a difficult situation. They just aren’t.”

“No, they are not. That’s one of many things Absolon taught me,” Ivar sighed wistfully, his eyes going soft for a moment before he forced himself to focus on the situation at hand. “When my clan was converted, we asked our Dux, Ragnarr, to take the risk of trusting Absolon too. At times, it seemed like that gamble had failed, but in the end, he emerged victorious,” he dared to smile. “What we are asking is not without precedent, but if you trust in him, I promise you that Absolon will risk life and limb to protect your clan.”
He lowered his voice. “Though I am not letting him lose another hand if I can help it.”

“Man of Roan,” Sindre said. “This is not the Shifter of Seasons, who only comes out once a year and who you may spend ample time plotting and planning against. You ask me to speak to the Rabicano, to ask them to wait. But if they will not listen, then what? I will be lucky if they even consent to hear my words, let alone consider them. It will very likely come to bloodshed regardless.”

“If that’s what it comes down to then that is the way it must be,” Ivar said with a sigh. “But all we ask for is a few more days. The Rabicanos do not have to accept or even consider your words, they just need to pause for a few days while Absolon gets ready. Harangue them for negotiations if you have to. Every moment you buy means a bigger chance of your men coming out of this without bloodshed,” he bowed, clasping his hands together. “Please, I beg you, Sire. If it falls through, you can take any revenge you want on me. But I have faith, both in the Woo and in Absolon.”

“Father,” Jarle put in, “If you truly feel remorse over what was done to Mikel, then listen to us. Trust these men who have come to see that he and children like him never need to die again. Do not force me to live in a world where I might be backed into the same corner you were.”

“If Clan Dun is destroyed,” Sindre hissed, his voice trembling, “it will all have been for naught. I did not want Mikel to be your heir, but I didn’t want him to die either. I sacrificed him to save our people. I stained my hands and my soul red with his blood. I burned the image of his death into my memory. I loved him. I will not invalidate his loss.”

“His loss will not be in vain, I promise. I can never erase all your doubts, Sire, but if you are willing to take a risk, it will mean the world to us,” Ivar remained bowed. His voice hitched. “If we fail, there will be bloodshed. But if you do not even give us a chance, there will be bloodshed either way, won’t there?”

“What exactly is it you intend to do?” Sindre asked. “How will your Absolon single-handedly drive back the Rabicano forces from the warpath? He may have bested the Bringer of Spring, but he is still just one man.”

Ivar bit his tongue. “It’s…difficult to explain, Sire. But all this time, he has been learning new magics, new ways to use the ability the Woo gave him. He has been working himself to the bone doing almost nothing else. It should be enough to convince the Rabicanos of who they are dealing with,” he smiled wryly. “That should be enough to give them a reason to listen. I doubt there is a clan by now who does not know of the Bringer of Spring and the message he carries with him.”
Sindre was silent for a long time, seeming to size up Ivar with his eyes. The Roan man met his gaze, his blue eyes boring into Sindre as if he might find an answer there if he stared hard enough.

“Jarle,” Sindre said finally. “You are a better man than I will ever be. But you must also be ready to make difficult decisions and personal sacrifices for the better of your people. Do you understand this?”

“I do,” Jarle replied. “But I refuse to believe that sacrifice is always ne-”

“Hush,” Sindre cut in. Turning his eyes away from Ivar and towards his son, the Dux folded his arms. “I will do this thing. Not for the man of Roan or the Bringer of Spring, but for you. Because if you are ever to become Dux of Dun, I must start to trust your judgement. But if I die trying to make those cutthroats hold off, leadership of the clan will be left to you. And you must be ready to do what has to be done.”

Jarle swallowed hard, nodding jerkily.

The tension went out of Ivar as he lowered his eyes, sighing. “Thank you, Sire,” he bowed once again to Sindre before turning to Jarle. “It will be alright, Jarle. You will be alright. We shall be by your side, along with the Woo. Have faith,” a smile appeared on his face. “Have faith in yourself too. Me and Absolon owe you a great debt; we would have never gotten this far in the Dun lands without you.”

Jarle nodded, though his eyes were awash with confusion and conflicted emotions. “I can’t ever really forgive you for what you did, Father. But regardless of that, we have to work together for the Clan’s future. I trust these men. You must trust them too.”

Sindre said nothing, only sighing and gesturing for Ivar and Jarle to stand aside.

Ivar complied, taking a step back and bowing his head, letting the Dux pass. To Jarle, he murmured “Absolon needs to know what is going on. Even if we have bought some time, it’s precious little we can’t afford to waste.”

The Dux’s heir nodded. “Right. He isn’t going to like this, but his timeline just got a whole lot shorter. He has to resolve this- before my father or the seelie lose patience.”

“I’m more worried about him working himself to the bone even more,” the Roan man said, his mouth thinning as a look of concern flashed across his eyes. “My feelings aside, he can’t do anything if on the day, he is exhausted from working himself too hard.”

He grimaced. “What if it’s- No!” Ivar shook his head violently. “It has to be enough time. He is strong enough and intelligent enough to learn. And the Woo is with us...He has to be.”

As they spoke, an eagle that had been perched upon a nearby tree took off into the sky, flying higher until it was a speck against the clouds. She turned towards the nearby village and its nearby forest, soaring over it and scanning the ground below.

Eventually, she spotted what she was looking for: the grey robes and the white hair of the human stood out against the greenery as starkly as snow against black rock. Folding her wings, the eagle swooped down and as she did, her legs elongated and her beak transformed into an elaborate stone mask covering her face.

She crashed through the trees, alerting Daihmin and Absolon to her presence. He spun around, his latest incantation bursting as the sudden redness of cracking branches and greys of rustling leaves dislodged by her fall alerted him.

The eagle- now no longer an eagle but a long-legged owl creature with long flowing hair and a stone mask over her face- ignored him, instead making a beeline right for his tutor. “Daihmin. The humans are here and they are about to wage war on each other. His two companions have begged the leader for time but in a few days, the two human tribes will fight,” a crooked finger extended from her wings, pointing towards Absolon. “He lied! He can no longer save us. We have to act fast, or else we will die along with them!”

Daihmin looked up, caught by surprise, put up a hand in a gesture that seemed to be asking for patience. “Eimhir. What are you talking about? You speak in emotion and there is little sense to it; slow down and explain yourself.”

Eimhir folded her wings, her eyes tiny pin pricks her mask as she looked directly at Daihmin. “I have been watching the human armies coming closer and closer. Today, I was scouting out the army of those who claim to hold this land. The two who are companions of this one-” she pointed at Absolon “-went to speak with its leader. They managed to buy from him a few days, but after that, the humans are going to fight over this land. Land upon which our barrow rests, Daihmin.”

Absolon stared at her, frozen by the shock. “What are you saying?” he gasped. “Ivar and Jarle-

“I am not speaking with you, human,” Eimhir snarled before turning back to the other seelie. “We are out of time, Daihmin. Teaching this human our secrets was a waste. He does not yet have mastery over the spell, let alone enough to stop the armies like he claims,” she clenched her fists. “Give up in this futile task. We must strike now, or else we, our queen and our barrow will all be obliterated.”

Daihmin closed their eyes, jaw visibly clenched. “Patience is a trait we pride ourselves on, for our lives our long and the passage of the seasons but a blink. Humans though,” they turned to Absolon, “are impatient. With such short lives they do not wait. I have been trying for you, son of man. But I must be first loyal to my own.”

Absolon looked at him wide-eyed. “No,” he shook his head slightly. “But we were so close! I’ve been getting the incantation right more often than not, and I’ve been able to shape it too! I’ve been spending every waking moment studying it! You can’t give up now and plunge into this war, killing both Clan Dun and Rabicano!”

He swallowed and clasped his left hand over the stump of his right arm. “Please, don’t, Daihmin. If Jarle and Ivar bought us a few more days, that will be enough. Just please, I beg you, in the Woo’s name, don’t give up on me. Don’t throw everything away only to go back to fighting.”

Eimhir snarled. “You had your chance, human, and you failed,” the feathers on her body stood up on end. “Now we have to protect our own interests. We have a home to defend and I could not care less about those warmongers who threaten us!”

“Human, your only care is for sparing the life of your own kind,” Daihmin growled softly. “Can you blame us if we respond in kind? You threaten our very existence with this stalling.”

“I wish for there to be as little bloodshed as possible. The armies have not yet reached your barrow, have they not? Nor have they begun fighting?” Absolon asked, glancing between the two seelie.

Eimhir remained steadfast, glaring at him. “They are close enough for them to be considered a threat. That’s all that matters.”

The young man’s face hardened. “But they will not advance in the next few days at least,” he turned to Daihmin, silently pleading with the seelie. “You have not even given me a chance to prove myself, Daihmin. I have been making good progress, have I not? Can’t I at least try to make good on my word?”

For a time, Daihmin said nothing, their blue, pupiless eyes unreadable. Then, finally, their voice rumbling, they said, “Give me your hand.”

Absolon hesitated before putting his wand back in its holster and slowly reaching out, taking the seelie’s outstretched hand. As his fingers touched Daihmin’s smooth, cool ones, the edge of his vision was briefly stained a light grey blue. He blinked it away before looking back at the fairy. “Now what?”

Daihmin stared hard into Absolon’s brown eyes, and the young man found himself unable to break that eye contact. “You will get your chance, son of man. To save your kind and ours. I will continue to teach you. But this is my price.”

“P-price?” Absolon asked, his heart suddenly beginning to race. “What price?”

The place where seelie and man touched glowed brilliant emerald, but Absolon was still unable to look towards that light, his eyes caught and held by Daihmin’s.

“Hear my voice, and obey. What we have spoken of here, Eimhir, you, and myself, it will be known by no one else. If we give you this chance, and you fail, you will not warn your people of our coming. They will never know that we have seen their armies march. If you try to speak to them, your voice will fail. If you try to write it in your letters, only unintelligible scrawl will emerge from your hand. We will strike like a bolt of lightening, unanticipated and swift. You will have your chance. But this is your last.”

The young man could only stare at the seelie open-mouthed as they spoke. None of his magic tutoring had prepared him for anything like this. His breathing quickened and he tried to pull his hand away but it was stuck as though glued there by resin. “W-what are you doing, Daihmin?” he gasped, his voice shaking.

“Insurance,” they replied simply. The fairy blinked, and suddenly the force that was holding their eyes together was gone. They dropped Absolon’s hand. “A geas. As long as you do as you’ve promised, it won’t harm you. But should you fail, you will not betray us for the benefit of the humans.”

“If it isn’t too late by then, Daihmin,” Emhir remarked, poison dripping from her voice. “You are far too kind to him. He will fail, just you wait.”

Absolon barely heard her jabs as he stared at his hand where Daihmin had just touched him. He slowly flexed his fingers to make sure they could still move. So this was it. No matter how unsure he felt, no matter how much more he wanted to practice the spell until he got it right, he had no choice now.

His hand clenched into a fist. “I’m not going to fail,” Absolon declared, looking up to the two seelie. “The Woo is on my side and I swear by His name, I will not fail. He will carry me to victory,” he paused. “That might be meaningless to you but for me, it’s as good as this geas you’ve cast.”

“That idealism is going to get you killed one day, son of man,” Daihmin retorted, turning away. “I pray for all of our sakes that day is not one of the next few. Go. I must speak with my people of this.”

Absolon nodded, starting to turn away. “We will meet again tomorrow then?” he asked, glancing back at Daihmin. “I would like these last few days to practice as much as I can.”

“Very well,” Daihmin agreed. “But do not tarry. You still have the journey to the battlefront to make, and humans are not swift on their feet.”

As if in demonstration, the fairy’s form slipped into that of a stag, which dashed nimbly around Absolon once before tossing its head at Eimhir in a beckoning gesture.

The seelie shot one final, disdainful look at Absolon before she flapped her wings, rising into the air. As she did, her form became smaller and more streamlined until in her place all that remained was a barn owl. She fluttered after the stag on silent wings before soaring upwards, disappearing into the treetops.

Absolon watched them leave before a deep sigh escaped him. It took all he had in himself to not shake. A few days, and if he did not make good on his promise, it would all be over.

He sank down to his knees and raised his eyes skywards. Woo, be with me. Give me the strength to overcome this challenge and the power to do what I must on the fateful day. Let not human or fairy come to harm. I beg you. Help me carry this burden placed on my shoulders.

Once he had prayed, the young man got up and turned back, heading towards the village. He had news for Jarle and Ivar.

[Celestial]

Woo Among the Wolves continued...

Part Ten

SPOILER: Click to show

The final training session with Daihmin, Absolon barely spoke, only concentrating on getting the incantation right. While he managed to summon it more often than not and even control the construct for several moments before it disappeared, he was still not confident it would be enough to turn the Rabicano tide. Except it had to be. With the seelie’s geas in play, he either did this or he would be responsible for letting everyone die.

He had faith the Woo would make everything right, that He would allow him to prevail, but with so much laid on his shoulders, it took Ivar forcing him to eat and sleep for Absolon to take a break from his magic practice. Though the blond man left him alone otherwise, it was obvious by the distressed looks Ivar gave him that he was worried. Whether it was about his condition or about whether he could perform the spell on the day Absolon could not tell. Knowing Ivar, it was the former but deep in his heart, he feared it was the latter.

Eventually, they got word from Sindre that, as predicted, the Rabicano clan had refused negotiations and were now moving at speed towards the Dun army. With that news, the trio wasted no time packing, sweeping their pets up in their arms and leaving the village, heading towards the front lines, hoping to intercept the armies in time.

None of them hurried as much as Absolon, who breathlessly bolted after Jarle, only stopped from taking the lead by the fact that the Dun knew the land better than him. Eventually, Ivar grabbed him by the wrist, stopping him in his tracks.

“You are going to exhaust yourself before we even reach them and then what will we do?” the Roan chided. “Slow down.”

“I’m sorry,” Absolon lowered his eyes. “It’s just...I want to get this done. I need to.”

Ivar looked at him, his blue eyes filled with concern. “Are you afraid?”

The mage swallowed, his breath stuck his his throat until at last he forced out a whimper. “Yes.”

Without hesitating, the blond man wrapped him in a tight hug, pressing Absolon’s head against his chest and planting a kiss on top of his head. “You can do this,” he murmured. “You have been working so hard. I have so much faith in you, and in the Woo, to make his happen.”

Absolon swallowed, closing his eyes and absorbing the soothing indigo tones of Ivar’s voice, the burgundy of his heartbeat and the orange warmth of his body. Around his feet there was a soft purr and the tickle of fur as Snowflake wrapped around his legs.

“Come on, we best get going,” Ivar eventually told him, pulling a reluctant Absolon away. “Jarle, how much further?” he called ahead. “Shouldn’t be have some sign of them by now?”

“Fog’s rising,” the Dun replied, having held himself apart from the tender moment between Ivar and Absolon. “It’s obscuring the signs of Father’s army. But we’re nearly there. There is a pass just around this next bend. There is a loch there, which empties into a ford heading south. If the Rabicano are shrewd, this is where they will be making their move- it’s where Father’s army is waiting.”

“A loch?” Absolon felt his breathing growing more strained. Woo, he hoped the loch would not be visible to him. His fear of water overtaking him would be the last thing he needed.

“And we’ll be able to get between the armies?” Ivar asked, his tone betraying his concern. “If we are locked out of the fighting, we can’t do anything. They’ll be too busy with each other to pay attention to us, especially with the fog getting thicker.”

“We’ll have to, Ivar,” Jarle replied emphatically, his hand clenched over the wooden feather hanging from his neck. “Somehow. There’s too much riding on us now for failure. I will not fail my people. Not like I failed my son.”

“Did I say anything about failure?” Ivar asked wryly. He put a hand on Jarle’s shoulder. “We’ve come too far too fail. And,” his eyes turned to Absolon. “I have faith. In the Woo and in all of us.”
Absolon nodded, though his eyes were not on either of the two men but on the gathering fog. He could have sworn that for a moment in its swirls, he saw the shape of a white wolf. Glancing at Snowflake showed the cat was calm- or at least as calm as he could be given the situation- but that somehow did not reassure Absolon. The seelie had made their stance very clear.
“We won’t get anywhere if we stay here,” he said, trying to sound far more confident than he really felt. Taking several strides forward, he was soon as the head of the group. “The sooner we get in sight of the armies, the better.”

“Right,” Jarle agreed, squaring his jaw. “Let’s go.”

The three men moved as quickly as they could, skirting the foot of the valley that led into the pass Jarle had mentioned. In the dense fog it was not only hard to see, sounds were also largely muffled. Jarle suspected that he’d still have heard the sounds of combat if there were any to be heard, but that was only a small crumb of comfort.

“There,” he murmured, his demeanor perking as he caught sight of a river just ahead of the travellers. “We’re close. If we follow this upstream it’ll take us right to the ford where the Rabicano will make their crossing-”

A loud, shrill cry cut Jarle off. It flooded Absolon’s vision with hues of yellow so bright his eyes burned. He covered his ears and took in several deep breaths, waiting until the flare of colour subsided.

Ivar had ducked by his side, though he kept his hands off the mage, wary of overloading him further. “What was that?” he called out to Jarle. “It did not sound like a wolf or any kind of animal.”

Jarle shook his head. “I’m not sure, I-”

He broke off as a second cry joined the first, and swore. “That one I recognize- the Dun Clan’s war cry. The Rabicano must be attacking Father’s battle lines.”

An expression of panic erupted across Absolon’s face. In a split-second he took off like a hare in the direction Jarle had indicated, the dismayed voices of the two men registering only as blips of colour. The ground dipped unexpectedly, making him stumble, but his momentum carried him forward. Instead of slowing down, Absolon only picked up the pace. He ran, his mind focused only on getting around the bend and to the ford that Jarle had talked about.

Rounding the bend, he stopped in his tracks, catching his breath and surveying the scene. The Rabicano line was charging down the hills at the Dun line, their war cries mingling in Absolon’s eyes to create shades of yellow, orange and, occasionally, a flash of red.

Adrenaline swept through his body and the mage charged forward blindly. As he ran, he pulled his wand from his holster and put it to his throat, recalling a spell he never used. “Sowoorus,” he murmured and then, closing his eyes against the inevitable assault of bronze, he cried. “STOOOOP!!!!”

Absolon did not even wait for the colour to clear from behind his eyelids, nor did he stop running: his feet were moving of their own accord. He lifted his wand into the air and forced himself to concentrate. The rune chain that he had so painstakingly crafted through trial and error materialised in his mind. He willed the energy from whatever well deep within him that it normally lay it, channeling it up his arm and through his wand. From there, he pictured the energy emerging from the tip and welling upwards, growing taller than himself, taller than the trees, almost as tall as the mountains surrounding him.

The pull spread from his fingers and beyond, reaching the start of his wrist but even that did not deter Absolon. With his eyes still shut, he imagined wings begin to form and a beaked head begin to sprout until the construct was no longer an ephemeral being but a great bird that took off from his wand’s tip and flew over the charging armies. It would-

His foot caught on a stray branch, sending him tumbling down on to the ground. Pain radiated through his front but none compared to the strain of the pull which had now crept up his elbows. Absolon opened his eyes and looked up, just in time to see an enormous bird made entirely of shimmering spring green magic spread its wings for the final time before dissipating.

The fighters on both sides stood frozen, gawking up at the space that the bird had just inhabited. Footsteps pounded up behind Absolon as Ivar and Jarle finally caught up to the mage. Both of them paused for a fraction of a second, Ivar going to his knees beside Absolon, but after a brief glance to reassure himself the mage was alright Jarle kept running. The wooden feather bounced against his chest as he darted towards the two combat fronts, Pillow following ever faithfully at his heels.

“Jarle-” Sindre called in surprise, but the Dux’s heir paid his father no attention. Instead he darted forwards into the no-man’s-land between the opposing armies, bracing himself into the ford as water lapped around his thighs.

Facing the Rabicano offensive, he called, “I am Jarle! Jarle of Dun Clan, Son of Dux Sindre! These men who come with me are Ivar of Roan Clan, and Absolon, the Bringer of Spring! You see the power their god has granted them- stay your hand from this battle if you have any sense, and listen to what we have to say!”

A loud murmur rose up among the ranks of the Rabicanos assembled on the other side of the ford. By then, Absolon had come up behind Jarle -or at least as close as he could while staying on the bank- leaning on Ivar’s shoulder and clutching his wand in a death grip in his left hand. Upon seeing the ranks on the other side, however, he looked regretfully at the Roan man and pulled himself away from him and walked to Jarle’s side. He kept his stride cool and confident, his back straight and his gaze domineering and powerful, as he had learned to do by now when confronting those who had heard of him based by reputation alone. Ivar stalked up behind him, staying close by his side and glaring at the Rabicano army, almost daring them forward.

The Rabicanos, for their part, continued to talk amongst themselves for a while before their ranks parted suddenly, allowing a man atop a stocky black pony to ride out towards the trio. His elaborately braided hair, alternatively red and grey, poked out from under an iron helmet. Pieces of iron armour broke up the fur that made up his clothes, concealing his skin in all but a few places where it was possible to see heavy scar tissue. Among his weapons were a shield and a battle axe which, to great relief, hung harmlessly off his saddle.

He cast his sharp brown eyes over the assembled men and spoke in a dark brownish-blue voice, one that made Absolon think of the depths of a lake whose water was supplied by surrounding bogs. “I am Askell Rabicano, Dux of the Rabicano clan. I had heard rumours of the Bringer of Spring wandering the Dun lands but I never thought he would poke his nose into our conflict. Or that he would be a mere boy!”

The man chuckled, making Absolon stiffen.. Behind him, he heard Ivar breathe in sharply. Nevertheless, once the Rabicano Dux had shaken off his amusement, he turned back to the mage with a far more courteous expression. “Nevertheless, after that display, I can definitely believe you are the one that won in single combat against the Shifter of Seasons. If only I had allied with you first before the Duns got to you…” he grinned wistfully for a moment before turning to Jarle. “I am not a fool to fight against such power. So, Jarle of Dun, what is it that you wish to say so badly you enlisted the Bringer of Spring’s help to let you say it?”

Jarle lifted his chin, meeting the Rabicano’s eyes squarely. “Only this- I know that you of Rabicano lust for the lands and resources of my clan. That you labor as mightily under the anvil of the winter as we do. We need not be enemies, Dux Askell. Instead, we should be united against our common enemy- the Shifter of Seasons, and the long winter she brings upon us.”

Askell laughed sharply. “Well, you certainly don’t lack guts,” he remarked before staring down at Jarle from his horse. “It’s true, the Shifter of Seasons is no friend of ours and I would be glad to be rid of her. But how does me letting you keep your lands- lands I could use for myself in the fight against her- help me with that?” he grinned. “The way I see it, I can have both.”

“No, you can’t,” Absolon said, looking up at the Dux, his remaining hand clenched. “The Woo condemns war and stealing from your neighbour. He would not accept such behaviour.”

“And what do I care for him? What use is he to me when I can solve the problem of the Shifter of Seasons as my clan always has?” Askell met the young mage’s gaze. “I have heard the stories, boy, but I already know the solution. Clan Dun might have to pay the price but such is life up here: the strong devour the weak and use their newly acquired resources to survive. That’s how it’s always been.”

Jarle folded his arms. “You speak as a man who does not know the true pain of sacrifice, Dux Askell. But it is the duty of a Dux to speak for his clan, not just for himself.” Pitching his voice higher, addressing the army spanned out behind the Rabicano leader, Jarle called, “What say you, then, men of Rabicano? How many among you have had to feed your children to the Shifter of Seasons? Children you loved and cherished, children guilty of nothing save being a convenience? Does your hunger for our land hold so strong that you would go through that pain again so readily so that you might take it?”

The ranks of men assembled behind the Dux murmured, some far more incredulously than others. Gradually their voices rose, angry and discordant, accompanied by a clinking of weapons, but instead of being directed at Jarle and the Duns, their sounds were directed within.

Askell tore his axe and shield out of their holsters, smashing them together. “SILENCE!” he yelled. Absolon flinched at the sudden change in colours, momentarily closing his eyes. Luckily for him, once the Rabicano had put away his weapons, his sole focus remained on Jarle.

“As Dux, Jarle of Dun, I speak for my men. In the end, whatever personal grievances they have, they are still loyal to me, their leader. If you are trying to negotiate with us, I would recommend not turning them against me,” he growled, his hands tightening over the reins of his horse. “I have sacrificed plenty. We all have. It is the price we pay for living.”

He shifted in his saddle, his gaze darting between Jarle and Absolon. “Do not misunderstand, I am open to the idea of ending the Shifter’s tyranny. Who would not be? But I hesitate for several reasons. Firstly,” his eyes fixed directly on Jarle. “Say I do withdraw my men and do not attack you. What do I have to prove that you will not take advantage of me and immediately overrun my own lands?”

“Nothing, I suppose,” Jarle conceded, though he was frowning in a way that made it clear he hadn’t expected such an accusation. “But to what end would that be? Absolon says that his god, the one who has been driving out the Shifter of Seasons in the south, abhors unnecessary violence. If we want to appeal for the god’s protection, betraying your trust and attacking you seems counterintuitive. And if you think he is merely inventing this quality of his god, well- I have seen Absolon in a fight. He does not kill, even if it would benefit him. He spared Her, and he has spared mortal men who would have seen him dead.” To Ivar, Jarle added, “Am I wrong?”

“No,” the Roan man said, smiling a little. “He even spares bandits on the road who have attacked us. I’ve had many passionate arguments with him about it.”

Absolon blushed a little, feeling Askell’s gaze turn judgingly to him. Nevertheless, he lifted his head up, looking the Rabicano Dux right in the eye. “The Woo is kind and full of mercy, and He expects those who follow His word to strive towards that ideal. That includes Jarle, who has accepted His word. He will do you no harm.”

“A nice thought, but neither Jarle of Dun or you, Bringer of Spring, lead Clan Dun, at least not yet,” the Dux looked across the ford, towards the assembled Dun armies, in particular at Sindre. “What say you, Sindre of Dun? Is your son’s god also your god?”

At first Sindre didn’t answer, his face clouded. Absolon turned his head as far as he could, watching Sindre out of the corner of his eye, his heart racing and his breath short. Finally, after a long, tense silence, Sindre rumbled, “I admit I have not had much chance to speak with Absolon. I know little of his god. But I know my son, and I trust his judgement. He is… a far better man than I am.”

Jarle’s silver-blue eyes locked momentarily with Sindre’s identical ones. The Dux’s expression was a wistful one- almost sad. Even Askell remained momentarily silent, taken aback by this.
“I suppose if you have your father’s ear to such an extent, I can trust you to abide by your god’s rules to not attack me,” the Dux grinned. “A brave move: someone could easily see it as weakness and attack you.”
Absolon stared at him. “After all this, you would not da-”
“Relax, Bringer of Spring. I have enough honour in my veins to not do so yet,” Askell replied sardonically.
The mage, however, was not satisfied. “Just because the Woo condemns killing does not mean He will condemn self-defence. He will grant victory to those He deems righteous.”
“Yes, about that…that brings me back to my second point,” the Rabicano leaned down from his horse. “You are powerful, without a doubt, but how can this Woo of yours fight us, or indeed the Shifter of Seasons? How do we- of both Rabicano and Dun- know we will no longer have to squabble to feed Her insatiable appetite when you inevitably move on?” he once again turned his attention to Jarle. “Why are you willing to take such a risk, Jarle of Dun, enough to confront me on the battlefield unarmed?”

Jarle reached towards Pillow, giving the animal a scratch behind the ears. “My dog here is called Pillow- he was named such by my son Mikel, because of his soft, thick fur. Mikel was blind. That soft fur is all he knew of the dog I was training to be my partner in battle. Two years ago, one of the sacrifices chosen for Her died of illness over the winter, and a replacement was needed.” Jarle closed his eyes, pain evident in his face. “Mikel was chosen. I place my wholehearted faith in Absolon’s god because no father should have to know that pain. To be forced to give their child up to die, to appease a cruel monster that cares nothing for the people She rules.”

The Rabicano man fell silent, lowering his eyes. “I see…I am sorry,” A palpable sadness settled over him as he reached for the mane of his pony, stroking it gently. “I too have lost children over the years. Perhaps not to Her but a few have died as the result of the winters that She conjured up, or of fighting to carve out territory to survive. My own son, five years ago, was killed battling Clan Brindle to the south.”

He swallowed, clenching his hands. “I cannot pretend to not know your pain, Jarle of Dun. In fact, I doubt there is a single man out here who has not felt it. That, I suppose, is one thing our clans do share.”

A uncomfortable quiet settled over the men behind him. Some lowered their heads and a few murmured amongst themselves only for the murmurs to be extinguished by a stern glare from their comrades.

“That would be one thing I welcome in this new religion: a respite from having to struggle to appease Her,” Askell continued and snorted. “There is, after all, no honour or glory in fighting for survival like a dog. But my concern still stands,” he glared over his horse’s head at Absolon. “You can make all the claims about your god you wish, and you can show off the power he has granted you until you are blue in the face. No doubt you can fight Her. But how do we know it will work once you leave?”

Absolon bit his lip, if only to suppress the throbbing of the pull in his arms. He doubted Askell would be one to accept weakness, especially at such a critical time. “I cannot give you solid, tangible, immediate proof, Dux Askell. I can only offer you this: I have converted five other clans to Woo’s word. I have heard of none of them wishing to take it back,” he looked up, clasping his hand over his right arm. “The Woo does not work upfront but He rewards those who have faith,” he shot Jarle a glance, asking for silent support.

“I can understand your concerns, Dux Askell,” Jarle admitted. “It is easier for the clans of the lowlands to accept such a risk- from what Ivar has told me, they usually sacrifice crops and livestock to Her, and resort to their children only in years of desperation. But what is our life if not one of risk? You do not know when you put a seed in the ground if it will sprout. You do not know when you entice your ram to a sheep if a lamb will be successfully birthed in a few months. If we take this risk, and it pans out to nothing, then what? We are back to our starting point. But if the Woo protects us, as Absolon promises? Our children can stay at the bosom of their mothers. Our empty bellies need never again fear an empty larder and a supernaturally prolonged winter. It would save hundreds- thousands of lives. Is that not worth the risk?”

“You both speak grand words but they fail to put me at ease,” Askell replied. “I am a practical man. As much as I wish to believe you, I hesitate. Putting my faith in your god and leaving Clan Rabicano open to the mercy of Her ravages…you can understand why I am reluctant,” he held his head up proudly. “I have lived my entire life taking risks, Jarle of Dun, but always reasonable ones. I planned each of my battles carefully so I would never lose them. And I have made it a principle to not gamble on forces I cannot understand.”

“Please, Sire…” Absolon stared up at him, holding his hand to his arm in prayer. “What will it take for us to convince you?”

“Perhaps we don’t have to, not yet,” Ivar put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “We are here for Clan Dun first; all we need is for Clan Rabicano to leave them alone so we can get on with our work here unheeded.”

“If you need something tangible to set against my word,” Jarle said, “then what say you to this; if my faith proves false, and your people suffer because of Her after you turned your back from this war, then you may have me. I am Father’s only son, and Mikel was my only son. I will wager myself and with me the future of my clan.”

“Jarle-” Sindre cut in, an objection clearly on the tip of his tongue, but the Dux’s son shook his head sharply, not taking his eyes off of Askell.

The Rabicano Dux blinked, taken aback by this before grinning widely. “And since you have accepted this Woo already, I can quite easily see how your clan fares this winter. If your faith in this god fails you, Jarle of Dun, it should be easy to take you and your clan both. But if you are safe then I too will have sufficient grounds to become one of the Bringer of Spring’s converts,” he slapped his knee. “Either way, Rabicano will not be coming out the loser.”

He grabbed a small dagger from his saddle and leapt off his horse, landing with a splash in the fjord. Unfazed, he waded over until he stood in front of Jarle, looking him right in the eye. “How do you wish to take your oath? In the old way of the north?” he held out the knife, “Or do you wish to swear upon your god?”

“I will swear upon the Woo,” Jarle replied, meeting Askell’s eyes squarely, “But I will also do things our way. I respect Absolon but that does not mean I would throw away my Clan’s entire identity to become like the soft men of the southlands.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Even without Her, these mountains are unforgiving.”

“I’m not sure who that’s supposed to be an insult towards,” Ivar mumbled to Absolon.
Askell, however, ignored his mutters, instead giving Jarle an approving nod. “If you wish to swear by the Woo, then do you wish the Bringer of Spring to act as witness to our pact?”

Jarle ran a finger along the feather pendant hanging from his neck, glancing towards Absolon as if to ask the mage’s permission. Ivar noticed his gaze first and gave Absolon a light nudge, urging him forward.

He looked down at the fast-flowing water, suppressing a shudder. Taking out his wand, he pointed it at his shoes and the bottom half of his robe, whispering “Imperwoois.” Green light surrounded his legs and his waist before fading to the barest shimmer. Once the spell was complete, he took a step forward, into the water. The stream flowed around him as though he was a rock in the current, not even a drop landing upon his clothes. He shivered, still uncomfortable with the water around him but at least he did not have the cold and the wetness distracting him.

Absolon walked until he was equal distance from Jarle and Askell before nodding to the two men, indicating he was ready. The Rabicano looked over him with a smirk before taking the dagger and withdrawing it from its scabbard, dragging the blade across his palm. Blood welled from the wound and Askell held it up to the sky, holding the dagger out to Jarle now and holding up his palm to the sky, awaiting the other man.

Jarle accepted the Rabicano’s dagger,making an identical slice into his own palm. Then he pressed his bleeding cut against Askell’s, speaking out in a strong, ringing voice. “I do swear to you, Dux Askell, that if my faith is wrongly placed and the Shifter of Seasons ravages our people with the long winter after you turn your people from war with mine, that my life will be yours to do with as you wish. Upon my blood, my word I bind. May it boil in my veins if my oath be broken.”

“I accept your life and your oath, Jarle of Dun,” Askell clenched his hand, squeezing Jarle’s palm in the process. Blood ran between their fingers, dripping into the waters of the stream. “And I do swear upon my blood and my life that I will withdraw from your lands. Neither I nor my armies will set foot in them unless you break your word, at which time I will take what my people need to survive,” he looked over Jarle’s shoulder. “Our oaths are made in front of our clans and witnessed by Absolon of the southlands, known as the Bringer of Spring. If either of us strays from our words, we will not escape unpunished.”

Absolon nodded. “Lord Woo will see all you do, Jarle, Sire, and He will act accordingly. You’re not just making this oath in front of me but in front of Him too.”

This earned a smirk from the Rabicano Dux but he restrained his tongue. Jarle gave a wan smile, his blue eyes flicking towards Absolon briefly, before he returned his gaze towards Askell.

“I have every faith in Absolon’s Lord Woo. Just wait, Dux Askell- next spring the snows will melt away from the Dun territories, and without our needing to feed a single child to Her.”

“We shall see in time, Jarle of Dun. Time is, after all, Her dominion,” Askell turned around and mounted his pony. “A small part of me wishes you are right. My pride will be something I am willing to swallow if it means no longer having to live by Her whims.”

His eyes landed on Absolon and remained on him for an uncomfortably long time. It took all of the mage’s self-control to not squirm under that gaze or look away but hold his head up proudly. Askell might doubt the Woo but he did not. He knew Jarle’s prediction would come true.

Eventually, the Rabicano Dux tugged on the reins of his horse, directing it out of the ford and towards his army. “We’re leaving!” he ordered, beginning to herd the ranks together in preparation for moving out.

Absolon did not even realise he had been holding his breath until he had exhaled. “It’s done,” he murmured, slowly turning to Jarle with wide eyes. “They’re not going to attack your clan anymore, Jarle.”

The young man brought up a shaking hand to rub his face, relief palpable in every line of his body. “Thanks to you, Absolon. If it wasn’t for your power-”

“The Bringer of Spring got their attention, Jarle,” Sindre’s voice rumbled, making the trio start. Jarle turned to see his father pacing towards him. “But it wasn’t Absolon who convinced the Rabicano Dux to stand down, this day. It was you, my son.”

“Father…”

Sindre shook his head. “You comport yourself like a true leader, Jarle. With dignity, conviction, and honor. I know you will never forgive me for the things I have done, nor should you, but… I could not be prouder of what you’ve accomplished.”

Jarle swallowed hard, seeming unable to meet his father’s gaze. “You’ve always told me that my compassion is a weakness.”

Sindre sighed. “A wise leader acknowledges when he has been wrong. As I have. You listened to the Bringer of Spring when I would not, and you convinced our enemies to listen to his words as well.” He put a hand on Jarle’s shoulder. “My son; you have saved our Clan.”

The Dux took a step back, and knelt at his son’s feet. Jarle blinked clearly taken very much aback, but before he could say anything, the Duns at the forefront of the battle lines seemed to take the cue from their leader, and knelt as well. Like a breeze going over a field, the soldiers all went to their knees. By the bank of the river, Ivar looked back at the Duns behind him before turning back to Jarle. With a smile, he too sank to one knee, though he remained with his head unbowed, looking at both the other men.

Absolon waded out of the stream first, taking a place by Ivar’s side and placing his hand on his shoulder. However, his attention remained fixed on Jarle. “Your father is right. I only gave you the Woo’s word. You are the one who placed your faith in Him and who used that faith to help your clan,” he smiled. “This victory belongs to you.”

Jarle blinked sharply, his silver-blue eyes shimmering as he looked out over the amassed soldiers of Dun, their heads turned down before him. Shakily he smiled. “This isn’t over yet, my friends; Dun territory is vast, and our mountains hide many villages and hamlets where people still live in fear of the Shifter of Seasons. We’ve cleared the way, but now it is time for Absolon to do what he came here for.”

“So it is,” Sindre agreed, rising to his feet. He turned to Absolon. “If you are still willing to give us your help, after I turned you away before…?”

“Of course,” the mage said without hesitation. “Lord Woo sent me here to spread His word to all who would hear it. If you and your people are ready to turn to Him, it would be my honour to show you the way.”

Sindre nodded. “For now, you three will return with me to Nez Gata- much of the clan is still gathered there after they evacuated, and if we tell them the story of how you three saved us from the Rabicano march, they will carry that story home with them. It will smooth your way to convincing the people of Dun a great deal, I should think.”

Turning to Jarle, he added, “And when you depart again from Nez Gata, my son will accompany you.”

Jarle blinked, clearly caught by surprise. “You don’t want to assign them another guide, Father? Keep me home?”

“I think your presence will lend authority that a random soldier’s would not,” Sindre replied with a crooked smile. “And this is your mission too, is it not? I should think you would deserve to see it to its completion, assuming these two have not tired of your company.”

“Not at all,” Ivar laughed. “Jarle is a good man and an excellent guide. I think both of us would be loathe to part from him.”

Absolon nodded in agreement. “I don’t want you to come with us against your will, Jarle. You have a family in Nez Gata and we have travelled alone enough to know what to do. But, if you want to come with us,” he looked up, smiling at the Dun, “You would be more than welcome to help spread the Woo’s word.”

Jarle laughed breathlessly, his eyes shimmering. “What, and fail to live up to my promise to the Rabicano Dux? No, Absolon. I will see this through to the end. And then come the winter, I will be able to return to my wife and daughter content in the knowledge that they need never suffer Her wrath again.”

Part Eleven

SPOILER: Click to show

It took several days for the Rabicano forces to rally and retreat back to their borders, their movements tailed by Dun scouts to make sure they were keeping their promise. Once it was confirmed they were gone, however, the collective sigh of relief was swift to spread through the encampment. Relief which was soon overtaken by the exhilaration of victory and a celebratory air swept through the Dun ranks. War rations meant to be doled out sparingly became the foundations of banquets that were huge by northern standards. Meanwhile, drink flowed freely, contributed to by the inhabitants of the surrounding settlements as thanks to the warriors for saving them. While it seemed like a good idea to mix music and dance with alcohol at first, by the end of the party, barely anyone could stand, much less dance or play. It did not matter though: the war was over. Everything was going to be fine.

Despite being one of the main focuses of the celebration, Absolon remained on the sidelines for most of it. He did not take part in the drinking, letting the others do his part for him, and sat out the dancing as usual: music made it far too difficult for him to see where he was going for dance to be safe. However, he found other ways to celebrate, casting spells to brighten up the festivities and awe the Duns, though as the night wore on, he was grateful to Ivar for keeping him topped up with enough honey and other sweet foods to stave off the beginnings of the Pull.

Eventually, the celebrations ended as everyone collapsed into a deep, fitful sleep, no doubt to pay for their hedonism the next day. Being sober, however, Absolon woke up early at dawn, while everyone else was slumbering. He considered waking Ivar, who was snoring beside him, but after the previous night, the Roan man would not thank him for it, let alone be lucid enough to hear him out. So the mage snuck out of the encampment as quickly and quietly as he could without telling anyone, hoping that he could return before anyone realised he was gone.

The early morning mist swirled around his feet as he ventured deep into the forest. Cold air prickled at his skin, giving the edges of his vision a faint reddish tint. Above him, the sky was lightening, heralding the arrival of the late spring sun.

Absolon finally stepped out into the clearing and looked around. Save for the dawn chorus, there was no sign he was the only living creature around for miles. Perhaps he would have felt secure in that knowledge if he did not feel eyes digging into the back of his head.

“Daihmin?” he called out. “Eimhir? Anyone?” Absolon waited. “I kept my promise to you. Are you here?”

“I wondered if you would have forgotten us,” a familiar, echoic voice remarked, as nearby a fern rustled at Absolon’s feet. A stoat emerged from the brush, but a stoat whose eyes shone pupilless blue as it regarded the mage. “We were about to return to our barrow for waiting.”

“I’m sorry. I got away as quickly as I could. However I could not leave without thanking you,” Absolon bowed deeply to Daihmin. “I am in your debt, Daihmin, for teaching me so patiently. I could never have done what I did without you.”

The stoat tilted its head, growing in size until it resembled less a stoat and more a large, antlered bear with a stoat’s coloring and proportions. “You are welcome, I suppose. It is not usual for a human to give thanks to the ones who coerced and threatened him. You are strange even by the standards of your kind, Absolon.”

“The Woo tells us to forgive, to regard well even those friends met as enemies, and to show gratitude to all those who aided us in accomplishing a task,” the mage looked up at the fairy, smiling. “If it is strange to follow His word, I will continue to be strange. I could not in good conscience spread the message across the north if I did not follow what the Lord Woo teaches us so closely.”

“You are optimistic,” the fairy noted. “But as I have said before, this world is not one that is kind to the optimistic. You have your victory this day, son of man. As we promised, we will return to our home and stay our wrath from the humans. But how long do you imagine this can last? You know the humans hate and fear us. There will be conflict between our peoples again.”

Absolon lowered his eyes, unsure how to answer. To him, this whole conflict had been about turning the Rabicano advance away. Just because the fairies had helped him in that goal hardly meant they were allies. Soberly, he remembered that they had been considering exterminating both sides before he had stepped in.

“Does it have to be this way?” the mage murmured. “Must you always fight with the humans?”

The stoat lashed its face towards Absolon, teeth clicking together mere inches from his nose. “You speak as if this is our conflict. We are not unseelie, to feed on the flesh of men. But the humans hate us to such lengths that they feed their magic to the Time Tree thinking it a sign of changelings from our people. They murder what they believe to be our young. Do you think removing the sacrifices will kill the enmity?”

“I...I…” Absolon stammered, trying to recover from Daihmin’s sudden outrage. After a few moments, his shoulders drooped and he shook his head. “I don’t think so. People are afraid of you. I can tell them the Woo will protect them but that will only make them fear you less. They will still hate you. I’m sorry.”

He bit his lip, unsure how to calm the fairy’s wrath. In his mind, he recited a prayer to the Woo, asking for His guidance in helping these creatures too. After all, they were His creations as much as anything else.

But if they were His creatures too...they would never accept the Woo, no matter how much he begged and pleaded, but perhaps the Woo could do something for them as well, even if the fairies did not listen to His word.

“Perhaps…” Absolon carefully met Daihmin’s gaze. “I do have some influence. I can speak to people, ask them to reconsider their opinion of your kind. If they don’t have to fight her, if they’re not hungry and cold anymore and have heard the Woo’s message of love and peace, for all His creations, they might eventually make peace with your people.”

“Humans are creatures of want,” the fairy replied. “Always they lust for more. More food, more land, more power. And they breed like rabbits. Without the Time Tree to check them, they are as liable to push us out as make peace.”

“People shouldn’t only be kept in check by something murderous. The Woo’s influence and desire to live life as He asks us to can also serve as a guard against the worst of human nature,” the mage’s voice was steadfast. “The north is vast. I’ve walked across enough of it to know that much. I believe there is space for both humans and fairies here, and that with the guidance of the Woo, some peace can be achieved.”

He smiled. “I already fulfilled one promise to you, Daihmin, despite incredible odds. I might not live as long as your kind but with Lord Woo’s grace, I will have enough time to try to help your people as well as mine.”

The fairy was silent for a time, blue eyes staring hard into Absolon’s brown. Finally, the red-brown fur of the stoat’s shoulders rolled in a shrug. “If you think you can do this, we won’t stop you trying. The worst that can happen is nothing changes, I suppose.” They flicked their tail. “But remember Absolon- each barrow is beholden to it’s own queen. The fae beyond our borders will not know you, and your promises to us will help and be held only by us. You will have to prove yourself again and again should you seek this path.”

Absolon sighed. “I know, and I know I have no universal sway with your people either. But if I can get humans to listen to me and to stop persecuting your kind, perhaps someday, some peace can be worked out. Maybe not in my lifetime but if I plant the seeds…” he sighed, smiling. “Working together, humans and seelie can achieve great things. We proved that much, Daihmin, and I will never forget that. So I want to try to do something, for the sake of fairies and humans alike.”

“For both of our sakes, I wish you the best of luck,” the fairy replied. They turned, changing into a blue jay that hovered in the air in front of the mage. “I must go, and make my report to our queen. The humans wait for you, Absolon. Enjoy your triumph, but always remember that happy endings are just the beginning of the next great trial.”

“I know. There are still many more obstacles I have to face before my task is complete. But this, at least, I have overcome,” Absolon bowed his head to Daihmin. “Once again, thank you for your help. I don’t know what is etiquette among the fairies in this situation but give your queen my regards and my gratitude for her trust.”

The bird nodded, then flitted off into the trees, leaving the mage to return alone to the slumbering Dun Clan. He crept through the campsite just as the sun was beginning to rise, towards the tent he had been sharing with Ivar.

Absolon barely put a foot in before his vision was stained with indigo. “Where were you?” Ivar asked, blearily peering up at the mage.

“I went to see Daihmin and say thank you for the teaching,” Absolon replied, settling beside the blond man. “Are you alright?”

“My head hurts. It feels like I’ve been eating dry mud too,” Ivar pressed his face into his pillow.

“I’m not surprised,” Absolon ran his hand through the Roan man’s hair. When Ivar looked up at him, he planted a gentle kiss on his forehead. “I’ll go get you some water,” he pushed himself up to his feet. “I don’t want you suffering. Especially because we have a long way to go yet.”

Ivar smirked. “Yes. We can start doing what we set out to do,” he nuzzled into his blankets. “You don’t happen to know a spell for curing hangovers, do you?”

Absolon covered his mouth to stop himself laughing. “I’m afraid not. Water will have to do,” he stood up, heading out. “It will be alright now. Everything is going to be alright. Our path is now clear. We can continue the Woo’s work.”

Epilogue

SPOILER: Click to show

It was nearly midnight after a long day of celebrating as the Woomas sugar fast was broken. Most of the Dun capital of Nez-Gata was sleeping off the sugar induced stupor of the day, disinclined to so much as peel an eyelid, much less rouse from their beds.

That is, until a man’s voice cried out in terror in the darkness. The voice tore through the air, making Absolon clutch his ears and shut his eyes to avoid being overwhelmed by the deep wine-coloured hue, a hue that was laced with panicked red.

“Jarle,” he gasped once the sound had faded a little. He grabbed Ivar’s sleeve, though he hardly needed to attract the Roan man’s attention: Ivar had heard the scream as well as he did.

They turned, only taking a moment to catch the look in each other’s eyes before knowing what they both wanted to do. Ivar leapt to his feet, placing the Book of Woo he had been reading on their bed while Absolon grabbed his wand from where he had hung it on the side, tying it around his belt as both of them ran out of the room in the direction of Jarle’s voice.

Jarle, however, was already barreling out of his room to meet them, little Toril held tight to his hip.

“It’s happening,” he said, his blue eyes bugged and his brown hair wild as if he’d just tumbled out of bed. “It’s happening!”

“Mama’s breathin’ all funny,” Toril muttered sleepily. “Is she sick?”

“Oh Woo,” Absolon murmured, his own eyes going wide. He glanced sideways at Ivar but the Roan man had already stepped forward, putting one hand on Jarle’s shoulder and the other on Toril’s.

“Stay calm,” he stated, his voice unwavering. “Jarle, have you already summoned a healer, or someone to see to your wife?”

“Th… the midwife, I’ll… I’ll have to find the midwife,” he said, running a hand distractedly through his tangled hair. His eyes hooked to Ivar’s. “Can you watch Toril? Maybe Snowflake could distract her.”

“Of course. He’s...well, I doubt he’ll mind,” Ivar smiled at Toril and carefully scooped her out of her father’s arms. “Toril, do you want to go see the kitty? He’s taking a nap but if you’re nice to him, he will wake up and play.”

Absolon, meanwhile, had stepped forward, taking Jarle’s arm. “It will be alright. The Woo will be with you, and with her,” he said. “If need arises, I know plenty of healing spells. I don’t have any experience with births but I’ll do what I can for her, I swear.”

The Dun gave Absolon a wavering smile, nodding, then moved to take up his winter gear even as Toril brightened up at the prospect of getting to play with Absolon’s cat. Pillow gave a whine from his place on the front steps of the house as Jarle emerged, falling into step beside his master as Jarle raced off into the city.

The two men left behind took a moment to catch their breath, glancing at each other. “Woo, I did not think it would be happening this soon,” Absolon finally said, shaking his head.

“It is time. It has been nine months since we returned to Nez Gata from the border after all,” Ivar replied, smiling.

“I know. It’s just...time really does go by quickly. Next we’ll know, it will be spring.”

“Oh yes, it shall be,” the Roan man nodded, his voice for a moment growing sober. “It will be time for us to move on to the next part of our mission. Probably a good thing Jarle will have his hands full with his new baby then.”

“Woo willing,” Absolon said and smiled, although his smile was tinged with sadness. “I do wonder if he’ll have another daughter, or whether it will be a boy…”

“Only the Woo knows at this point, doesn’t he?” Ivar remarked. “Toril, who would you rather have: a brother or a sister?” he grinned. “Or neither and you’ll be happy with Snowflake?”

Toril giggled, “I want a girl,” she announced. “So we can have fun! But Grampa wants a boy.” In a stage whisper she added, “Boys play boring games, though.”

Ivar laughed. “Maybe if it’s a boy you can teach him some fun games, Toril? I’m sure you know lots of good ones.”

“I know all the good games,” she said primly. “But a sister could play ‘em better.”

“Why don’t you show us then? We only have Snowflake but I’m sure he’d be good at games,” the Roan man remarked. “Come on,” he began to head back to their room, hopefully to wake the slumbering cat.

Within another thirty minutes Jarle had returned with the midwife, who swept into his wife’s room and promptly barred him entry. With little motivation to try and sleep, Jarle took to pacing the house, his thumb tracing absently at the feather pendant around his neck. With Toril busy teasing Snowflake with a bit of string wrapped around a stick and neither seeming to give up on their game any time soon, the two men got up from where they had been watching the girl and stopped Jarle when he had come around on yet another lap past their room.

“Jarle,” Ivar said, his blue eyes stern. “You’re helping no-one by pacing like this.”

“I’m not hurting anything either,” he said distractedly, refusing to meet Ivar’s gaze. The Dun’s shoulders were trembling, and he ran his tonguve over lips that had visibly gone dry.

Ivar sighed but Absolon cut him off before he could open his mouth. “You’re hurting yourself, Jarle,” the mage clasped his hand over his right arm. “It will be alright. Your wife and your child are both in good hands. Have faith, and don’t be afraid.”

“I haven’t been much of a father,” he replied bitterly. “What if the child is blind again? What if I can’t protect them and something goes wrong? What-’


“Jarle, enough!” Ivar barked, grabbing his shoulder. “Maybe you can’t help some things, but you can’t say that after all the work we have done this year that your child- blind or not- will not be born into a world less hostile towards them.”

Absolon nodded in agreement. “Perhaps the Woo has given you a second chance? To be a father again so you don’t have to forever linger on the unpleasant memories of the past?”

“A romantic notion,” Jarle said dryly. “But I’d have to have more children anyway, at least until I managed to produce a male heir.”

Absolon paused, thinking about this. “Can you not love them anyway?” he finally asked. “Children need the love of their parents,” his voice suddenly lowered. “It’s hard for them without it. They wither, like plants without water, or light.”

Jarle winced. “I never said I wouldn’t love the child. It just… it hurts so much. To love them, and want to cherish them and watch them grow, and then for them to j-just be gone. Just like that. So many hopes and dreams, plans for the future, just… cut off.”

Beside Absolon, Ivar visibly shuddered and looked away but not quickly enough for the mage to miss his anguished expression. He reached out, taking the blond man’s hand before looking back to Jarle.

“I know it’s hard. To see a child’s entire life and potential disappear just...just like that,” his words wavered as he spoke. “But Ivar was right: we’ve worked hard all year so that the chances of that are less. At the very least, you don’t have to worry about them starving during a long winter or, Woo forbid, ending up on her altars,” he swallowed. “You talked to Dux Askell about risk, back when we spoke to him. It might be a risk for you now, to open your heart to this child after you’ve been hurt, but isn’t it worth it, to give them the love they need and be rewarded for it by seeing them grow?”

As Snowflake managed to yank the feather out of Toril’s grasp, the little girl looked up towards the adults with her lips compressed. Rising to her feet, she walked over to her father and put her arms around his legs.

“Papa, why are you sad?” she asked. “I’m real ‘cited. To be a big sister.”

Jarle blinked in surprised, then smiled as he knelt to hug the child. “I know you are, baby. I know. You’re going to be the best big sister in the whole world. Papa’s just… missing your brother is all. The one who passed when you were still small.”

“Oh.” Toril cocked her head. “You wanna pet Snowflake, Papa? He’s fluffy. And purrs real loud when I cry.”

“As long as you don’t get his fur too wet,” Ivar remarked. Walking over to where the cat was ripping the feather to shreds, he scooped him up in his arms, bringing him over. “Do you want to take him, Toril? Careful though, he’s heavy.”

Toril nodded brightly, taking the cat gently, albeit a bit unsteadily, into her arms. Jarle instinctively reached out to help brace the animal, sitting down behind Toril and allowing her to sit in his lap- with Snowflake held in hers. Toril stroked Snowflake’s soft fur, humming under her breath, and Jarle reached up tiredly to scratch at the side of the cat’s jaw.

Snowflake closed his eyes, purring with pleasure from the attention. He lifted up his head, giving Jarle better access to his chin. As Toril continued to stroke him, he turned and nudged his nose against her hand several times before splaying out contentedly on her lap, his thick white winter coat covering her legs like a blanket.

Gradually as the night went on, Toril dozed off in her father’s lap, the excitement of the birth of her younger sibling not sufficient to overcome the lethargy of the late hour. Without the attention, Snowflake decided to return to his interrupted nap, curling himself up by the little girl’s side and falling asleep, the end of his tail occasionally twitching as he dreamed.

With the child sleeping, the room fell quiet. Taking the opportunity, Absolon came up to Dun, sitting down next to him on the other side from Toril. “Do you feel better now, Jarle?” he murmured.

He sighed. “I’m still nervous. I can’t help that. I… I never even got to say goodbye, Absolon. He was my son, my firstborn, and I never got to say goodbye.”

The mage lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he reached for the feather around his neck, trying to figure out what more to say. A pregnant silence fell over them both.

“Jarle,” Ivar chimed in, taking a seat in the space beside Absolon. “Do you have happy memories of Mikel?” he smiled. “Perhaps this same night, just when he was born?”

The Dun blinked, then slowly nodded. “Of course. I was terrified, naturally, I had no idea how to be a father, but… I was excited too. Eager to meet my child, this new life my wife and I had created together.”

Ivar nodded in acknowledgement. “And then what? Were you happy when you finally got to meet him?”

Jarle swallowed hard. “Yes. Holding him for the first time was… the best day of my life.”

“You have many other happy memories of him then?”

“I see where you’re going with this,” Jarle remarked, his silver-blue eyes flickering with amusement. “You’re going to say I should think about the happy memories I have of Mikel instead of the sad ones.”

“No,” the Roan man smiled, shaking his head. “You have memories of your son, and you have how he changed you as a person. These are both valuable, important things, Jarle,” he looked up, meeting Jarle’s eyes. “Mikel is dead but he’s not truly gone. He persists in your memory and your words. I mean, neither me and Absolon met him and we know who he was and what he was like, all thanks to you and that little bit of him that clings to you.”

Jarle blinked, clearly caught by surprise. Then he laughed softly. “Thank you, Ivar. I suppose you do have a point. We can only strive to ensure that none of our lives are wasted, and that those who are lost are not forgotten. Or their lessons.”

“Indeed. You have to forge on, use what they gave you to better your life and others,” Ivar said softly. “Without Mikel, would you still have given me and Absolon all the help that you did? Or would you have gone to war with your father against Clan Rabicano?”

Jarle looked down at Toril, smoothing her hair. “I probably would have agreed with Father. Prioritized fighting the Rabicano. I was, and still am, a warrior. It was just my nature.”

“Exactly. That’s just how it is,” Ivar said with a nod. “But instead, not only did you prevent war and bloodshed between your two clans but you made sure that, for the first time in your clan’s history I’m willing to bet, no children suffer your son’s fate,” he smiled widely. “I’d wager that’s a pretty good legacy Mikel left behind.”

Jarle smiled softly, sadly. But after a moment, he nodded. “You’re right.” He sighed. “You two can get some sleep, you know. It’ll probably be several hours before the baby is fully born.”

“And leave you all alone, Jarle?” Ivar chuckled. “Don’t think we’d be able to sleep much knowing that.”

“We won’t,” Absolon agreed, shaking his head. “We can keep you company until your child is here, or distract you if you get too worried again.”

“If you’re sure,” Jarle replied. “But we’re probably in it for a long haul.”

Indeed, it was just around dawn before the telltale sounds of an infant sobbing emerged from the room where his wife was giving birth, and another three hours after before finally, finally Jarle was permitted inside. Af first Ivar and Absolon hung back, allowing their friend the privilege to be the first to meet his new child. But at length Jarle emerged, a beaming smile on his face, and beckoned them into the room.

The two exchanged joyful glances and walked into the room, light on their feet to make sure they did not disturb Jarle, his wife or his new baby. Jarle’s wife was dozing lightly on the bed, heavy bags under her eyes and sweat dampening her hair. Curled up tightly to her chest was a small, red-faced newborn with hair the same shade of auburn as Sindre’s. When Jarle reached out to brush the locks away from the babe’s face, a pair of clear, bright blue eyes blinked up at him momentarily before the infant clenched tighter and nodded off again.

“Toril got her wish,” Jarle mused, his voice hushed. “It’s a girl.”

Absolon could not restrain the wide grin that stretched from ear to ear. “Congratulations,” he whispered so as not to disturb the newborn. He peered closer at her, studying her features. “She’s beautiful.”

“She is,” Ivar agreed, his eyes darting between the baby and her father. “And you seem very happy with her, Jarle.”

He chuckled softly. “She won’t ever have to carry the weight of expectations of the whole clan on her shoulders. And… she needs never fear the Shifter of Seasons. She can grow up happy and safe, like children should.”

“Yes,” Absolon murmured, smiling contentedly. “As they should.”

A small smile quirked at the corner of his mouth, and he added, “We named her Abbey.”

Ivar blinked, his expression shifting momentarily to one of confusion before a wide grin spread across his face. He glanced sideways at Absolon, watching him. It took the mage a few moments before he noticed the Roan’s gaze fixated on him. A quizzical look appeared in his eyes, silently questioning why Ivar was paying attention to him and not the child.

The blond man chuckled softly. “Jarle’s named his daughter after you,” he finally explained.

“M-me?” Absolon sputtered, staring at Jarle. “I...I’m honoured. Thank you.”

Jarle laughed. “You’re welcome, Absolon. It’s only fair- you helped save our clan not only from the Bringer of Spring, but the Rabicano and the seelie as well.”

Red spread over Absolon’s cheeks. “I...I was only doing as the Woo wished me to do. What should have been done.”

“Don’t pay him any attention, Jarle. He can never just accept a compliment,” Ivar said with a smirk before putting an arm around Absolon’s shoulders and kissing him on the cheek.

Jarle grinned. “If he keeps up as he has been, he’ll have a lot more compliments to fend off in the future. Your quest isn’t going to be easy, mind. You have an in with the Rabicano, but the Brindles south of them are stubborn and proud, and the tales of the Sabinos further west talk of warriors more fierce even than the Rabicano. But I somehow imagine you will find a way.”

“I will,” Absolon nodded. “I never expected this task to be easy but it is what I must do. Therefore, I have no choice but to find a way,” he smiled. “But I have faith that the Woo will help me. He has not let me down yet, nor will he ever let me down.”

“I’ll miss you when you move on, my friend,” Jarle murmured. “May the Woo grant our paths cross again someday- I want you two to meet my son, when he is finally born.”

“We will,” Ivar affirmed. “I don’t yet know what we will do when our mission is over, but when it is, we will return, Jarle. By then, Woo willing, you will have a son.”

“I will pray for Him to send you one. But only when you are ready for it,” Absolon said, touching the feather hanging off his neck. “In the meantime, however, do you, and your wife-” he shot a glance at her as she lay on the bed “- wish to welcome your daughter into the Woo’s flock?”

“For now, let them sleep,” Jarle mused. “But later… yes. I’d like that very much, Absolon.”

“You are welcome, Jarle,” Absolon bowed his head. “It would be an honour, and a pleasure.”

[Celestial]

A short fic I wrote that links to mine and PFA's collab fic, An Unlikely Pair. The after-reveal discussion, just from Roslyn's point of view, featuring Ambrose. Because woob-dad does what he does best.

A Heart to Heart Talk

SPOILER: Click to show

A large piece of parchment lay in front of him on his desk, criss-crossed with lines and notes in the margins that sketched out the idea for an invention. However, Ambrose’s mind was on another puzzle entirely.

His niece, Roslyn had gone missing from the Manor.

Emil was not worried, which meant she had not been kidnapped at least, but her older brother’s silence served to make the mystery deeper. Where could she have gone, and why was Emil only giving him a sly smile when asked about where Roslyn was? Why was secrecy so important that he could not even calm his great-uncle’s worries?

The older Stallion pinched the bridge of his nose. Teenagers. He was not sure if he preferred this or Muriel’s shenanigans. At least with Muriel, there were her parents around to shift responsibility onto if he could not handle her. Isabelle was too far away for Ambrose to ask for her help.

Roslyn…he could only wait until the knights had returned with her. Perhaps asking her would yield enough answers to solve this mystery. If not…

A tug at his sleeve pulled him out of his thoughts, making him look down. “Grandpaaa,” Ennis whined, sticking out his lower lip. “You said you were going to show me an invention!”

“Sorry Ennis. I got distracted,” Ambrose smiled at his wooson, reaching over to pat his shoulder. He was the main reason the siblings were even here in the first place: sending her five year old half-way across the country, even with a full escort of knights, unnerved Isabelle too much, but having her older children come with him eased her worries enough for her to allow the youngest to visit his honorary grandfather.

“So where is the invention?” Ennis’s head dashed back and forth like he was an excited dog. “When are you going to bring it out?”

“I already have,” the older Stallion gestured at his parchment. “This is my invention, or what I have so far.”

“Oh,” the boy deflated. “It’s paper.”

Ambrose laughed softly. “Yes, but what matters is on the paper. This will eventually become what I invent, but it’s very important to plan it first.”

“That’s boring tho-” the door behind them opened, causing Ennis to break off. He spun in his chair, looking over its back at their visitors. Ambrose too turned his head, adjusting his glasses to see who had disturbed them.

A knight. More specifically, one of the two knights he had sent to look for Roslyn. Ambrose briefly studied his face, trying to gauge the man’s emotions. The knight looked relieved; the news he brought, therefore, was probably good.

He gave a bow to the two nobles. “Lord Ambrose, we found Lady Roslyn,” he stated once he had straightened back out.

Ambrose exhaled, his shoulders slumping as relief overtook him. “Thank Woo,” he murmured before looking back at the knight. “Where was she?”

“I was at the marketplace, uncle,” Roslyn’s voice sounded from the corridor outside. Within a moment, she had stepped into view, standing in the doorframe with a dark, annoyed expression. Her clothes were plain and she wore no jewellery, or even a hint of red or silver which would have marked her status or allegiance. “I was having a perfectly nice time before the knights picked me up.”

The older Stallion blinked, taking in the sight of his grand-niece’s sudden appearance and the sounds of uncharacteristic irritation in her voice. She had gone to the market? That was hardly an explanation for why she had snuck away. Quite the opposite: it raised far more questions than it answered.

“Hi Ros!” Ennis exclaimed beside him, spinning in his seat to face her. “Where did you go? Was it to see-?”

“It was!” Roslyn exclaimed loudly, drowning out anything else the boy would have had to say. She shot him a sweet smile. “Were you having fun here with grandpa? What is Emil getting up to? Did you have a nice lunch?”

Her brother opened his mouth to reply but could barely get a word out before Ambrose put a hand on his shoulder. “Ennis, why don’t you go with the knights to find Emil and tell him you’ve found your sister? I would like to speak to Ros alone.”

Roslyn’s back stiffened, her lips thinning. Her brother, meanwhile, stuck his bottom lip out, looking up at his grandfather. “But I want to stay. You promised to show me an invention. And I don’t want Ros to be in trouble!”

“I know, Ennis, I know. I will show you an invention very soon, a proper one. Not just paper this time. As for Roslyn…” the older Stallion glanced between the two siblings. “She’s not in trouble. I just want to ask her some things. We’ll be done very, very quickly, I promise,” he smiled. “Maybe even faster than you can tell Emil what’s happening.”

“Bet you can’t!” Ennis exclaimed.

Ambrose’s smile acquired a sly air. “Prove me wrong then.”

The little boy nodded, jumping off his chair and running towards the exit. He dashed past the knights and down the hallway. The two men exchanged a glance before looking at Ambrose, who gave them a nod. Understanding, they followed Ennis, just barely remembering to close the door behind them, leaving him alone with his niece.

She remained rooted in place, her hands behind her back and her head down, unwilling to look her great-uncle in the eye. The older Stallion sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses before shifting his gaze towards her. A warm smile formed on his face.

“Do you want to sit down, Roslyn?” he gestured at the now-empty chair beside him.

She glided forward, perching on the edge of the seat that had been offered to her. Locks of her blonde hair draped forward, masking her face as she studied her hands in her laps. “Am I really not in trouble?”

Ambrose nodded. “No, you’re not. I won’t breathe a word to your mother either: since you got home safe and unharmed, she doesn’t need to know.”

The young woman’s shoulders dropped as the tension escaped from them. “Thank you, great uncle,” she lifted her head slightly, a cautious smile peeking from in between her locks.

“I still want to know why you felt the need to sneak away to the market without telling anyone, Roslyn,” he said, meeting her gaze. “Or rather, telling your brother but clearly making sure he kept it a secret.”

Roslyn stiffened in her chair. “I was…meeting someone,” she murmured. “A boy.”

“Oh?” Ambrose blinked, taken aback by this. After a moment’s thought, however, he wondered why should he be surprised. Roslyn was fifteen: certainly, old enough to be interested in boys.

“We didn’t do anything untoward, before you think anything!” the young woman suddenly exclaimed. “We just…met up, talked, bought a few things...he got me some flowers.”

“Flowers?” Ambrose glanced around her person.

“I asked a servant to put them in water before I came here,” she replied. “I didn’t want to crush them.”

Her head lowered and she sunk into her chair, slowly, as if all the air was being taken out of her. “It was nice. I had fun. I probably won’t ever see him again but…” Roslyn sniffed. “I enjoyed it, until the knights came.”

The older Stallion frowned slightly. Why was she sobbing? He leaned forward towards the girl. “What happened?”

“He, um…” Roslyn clasped her hands together. “I didn’t tell him I was of House Stallion. So when he saw the knights, and when they called me ‘Lady Roslyn’, he…didn’t take it well.”

“Didn’t he know?” Ambrose asked, taken aback slightly. “It’s a hard thing to miss. If he agreed to meet you, wouldn’t he have already found out, even if you hadn’t told him?”

“Yes, well…” the young woman squirmed in her seat. “I met him yesterday, when me, Ennis and Emil went out to the lake. Because we were all dressed as peasants, he thought I was one. And I…didn’t correct him.”

“Why not?” her great-uncle raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t think this would cause problems, Roslyn?”

“Well, no. I would just see him while I was in Medieville then we’d go our separate ways. I didn’t think or hope anything would come of it,” there was a tinge of melancholy to her words.

Ambrose shook his head. “Even so…” his tone was gentle but there was a firmness to it. “Roslyn, you were dishonest and didn’t tell him the whole truth. Of course he would react badly finding out a girl he thought he knew and -I assume- he liked, was lying to him about something so vital.”

Roslyn bit her lip, wringing her hands together. She seemed to shrink further and further into her chair. “Y-yes, I guess…” another sniffle escaped from her.

He smiled. “Put yourself in the poor peasant boy’s shoes. He thought he was courting a girl of his own rank but it turned out she was a noblewoman from a major House,” though his smile was warm, there was a gentle chiding tone in Ambrose’s voice.

The young woman put a hand over her mouth. “That…would be quite bad,” she averted her gaze, suddenly finding interest in something in the window.

Ambrose raised an eyebrow. He turned to see what had caught her eye but there was nothing. Why had she suddenly broken eye contact with him? “Perhaps you should send him an apology at the very least.”

“Ah, no,” the young woman exclaimed. “I don’t know where he lives so we can’t send anything.”

“Surely you must know his name? That’s not something you don’t find out about someone you agree to meet,” Ambrose replied, tilting his head slightly. Something felt off. “If you do, we can ask around. Medieville is big but someone might know him.”

“No, it’s…” she took a deep breath. “I don’t want you to waste time turning over the city to fix my mistake.”

“I don’t mind. You yourself admitted it should be fixed,” he studied her. Things were definitely very suspicious. “Unless there’s something else you haven’t told me.”

“The boy, he…” Roslyn shrunk back as if she was a snail retreating into its shell. “He wasn’t a peasant. He was a nobleman, like myself.”

Ambrose blinked, not even bothering to hide his surprise. “Then it’s doubly confusing to me why didn’t you tell him who you were? It would make things much easier,” A smile crossed his face. “And for that matter, you could have told me you were meeting a noble so I did not have to scare myself into sending knights after you.”

“I…I’m sorry, great-uncle, for scaring you. I didn’t mean to,” she murmured, genuinely apologetic. “But I couldn’t have told you.”

“Why not?” a confused frown spread across Ambrose’s face.

Though Roslyn’s expression remained impassive, her drooping shoulders and the way she faced away from him betrayed her discomfort. The older Stallion’s frown grew deeper.

“Roslyn, I know I said I wouldn’t tell your mother, but if an incident happened with a nobleman that you can’t talk about…”

Her skin blanched. She swallowed, nervously lifting her head. “You promise you won’t be angry?”

“Of course, I won’t be,” he smiled kindly at her. “Have you ever seen me angry, Roslyn?”

“Well, no…” the young woman murmured. She glanced at him briefly before tearing her eyes away again. “I…I didn’t tell you because the boy I was meeting was a Jade. The heir of House Jade, actually. Everett.”

Ambrose blinked, taken aback by this. He stared at Roslyn, trying to see if she was joking but everything about the girl’s cowed demeanour suggested otherwise. This was the big secret she had been withholding, the one she had deemed important enough to keep that she snuck out of the Manor? That was all she had been afraid of?

Before he could restrain himself, the older Stallion burst out laughing. Roslyn looked up at him, her eyes wide, looking for all the world like she was being run down by a herd of wild boar.

“I’m sorry, Roslyn, I...I couldn’t help it,” Ambrose finally managed to muffle his laughter, though his smile remained wide. “You were treating this like it’s a life-or-death secret.”

“It isn’t?” she gasped, her mouth hanging slightly open. “But Jade and Stallion have been rivals for generations, haven’t they?”

“Well, yes, but actual relations between the two Houses have been fairly amicable for a while now. They’ve not been at each other’s throats for over a century at least,” a wistful smile appeared on the older Stallion’s face. “My brother- your grandfather- certainly had a deep respect for the Jades and their lord at the time. And from what I could gather, the feeling was mutual, more or less.”

A small laugh escaped from him. “Most importantly, in recent memory, a Jade and a Stallion have gotten married.”

“No!” Roslyn exclaimed, mouth agape. “Who?”

“Master Kirin Mao, my secretary. He is married to Leif Jade, House Jade’s archmage,” Ambrose explained. “They might be adopted House members but they are still members, and neither House objected when the two formed a relationship.”

“Oh,” the young woman murmured blankly. She leaned slowly back in her chair, the beginnings of a hysterical smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, and clapped her hand over her forehead. “I feel very stupid now.”

The older Stallion sighed. “I can imagine,” his eyes darkened slightly as a thought overtook him. “But this does make things more complicated if you lied to him about your identity.”

He looked her in the eye. “Tell me honestly, Roslyn: did you really think you could keep up this lie that you were a peasant girl forever?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t intend to. Like I said, I just…hoped we could have a nice time here in Medieville, then he and I would go back to our respective regions and be none the wiser. It wasn’t meant to be anything.”

“And then what happened if he recognised you, or more likely your brother, at a noble function?” Ambrose asked. “He would have realised then he had been deceived. And that would not end well for anyone.”

Roslyn winced. “Ah, no. He wasn’t happy when he found out about me as it was.”

The older Stallion frowned slightly. “In what way?”

“He just…he was dumbstruck, and I think he was angry. He suspected I was tricking him,” she wrung her hands in her lap. “He said he wanted to believe me when I said I wasn’t doing it out of malice but…he left without confirming or denying anything.”

Ambrose rubbed the bridge of his nose under his spectacles. “Roslyn, I understand your intentions: you didn’t want him to have any preconceived thoughts of you, and that’s fair, but the fact is…” he looked up at her. “You caused a lot more problems for yourself than you solved by lying like that.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, great-uncle,” the young woman bowed her head.

“If it had just been the lie to me about you sneaking away, but lying to Lord Jade…” he shook his head. “It probably won’t lead to anything major. However, that doesn’t mean you still should have done that.”

Ambrose paused. “Going back to it, imagine if you found out that he was a Jade when he had pretended to be a simple peasant. Especially since there’s no obvious conflict between our Houses.”

“It…would look a bit suspicious, wouldn’t it?” Roslyn said, shifting in her seat as she tried to get more comfortable. “I’d wonder why he did that.”

“Exactly. No doubt those same thoughts were going through Lord Jade’s head too,” Ambrose replied.

“But I apologised! And I tried to explain things!” the young woman suddenly cried. “And he still wouldn’t listen!”

The older Stallion gave off a small sigh. “Apologies and explanations do not mean the other person has to accept it. Whether Lord Jade forgives you or not is up to him, and nobody else.”

“Oh… I see,” Roslyn bit her lip, her head lowering. “So you’re saying there’s nothing I can do, great-uncle? That Everett’s already made up his mind?”

“Not necessarily,” Ambrose reached out, putting a hand on her shoulder. “He might be more open to you once he’s had some time. But the decision is his to make, and his alone.”

The young woman refused to look up at him. “There’s nothing at all I can do, isn’t there?”

“I’m afraid not, except wait,” he smiled at her. “I know it’s frustrating, believe me, but life is like that sometimes: all you can do is wait.”

“And if he doesn’t forgive me?”

“Then you have to let him go. Take your lessons from this and move on as best as you can,” Ambrose let out another slow sigh. “I know this is not what you want to hear, Roslyn. But it that is how it is.”

“It’s alright, great-uncle. I have no-one to blame but myself for this,” she did her best to smile, even if tears glistened in her eyes. “Thank you. I’m glad you weren’t angry at me, even if some of the things you told me were unpleasant.”

The older Stallion smiled. “Roslyn, I could never be angry at you. I certainly don’t think what you did was very smart, but there are some lessons in life you must learn yourself,” he lowered his head, meeting her gaze. “You could have done much worse.”

“Then deceiving the Heir of House Jade to take me out and buy me flowers? Really?” Roslyn giggled.

Infected by her, Ambrose too, gave off a small laugh. “Believe it or not, yes,” he said once he stopped. “At least you kept your exploits with Lord Jade innocent and harmless enough.”

“Yes…” the young woman’s eyes filled with sadness. “So what happens now? You said there’s nothing I can do but…I keep feeling like I should still go apologise. Maybe it will make things better?”

He sighed deeply, resting his head in his hand. “Let me put it to you this way, Roslyn: in your apology, can you tell him anything more than you already have?”

Roslyn shook her head, prompting Ambrose to sink back in his chair. “Then no, there’s no need to apologise further. It might make him even more suspicious, and disrupt his time to think. All you can do is wait and see what Lord Jade does.”

“I said I’d write to him,” the young woman murmured, hope tinting her voice. “Maybe I could do that later, when he’s not so suspicious?”

“You could,” the older Stallion nodded. “It seems like you’re quite fond of him. It might be nice if you could be friends despite your…odd meeting. But-”

He put his other hand on Roslyn’s shoulders, levelling his gaze with hers. “Don’t you worry about it for now. It is out of your hands. Try not to think about it as best as you can and find something else to do,” Ambrose smiled, glancing down at her dress. “Maybe you could get changed? Or go find your brothers? I’m sure Emil would like to know what happened.”

“He’s going to be like an old fishwife at market: all ears for gossip,” the young woman laughed before returning his smile. “I’ll do my best to not think about it. And I’m glad I talked to you about it.”

She threw her arms around Ambrose, hugging him. He gladly returned her hug, resting his head on her shoulder.

“It’s always a pleasure to help,” the older Stallion finally said before pulling away from Roslyn, though he kept a loose grip on her hands. “And speaking of which, if you are going to your brothers, could you bring Ennis back here? I owe him an invention.”

“Of course, great-uncle!” Roslyn leapt to her feet, bursting with energy all over again. “I’ll get him.”

With that, she left his workshop, running off down the corridors of Stallion Manor. Ambrose smiled to himself, leaning back in his chair. Young people, if nothing else, were resilient. Whether Everett Jade forgave her or not he suspected Roslyn would be just fine. Of course, he hoped that he would forgive her. After all, no matter how good the relationship between Jade and Stallion was, it could always use a little bit more friendship- or more than friendship- to grease the wheels.

Ambrose picked his cane up from beside his chair and groaned, raising himself up to his feet. Now…what could he show Ennis enough to keep that boy’s attention for more than five seconds?

[Celestial]

So this thread has not seen activity for a while. In truth, I have been working on a thing. A 50k word thing. This isn't it. But it is a prelude to it and sets up an important relationship and context. Also, these two are adorable.

Mother's Warmth

SPOILER: Click to show

It was so cold. Though Margot was sitting in front of a fire wrapped in a thick blanket, she had to pull her hands out of its protective shell to be able to sew. As soon as she did her fingers were bitten by the chill that hung in the air. There was no choice except to hide them deep between the furs and the folds of her own dress, trying to conserve whatever warmth her body was generating.

One would think she would be used to the cold; Destrier was a little further south than Websteros. Yet her first winter here so far had seemed so much harsher and more unpleasant, ever since the middle of November when the snows had begun. Woo, Margot could not remember seeing so much snow in her life. Back home- no, former home- the storms howled, cracking the ice upon the surface of the ocean, but they had never brought such blizzards.

On the rare days when it snowed, when the storms crashed against the walls of the palace so hard that its higher levels shook, her family had clustered in the lower sitting rooms in front of the great fires that roared within them. There, under the watchful eye of their parents, wedged between her brothers telling jokes or exchanging stories, with Llyr gently ribbing Nereus, Webster reading to them or all the siblings taking part in a game, Margot always felt warm, even in the face of the fiercest winds.

Her family, however, was nowhere to be found here. Flames roared and hissed in the fireplace, lighting up every corner of the small room. Had she been back at the Palace, Margot would have thought such a place cosy, but this room in Destrier castle, with its tiny windows and thick tapestries, whose designs seemed to dance with every flicker of the fire, was suffocating. Without the hum of conversation to drown it out, the shrill whistle of the wind amongst the cracks of the stones sounded almost like the howling of a pack of wolves. Oh, how she wishing something or someone would come to relieve her of this infernal sound.

But who? She was too high-ranked for her handmaidens or the other servants to treat her without the painful awareness of their difference in status. Grand Duke Lachlan was often busy, even during the winter season. Even if he was free, the man’s size and stoic demeanour was too terrifying for Margot to find any comfort from his presence. Though his wife was warmer, her frequent illness meant that there had not been enough time to get to know her. And Alain…Margot squeezed her eyes shut. Even after five months of marriage, her husband still treated her like a stranger. She would give anything to have him here, with her, but knowing how he would act around her, it would make the room feel even colder, the howling of the wind even more hostile. It seemed like she was alone.

A sharp twinge in her stomach reminded her that was not strictly true. Margot slowly lowered her hands to her belly, gentle stroking its swollen surface beneath her dress as if to soothe the baby within. She had begun to feel its movements only recently but she treasured each movement, even if it caused her pain: it signalled that the child, her and Alain’s child, was real and alive. Margot was fulfilling her duty to the House. Perhaps if she had a son, an heir, her husband would look upon her with more kindness. Perhaps…

The door opened and Margot instantly jerked upwards, her hands flying protectively over her stomach.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I did not mean to startle you,” came a hoarse voice followed by an equally croaky laugh. “I guess I better relearn how to knock.”

Like a rabbit poking its nose out of a warren, the young woman looked up, only to be met with the amused twinkling eyes of Lady Maura. The Grand Duke’s wife adjusted her pose, cocking her hip and resting her hand on it. Despite her relatively young age, deep wrinkles draped down below her eyes and around her mouth, marring her already pale skin. Remains of copper streaked through the locks of her grey hair which fell down across her chest, obscuring but not quite hiding the outlines of her ribs. Yet, despite her age and her slightly skeletal appearance, a wry smile curled on her face, transforming her wrinkles into laugh lines, highlighting her eyes, glittering with character. As she walked, the sway of Maura’s hips and spring in her step suggested her age was well below what it truly was. It seemed as though at any moment now, she could burst into laughter or begin to dance and sing. Without the veneer of illness clouding her, it struck Margot just how alive her mother-in-law was.

“You look rather lonely here,” Maura asked, interrupting Margot’s thoughts. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh, yes, it’s fine, thank you, your Ladyship,” the young woman replied, smiling. “I was just…contemplating.”

“I see,” came the reply before Maura paused, looking around. “Do you happen to know where my husband is? Lachlan was supposed to return not too long ago but with this storm…” she glanced out of the window.

Margot shook her head. “I’m sorry, I have not left this room. Even if Grand Duke Lachlan had returned, I would not have known,” she glanced up at the other woman. “Surely the servants would know?”

“I asked a few; got the same answer you gave me. The grooms would know for certain but I’m not going out to the stables in this weather,” Maura gestured with derision at the blizzard before turning back to Margot, cocking her head. “Reason I’m asking you is because Alain went with him. I figured if they were back, he might have told you, or had someone tell you.”

“Oh,” Margot’s voice was as faint as the rustle of a mouse in the grass. She lowered her head, closing her eyes briefly. “Alain does not tell me such things.”

“Men,” Maura snorted, rolling her eyes. “They get so caught up in their own business that they don’t bother to exercise basic decency,” she sighed, looking out towards the storm again. “But it seems likely that they did not come back before that hit. I hope they managed to get into an inn or found shelter.”

“I hope so too…” Margot murmured, gazing in the same direction as her mother-in-law. The blizzard had come on so suddenly. If Bernians had magic, she could have sworn it has been conjured out of thin air. She clenched her hand over her stomach. Wherever he was, she could only pray that Alain was safe. Though there was no doubt in her mind he was; her husband was not the sort of man who would ever let a snowstorm get the better of him.

“Shame; I’d ordered the servants to heat the sauna up too. I needed it anyway, with my chest acting up, but I hoped to get some company. Figured the men would appreciate it anyway, after being out in the storm too,” the older Stallion woman turned her head slowly back to Margot. A slow, knowing smile spread across her face. “Say, dear, you look rather cold…”

“Oh, no, I’m fine,” Margot shook her head, hugging the blankets around herself. It felt insulting to admit any discomfort in her surroundings to someone from her new family. “This…this is fine.”

A croaky laugh emerged from her mother-in-law’s throat. “If you were fine, you wouldn’t be huddled up in those furs like a little caterpillar in its cocoon,” Maura smiled at her. “Come on, be honest; you’re cold, aren’t you?”

“Well…” the young woman lowered her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered in the tiniest voice.

“Now that wasn’t so hard to admit, was it?” the older Stallion lady said with a croaky laugh before going over to Margot and taking her shoulder. “Come then, let’s go to the sauna and warm up a bit. I certainly wouldn’t mind getting to have a nice chat one on one with my daughter-in-law,” she grinned suddenly. “You don’t have saunas in Albion, right?”

Margot paused, thinking. “Not that I know of,” she said quietly, meeting the eyes of her mother-in-law. “What is it?”

“You don’t know?” the older woman stared at her. “Good Woo, how have you been cleaning yourself?”

“…The servants have been heating water and pouring it into a tub for me,” Margot whispered, looking down at the floor, her stomach churning. Had she made some kind of mistake?

“Ah, of course. I prefer the sauna myself but a girl like you would be used to the tub method,” Maura smiled gently, squeezing Margot’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble. There’s no need to shrink like that.”

The young woman paused for a moment, slowly allowing herself to relax before daring to look up at her mother-in-law. “But, if I may still ask, what is a sauna?”

“One of Bern’s greatest inventions,” Maura patted the young woman’s shoulder and started moving back towards the door, gesturing for her to follow. “Come, it’s best I show you.”

With some reluctance, the young woman slowly uncurled out of her blanket cocoon. Cold air immediately blasted into her like she had just stepped out into the blizzard raging outside. Suppressing a shiver, Margot nevertheless swung her legs around and stood up, wobbling slightly as her sense of balance accounted for the recent expansion of her belly. Wrapping her arms around herself, she followed Maura.

Her mother-in-law waited patiently for Margot to reach the door before heading down the corridor. The pace of the two women was slow since, as Maura explained, she did not want to a risk a shortage of breath so soon after her bout of illness, and especially not in front of the skittish young woman. Margot nodded, saying she understood and did not mind. Indeed, she was glad for it; with her pregnancy and all the soreness of her body resulting from it, the pace was much easier on her too.

They descended down the back staircase of the family’s private quarters towards the bathhouse. Warmth emanated from behind its doors as though they had trapped the sun within, keeping it safe from the storm. The impression was only reinforced when Maura pushed open the doors, sending a blast of hot air and a stream of light from furnaces which were hard at work heating the water.

“It’s just through there,” the older Stallion lady said, pointing to an innocuous door on the left, one Margot had never paid attention to when she had come to the bathhouse before. “There’s an antechamber first and then the sauna room.”

They walked through the door together into the antechamber, where a woman had just finished depositing several towels. Beyond it, there was a thick wooden door. A few wisps of steam tricked from its cracks.

That must be the sauna room, Margot thought. She took a few steps towards it before feeling Maura’s hand on her shoulder. “Whoa there, girl, take your clothes off first. Can’t have you sitting in a boiling sauna in that dress. You’ll fry yourself and ruin it!”

“Ah, yes, of course,” the young woman nodded, her eyes darting around. “…do we change here?”

“Yes, that is the purpose of this room,” Maura replied, already starting to remove her jewellery. “No need to be shy. I’ll even turn around if you’re uncomfortable.”

With that, the older Stallion lady faced the wall and proceeded to start peeling off the outer layers of her clothes. Margot swallowed, still not fully at ease with changing in a room with another person but they were both women and besides, this was her mother-in-law. It would not hurt.

Her back to Maura, Margot began to take off her own dress, carefully drawing the fabric over her stomach before easing it off her body. She placed it neatly on the benches provided, topping it with her headdress as though it was a dish she had just prepared.

A shudder ran through her. Though she was no longer cold, she felt very exposed. Grabbing one of the towels from the side, Margot wrapped the cloth around her torso, carefully positioning it so that it covered everything despite her pregnant belly. Finally ready, she turned back towards Maura…

…Only to see the other Stallion lady striding towards the sauna, her head held high and her towel in hand.

“L-lady Maura. Are you just going to go in…like that?” Margot managed to stammer out.

“Of course!” Maura turned to her, smiling. “It’s more comfortable, and I’ve always done it like this. I highly recommend it.”

“But…but…” the young woman swallowed. “It’s indecent.”

“Indecent?” came the reply, followed by a croaky laugh. “Dear, do you bathe in your clothes too?”

“Well…no.”

“It’s the same thing,” Maura put a hand on Margot’s shoulder. “Don’t be shy. You’re among friendly company and I won’t be seeing anything I’ve not seen before.”

The young woman swallowed nervously, glancing down. For a few moments, she stood stock still even as her mother-in-law let go of her and went over to the sauna door. Finally, however, her hands reached towards the knot where she had tied her towel and undid it, carefully slipping it off her body though she still held it protectively in front of herself, like a shield. Only then did Margot take slow, tentative steps after Maura, shivering a little.

The older woman smiled as she spotted her approaching, her blue eyes gentle as if watching a child taking a bite of new food for the first time. She took hold of Margot’s hair, tying it carefully around the young woman’s head. Then, taking hold of the doorknob, straining a little, Maura slowly opened the door. Heat emanated from within like from an ember. Eager to get into the warmth, Margot stepped inside.

It was like stepping into a furnace. For a moment, she felt like she could barely breathe from the hot air in the chamber. Margot took a step backwards but was stopped by Maura’s hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, it’s fine. I know it’s hot but you’ll get used to it. Just put your towel down on the bench, sit down and relax,” the older woman murmured comfortingly.

Still scared but willing to trust in her mother-in-law, the young woman did as she was told, sitting down upon her towel. Feeling sweat beading upon her forehead, she reflexively wiped it, only to have Maura shake her head.

“No need for that; just let it be. That’s the point. You can wash yourself off later. There’s a bucket of cold water suspended in the next room. You can tip over yourself to cool off before coming back in here again,” the older Stallion woman explained before sitting down on the bench next to Margot. She stretched out like a cat in the sunlight, sighing contentedly and closing her eyes. Meanwhile, Margot sat stiffly, her hands by her sides, looking down at her feet, trying to ignore the beads of sweat that rolled down her back. Slowly though, the temperature became more bearable and she realised she had never felt so warm in her entire life. It was a little like a bath, except there was no part of her that was not enveloped in warmth.

Margot closed her eyes and leaned back, her shoulders relaxing. At the same time, she heard Maura’s voice. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Mhm,” the young woman murmured. “It’s such an odd thing though, that you have here in Bern.”

Maura snorted. “The sauna? It might be odd but it’s good for cold winters, both for washing and warming up. Langeans apparently have a variation too,” she laughed softly. “It started amongst the peasantry but then the nobles decided they wanted it too.”

“I can see why,” Margot’s eyes suddenly snapped open as she felt a kick inside her. Her hands flew over her stomach. “It won’t hurt the baby, will it?”

“Of course not. Don’t worry, I was in the sauna when I was pregnant with both my sons, and it never did them any harm,” the older Stallion woman said, smiling. “Besides, I would not want anything to happen to my grandchild,” she reached out a hand towards Margot’s belly, stopping a few inches short of touching. “May I?”

Margot nodded and Maura gently lowered her hand, placing it just beneath the other woman’s bellybutton. She rested it there, patiently waiting, until the child shifted inside its mother’s womb.

Maura closed her eyes, her smile acquiring a gentle curve, before she looked back up to Margot. “This is your first, isn’t it?” she asked. “How are you finding it?”

“It’s…strange. Uncomfortable sometimes, even painful,” the young woman clasped her hands above her abdomen. “But I have to do this. This is mine and Alain’s child. That’s enough to make me bear whatever discomfort this brings.”

“And you’re not scared?” Maura asked. “Do you feel ready to become a mother?”

“Even if I wasn’t, this is my duty, to my husband and to the House. My feelings don’t matter,” came the quiet reply.

“Don’t be ridiculous! You’re the one carrying that child, you’re going to be birthing it and, with the help of a few nursemaids, admittedly, you’ll be raising it,” the older Stallion woman said sternly before the gentleness returned to her expression. “So you can tell me how you really feel, dear. Woman to woman.”

Margot hesitated for a moment, looking down at her abdomen. “I…I am scared, but I’m also glad. I’m doing my duty, and I am carrying the child of someone who I…who I love,” she blushed. “I’m happy. I want this child. I just hope…I hope it’s a boy. An heir.”

“And if it’s a girl?” Maura asked, raising an eyebrow.

The young woman sighed. “I’ll love her just as much. I just hope Alain will love her too.”

“He better, if I raised him right!” the Stallion lady exclaimed before grinning at her daughter-in-law. “Don’t worry,” she put an arm around her shoulder, squeezing it. “You’re going to be just fine, both you and your child. We’ll look after you. The midwives that are assigned to you have been good so far, aye?”

“Er, yes,” Margot nodded.

“Then you’re in good hands. I’d trust those women with my life,” Maura cackled. “And I have, frequently. About seven times in fact.”

“Seven?” the younger woman stared at her. “But…you only have two children?”

“Aye,” Maura’s expression suddenly soured. “The others didn’t make it.” She leaned forward, resting her knees on her elbows.

Margot bit her lip. “I’m…I’m sorry,” she whispered weakly. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“It’s fine. That’s how it is sometimes, and after all these years, I have made my peace with it,” Maura said with a shrug. However, the grim look in her eye remained. “I won’t tell you to prepare for such a thing though. No amount of preparation can ever make it hurt less.”

The young woman shivered, her arms wrapping around her stomach as she felt the baby inside her kick again. The very thought of losing this child, this wonderful living thing that she was creating, was nurturing and was going to nurture, was a painful stab to the heart she could hardly bear.

“Don’t worry, it will all be alright,” Maura’s voice came from beside her, followed by a squeeze of her shoulder. “You’re young, and most importantly, you’re healthy. You and this baby won’t have any problems.”

Somehow, looking at the Stallion lady, Margot managed a smile. Fear still lingered within but with Maura looking at her with such kindness and offering such encouragement, she did her best to put it aside.

“Thank you, your Ladyship,” the younger woman said.

Maura laughed, patting her shoulder. “No need to call me that. Just Maura will do,” she shook her head. “I hate formalities. Always have. Besides, aren’t we supposed to be family?”

“I…I suppose. But you are my senior, therefore it is polite to call you by rank,” Margot replied, bowing her head slightly.

“Nobles,” A derisive snort escaped from the older Stallion woman, making Margot jump suddenly, only to find herself looking at her mother-in-law’s smile. “I’m sure that’s what you were taught, dear, but I was not. So just call me by name.”

“A-alright,” Margot said, her voice wavering as she nodded slightly. Out of the corner of her eye, she dared look at Maura again. She has closed her eyes and leaned back, calm and relaxed with her coppery hair tied back in rough braids. A smile played on her face that would have looked more at home on a court jester’s face than a noblewoman’s. Without her dress and regalia, it was impossible to tell that she came from a noble House, let alone that she was the wife of the Grand Duke of Bern.

“It occurs to me, La- Maura, that I know almost nothing about you. You are his Grace’s wife and Alain’s mother, and your…your lungs are damaged,” Margot swallowed, adding “It’s just what I heard,” before the older woman could be offended.

Maura, however, seemed nonplussed. “Go on, girl,” she urged, resting her head in her hand, her eyes filled with curiosity.

“If I may ask, what of your family? Where do you come from? Nobody ever told me anything about your origins,” the young woman paused. “I assume you are from Bern, judging by your accent, but in what House were you born?”

A hearty laugh emerged from the older Stallion woman, so loud it almost trembled the walls of the sauna. Margot stared at Maura as though the latter had just gone crazy. What had she done wrong?

She remained stock still even as Maura’s laughing was broken off by a wheezing, coughing fit. As much as she wanted to help, she had no idea what to do. Fortunately for her, after several deep, measured breaths of the hot air, her mother-in-law seemed to recover. When she looked up at Margot, however, it was clear the amusement was not gone, just retreated to a twinkle in her blue eyes.

“I’m flattered, Lady Margot,” she tossed her hair back and straightened her spine, putting her nose up in the air. “I come from the long-esteemed House of Macallan, an ancient family consisting of crofters, sheep herders and the occasional livestock thief,” a grin spread across her face. “Does that answer your question?”

Margot blinked, staring at her mother-in-law with her hand hovering close to her mouth. “I’m…I’m not sure what you mean, Maura?”

The older woman kept grinning. “It means I was a peasant before I married Lachlan,” she said, tilting her head. “You’re probably too young to remember the scandal but I am surprised you heard nothing about me or my low birth when the engagement was being discussed.”

“No,” Margot shook her head. “I mean, you did not strike me as a typical noblewoman but I had no idea…” she bit her lip, wondering if she said too much.

“You can take the girl out of the croft but you can never take the croft out of the girl,” Maura shrugged her shoulders.

“So how did you…if I may ask, how did you end up here, with House Stallion?” the younger woman inquired, peering up. “I’ve never heard of a peasant woman marrying into a major House before.”

“And with good reason: it causes all sorts of trouble. A lot of minor Houses questioned Lachlan’s decision to marry me and he had to make a lot of sacrifices to keep them happy. For all their criticisms, they were right about one thing,” a sigh escaped from Maura, her face suddenly softening. “When it comes to me, my dear Wall does think with his heart more than his head.”

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, before continuing. “Apparently, Lachlan was infatuated with me at first sight. Why else would he disguise himself as a peasant and keep on seeing me for two years? Of course, I had no idea it was him. All I saw was a charming, handsome stranger who, once you got past his stern face, had a good heart, an entertaining manner, great dreams and, most importantly of all, was so gentle…” Maura snorted. “Was it any wonder I fell in love with him?”

“No…” Margot murmured, looking at her mother-in-law with wide, stunned eyes, her jaw hanging open. “So did he…eventually ask you to marry him?”

“Yes. As I lay recovering from being near death,” the older woman remarked with a grim smile. She knocked on her chest. “Turns out getting pneumonia and not being treated for it properly will kill you. But he brought physicians who brought me from the brink, then told me the truth,” she snorted, putting her head on her forehead. “I was so angry that as soon as I gained enough strength, I punched him in the jaw!”

“You…you punched Grand Duke Lachlan?” Margot squeaked, her mouth falling open. The very thought of it was unthinkable to her and yet here was the lady of House Stallion telling her she had done just that.

“Yep,” Maura rolled her eyes. “Oh don’t look at me like that, for all your manners and noble upbringing, you would do the same if your fever had just broken and you learn that a lot of what you believed for two years was a lie,” her smile returned. “Of course, that didn’t stop him from proposing to me there and then, as the Duke of Bern. Apparently, after almost losing he, me realised that, for all his duties and the scandal of marrying a peasant woman, he could not live without me. So,” she spread her arms. “Here I am, all these years later.”

The young woman continued to stare, her breathing hitching in her throat. All this sounded like a dream, much like the fairy tales her brothers or her mother would tell her, except it had really happened, in House Stallion of all places. To her, the Grand Duke had always seemed an intimidating man, fierce, proud and emotionless, but by the way his wife spoke of him, by the affection reflected in her eyes and her face, there could be no doubt that her description of him was the truth: that he was capable of loving someone so fiercely he would defy all social convention just to be with her.

And if Grand Duke Lachlan was capable of feeling such things, then maybe…just maybe…

Despite the heat, a shudder ran through Margot’s body as she quickly sucked in more of sauna room’s hot air in order to fuel the sudden quickening of her heart.

“Margot, are you alright?” Maura asked, her voice full of concern as she leaned over to look at the young woman’s face. “If it’s too warm, you should go into the cold room, get some water all over yourself.”

“It’s fine, I’m fine. Just…” the young woman paused before her eyes flickered sideways, glancing at Maura. “I would have never thought all that about Grand Duke Lachlan. I’m wondering now if…if Alain is…is anything like that.”

Her mother-in-law paused, thinking, her fingers tapping against her knee. “Alain is…well, he is like Lachlan in some respects- they are father and son after all- but in others…” she shook her head. “With Lachlan, it only takes a little digging but Alain always hides behind that smile of his, never showing anything unless he wants you to see it, no matter how hard you try. I’ve known my son all his life and sometimes even I find it hard to guess what he is thinking.”

“Oh,” Margot murmured, the disappointment in her voice almost palpable. She sighed, her hands curling around her stomach to try to suppress the disappointment that bubbled in her gut. “I thought perhaps…perhaps there was something to him, something more. Maybe I could…”

The young woman bit her tongue. Her cheeks burned even hotter than the fires of the sauna.

“It’s alright, go on. You can tell me,” Maura urged her gently, giving the girl an encouraging smile. “What is it that you want to know about my son?”

Margot closed her eyes. “If there was some way he could love me,” she uttered, the words tumbling out of her mouth like an avalanche. In the next few moments, she wondered if she had heard herself right. There was no way she could have given voice to such an intimate, painful secret, could she?

The thoughtful look on her mother-in-law’s face, however, confirmed the reality. “I don’t know,” she finally said, turning back to the young woman. “Love takes time, and even then, it is different for everyone. Especially someone as guarded as Alain…” she shook her head. “I doubt I could help you here. I’m sorry, Margot.”

“It’s fine,” came the reply, though she struggled to fight back the sudden lump in her throat. “I just wish there was some way he could love me like I love him. But he has made his feelings about me clear.”

As if on cue, Alain’s voice echoed in her ears, unbidden. I have no feelings for you. She shuddered again, hugging her arms around herself.

“There, there,” Maura’s voice along with her hand on her back brought Margot back into the warm sauna room. “Noble marriages, as far as I understand, are rarely loving, especially ones made for politics. I didn’t like the idea of it but I knew it had to be done. Not all of us can be Lachlan and I,” she paused, her eyes on the young woman beside her. “Does Alain know about your feelings?”

Margot nodded. “I told him, on our wedding night. He told me he…he did not feel the same way.”

“Ah,” Maura spoke with a distinct air of sympathy. “I’m sorry, but sometimes…it happens. You cannot force love.”

“I know,” the younger woman choked back a sob. “I know,” she clutched her stomach. “But I just wish he did not treat me so coldly. That he would not ignore me, treat me like I was not there. That I did not feel like I was worth nothing to him.”

She clapped her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide as she glanced sideways at Maura. “I’m sorry. I should not have said anything. Forgive me.”

The Stallion woman remained silent but it was impossible to miss the darkening of her expression. Margot turned away, expecting a rebuke at any moment for speaking out of line so when Maura spoke, she flinched even before she heard the words.

“No, forgive me, Margot,” the older woman said, turning towards her. “I thought I had raised a son who knew better.”

Margot looked up at her mother-in-law, her mouth hanging open before immediately turning away. “It’s…it’s not that. It was pretentious of me, to ever expect his affection. To ever think he could love a stranger just because I loved him so. Alain is not at fault.”

“The ‘Pit he is,” Maura growled, clenching her fists. “I don’t care if he doesn’t love you- he has the right to feel how he feels- but he should at least treat you like a human being, not some inconvenience he can ignore if he feels like it. Especially when you are carrying his child!”

“La- Maura, please, don’t be mad,” the young woman clasped her hands together. “I don’t mind, really. It’s still early days. Maybe…maybe he’ll change? Just please, don’t…don’t take this out on Alain.”

A sardonic smile appeared on her mother-in-law’s face. “You are very sweet, Margot, for wanting to protect him, but Alain is my son and I will discipline him and how I choose,” she put her hand around Margot. “I’ll speak with Alain. Get him to understand how much he is hurting you.”

The younger woman bit her lip, not even daring to look at Maura, instead wrapping her arms around herself. She did not know whether to be afraid or grateful for the harsh actions her mother-in-law was going to undertake against Alain on her behalf.

As if sensing her reluctance, Maura gave her shoulder a squeeze, “Hopefully you will be happier this way, and your child, when it is born, will be too,” she smiled. “If it makes you feel any better, I won’t be too harsh on Alain. At least, it won’t be anything that he hasn’t experienced before. But if he dares to take it out on you…I will make no promises.”

Margot ruminated on this. On one hand, any word to Alain about how she felt, after the deep trauma that such a confession left last time, made her stomach tie itself into knots. This time, however, it was not her who was doing it, it was Maura; Alain’s mother and a woman who, even despite her illness, seemed far braver and certainly much brasher than Margot could ever dare to be. No wonder, if she had grown up a peasant and climbed her way up here.

She sighed, leaning into Maura’s warm touch, not even minding the sticky feeling of sweat clinging to both of them. For the first time since she came to Destrier, she relaxed, safe in the knowledge that here, just like in Websteros, she had somebody looking out for her interests.

“Thank you, Maura,” she murmured.

The older woman smiled and stroked her hair. “You’re welcome, dearie,” she pulled away from Margot suddenly. “Now, we should probably cool off. We’ve been here long enough.”

“Can we come back afterwards?” Margot asked.

Maura nodded. “Of course. While the storm rages, we might as well stay here,” he grinned. “Glad you’ve warmed up to the sauna.”

Despite herself, Margot giggled.

***

Maura had been right. As soon as the storm had settled, they got word that two great Noblesses surrounded by several knights had entered through the main gate and into the courtyard. Without a moment to spare, the older Stallion lady she hitched up her skirts, dashing through to the entrance hall as fast as she could without her lungs seizing up.

She burst into the hall to find Lachlan and Alain shaking the snow out of their cloaks. The two men lifted their heads to look at her but could hardly open their mouths to speak before Maura wrapped one arm around each one of them, drawing them into a hug.

“Thank Woo,” she wheezed, burying her head in Lachlan’s chest. “You did find shelter, right?”

“Yes, it was fine,” he put his arm around her. “We got to an inn and stayed there until the blizzard died down.”

“The innkeeper almost had a heart attack, seeing both the Grand Duke and his heir walk through his door,” Alain added with a soft chuckle. “We left him staring at our money wondering if he had imagined the whole thing.”

“Poor man. He’ll have a story to tell to his friends,” Maura laughed but almost immediately, her expression grew more serious. “You should tell your wife you’re home, by the way. She missed you too.”

“Of course, mother,” he replied with a curt nod. “I’ll see her as soon as I get warmed up and changed. Speaking of which, is there a sauna available?”

The Stallion lady’s mouth thinned. “There is one that can be warmed up quickly for you. We were using it until recently; the stones should still be hot.”

“Maura?” Lachlan asked, puzzled by her tone of voice.

“Nevermind,” she planted a kiss on his cheek and drew away from the two men. “I’ll let you go get warm now. I’ll also arrange for some mulled cider to be prepared for you.”

Alain smiled. “Thank you, mother.”

Her eyes flickered over to him. “When you are done with all that, however, I want to speak to you,” she said, her voice carrying a slight edge. “Meet me in the common room.”

The young Duke’s face flickered with a momentary expression of surprise before it was swept downwards, replaced by his usual smile. “Of course, mother. I will come when I am ready.”

***

That evening, while Lachlan was in his office writing a letter, Maura sat alone in a cosy sitting room by the fire when she heard the knock she had been waiting for. Placing the tiny blanket she had been knitting in her lap, she looked up at the door, uttering an authoritative “Come in.”

Alain pushed open the door and strode in, wearing the same confident smile he always carried on his face these days. “You wished to speak to me, mother?” he placed the tips of his fingers on his chest. “Here I am.”

“Indeed I did, Alain,” Maura gestured towards an armchair opposite her. “Sit down.”

He did as he was told, lowering himself into the chair and cocking his head slightly, silently imploring her to go on. The Stallion lady met her son’s gaze, her eyes hardening.

“I had a chat today with Margot. She told me how you have been treating her,” she stated, an edge to her voice. “I know that- unlike your father and I- your marriage was arranged, but at the very least, you could treat your wife with some civility.”

Alain raised an eyebrow as his mother continued. “Like a friend or, at the very least, a person, not like a stray dog to be coldly ignored as you do. Especially if she is pregnant with your child,” she allowed a scowl to flash across her face. “I thought I had raised you better than that, Alain.”

A humourless smile curled at his mouth. “You have raised me very well, mother,” he stated, folding his fingers together. “However, I cannot treat her as you say I should.”

“Why not?” Maura’s voice was razor-sharp.

Alain paused, his icy blue eyes looking away from her to his hands before his gaze flickered back up. “You’ve seen her. You know how beautiful she is.”

His mother paused. It was true; with her flowing blonde hair, deep blue eyes, creamy skin and curvy figure, Margot was certainly a rare beauty. “Would that not help?”

“You would think, but it makes things worse,” Alain replied, his mouth still smiling even if his eyes did not reflect it. “I told her I had no feelings for her, but that was a lie. She -or rather, her beauty- does inspire some feelings in me,” he looked away, “Ones I am not proud of.”

Maura’s mouth twitched, her eyes not sure what direction to face as conflicting emotions swirled within her. However, they soon settled and she placed a hand on her son’s knee, giving him a gentle look. “Such feelings are natural, especially in men your age. You should not feel ashamed.”

He laughed softly, shaking her off. “Normally I would not. If that was all there was, it would not pose a problem. The issue is that Margot is hopelessly and utterly infatuated with me,” Alain lifted up a finger. “And she is infatuated, no matter what she thinks.”

“Maybe, but her feelings are strong. Your rejection of them is causing her grief,” Maura felt a growl come into her voice. “You can swallow your own pride and at least acknowledge that, can’t you?”

Alain shook his head. “I could, but she is a silly, naïve girl. She would take that as evidence that I love her back and, under the influence of her infatuation, would do anything for me,” his teeth gritted together. “I could so easily take advantage of that. Be guided by my own temptation, by my own lust, to manipulate her for my selfish desire…” he looked up at Maura, smiling sadly. “You have raised me well, mother; I cannot stomach the thought of doing such a thing.”

“Good,” she remarked sternly, folding her arms. “But I do not see why you should be so cold-”

“It is best that she comes face to face with reality, that she is under no illusion I do not love her,” came the reply. “That way, I am not tempted to manipulate her, and she knows that any pretence at affection is false.”

Maura sank in her chair, looking down at her knees. Her lips had thinned into a line and her mind buzzed as she tried to process her son’s words. Silence hung in the air between them.

“That is admirable,” she finally uttered before turning her eyes up. “But still, you should think about how she feels. Show her more respect.”

“Respect?” a glimmer of amusement entered Alain’s eyes. “And what has she done to earn my respect, mother?”

“She’s your wife. She deserves it,” Maura retorted.

“She is also a stranger. A naïve, unintelligent girl who breaks easier than a dry leaf. She has done nothing to prove herself worthy of my respect,” he spoke coolly, his face still as a lake on a clear day.

“She is carrying your child,” his mother countered.

“Yes, she is, but that means nothing. I have yet to see what kind of mother she will be,” the humourless smile once again tugged at the corners of Alain’s mouth. “Though, to be perfectly honest, I do not have high expectations for her.”

“And why not?” Maura tilted her head, her voice once again tainted with steel. “She is a good, sweet girl who seems utterly devoted to you and that child. Why doubt her?”

“She will only be so devoted as long as her infatuation for me holds. Margot denies reality even if it stares her right in the face. She will try to find her fairy-tale romance in somebody else,” Alain spoke as calmly and factually as though he was telling Maura what kind of stone the castle was made from. “When she does, I doubt she will have any devotion towards me or the child.”

“You would slander her like that?” his mother snarled, her hand involuntarily clenching. “She is your wife. Why do you think so badly of her?”

“I base my predictions only on what I have observed of her and her behaviour, mother, nothing more. I am willing to wait and see,” Alain smiled and shrugged. “Perhaps she might even surprise me.”

“She will,” Maura glared at him.

“And until she does, I will hold my opinion of her,” Alain met her gaze without flinching.

His mother’s jaw clenched, but she knew when the battle was lost. “At least look after the child,” she turned back to her son. “Your child has nothing to do with this. For all that you think about her, they have not chosen their mother. They should not suffer for the sins you see in her and especially should not suffer if she really will abandon them as you say she will.”

Silence fell over Alain. She tried to catch a glimpse of his eyes but he tilted his head away, hiding them from her. Within a moment though, he took a deep breath and stood up.

“As you say, mother,” he said calmly. “I shall take my leave now.”

Maura opened her mouth and immediately closed it again, slumping in her seat. “Go then.”

He gave her a brief nod of acknowledgement before turning on his heel. Just as he had taken a single step, his mother spoke up. “Alain?”

“Yes, mother?” he asked without turning around.

“Nevermind,” Maura sighed, shaking her head.

“If something is bothering you, mother, say it.”

She heavily closed her eyes before opening them again. “You have made up your mind and there is nothing I can do to change that. I also cannot deny that your intentions are good, or that your judgement of her character is wrong. However,” Maura lifted her head up and looked directly at him. “I still do not like how you are treating her, nor will I learn to like it. If you want my approval in this, it must change.”

“I am truly sorry, mother,” Though his tone remained neutral, Maura could have sworn she heard a waver in her son’s voice. “But I cannot see it changing any time soon.”

With that, he exited the room, shutting the door behind him. She listened as his footsteps faded away, replaced only by the crackling of the fire and her own wheezing breath.

Her attention turned to the tiny blanket resting in her lap, meant for her grandchild when they were finally born. Maura put a hand to her forehead, rubbing it. She had often found herself wishing to return to the times when her son was a sweet, innocent thing, when the worst things she had to deal with were the results of his mischief. However, she had never found herself directing those thoughts at her eldest before, and certainly never for the reasons which had settled in her mind now.

Where did I go wrong in raising those boys?

[Celestial]

Following on from yesterday, finally, I can get this beast off my chest. As evidenced, Margot and Alain's relationship started off...rocky to say the least. And it never got amazing, but it got vaguely better? So this is the story of how that came to be. It's also about 47k words, so get ready for several chapters.

The Stag and the Stallion

Part 1

SPOILER: Click to show

Spring had come to Bern. As if in tribute to the melted snow, the apple trees in the gardens of Destrier Castle had covered themselves in white flowers. Insects buzzed between them, and after those chased birds. They plucked them from the air and carried them to hidden nests built within the bushes. Somewhere above, a cuckoo called.

Margot lifted her head up to catch a glimpse of the bird, but had no time before something else required her attention. “Aveline!” she called to her daughter “Don’t go far!”

The child, however, paid her no heed as she took a few steps down the rocky path. Over one month past her first birthday and her curiosity for the world had become insatiable. A few minutes spent in the garden so far had resulted in her trying to eat a stone and then burying her fingers in the wet ground. That was before the plants had caught her eye, making her spend some time pawing at the petals of the newly bloomed flower. Now, apparently, something a way further down had attracted her attention and she simply had to wander towards it, wobbling all the way.

Margot sighed, getting up from her seat and approaching her daughter. Taking her under the arms, she scooped Aveline up. “You will get your dress dirty,” she chided. A cursory of the examination of her sleeves, however, showed plenty of splashes from where Aveline had played in the mud. It was too late.

She put her down: might as well let the toddler explore.

The girl gave her a brief look before turning her eyes down the path and beginning to toddle towards whatever it was that had caught her eye. Margot smiled, supporting Aveline as the girl slowly wandered in a direction only she knew.

Eventually, the toddler pulled her hands out of her mother’s gentle hold and ducked down, grabbing the leaves of a rose bush that was growing beside the path.

“No, Aveline, be gentle,” eager to set an example, Margot reached out and touched one of the leaves. They were still soft beneath her fingertips, no doubt only recently grown in. Carefully, she brushed her fingers across the jagged border before moving on to the bump of the green vein that ran through the leaf. Smiling, the Stallion woman turned back to her daughter. “Like this, see?”

Spending time with Aveline, watching the child grow and explore made the rest of life so much more bearable for Margot. Lady Maura was good company, when she was well, but even she could not compare to the child. Sometimes her nursemaids complained about how little they saw of her. Alain often stole the girl away and Margot always gave him priority: he was Aveline’s father and if he wanted to be with his daughter, she had no right stand between them. However, with him away inspecting the Terskian garrison, the Stallion lady was savouring the extra time that had been gifted to them.

The toddler blinked and slowly reached out, running her tiny hand over the leaf. Her eyes widened as she stared, fascinated, into the depths of the rose bush. Margot continued to observe her, a fond smile creeping across her face. Sometimes she considered Aveline to be the only gift Alain had given her.

No! She mentally chastised herself for thinking that way about her husband. It was selfish to expect him to acknowledge her feelings. He did what he thought she was right. For all her wishes- wishes for warmth, for affection, for acknowledgement- he did not owe her any of that. He had fulfilled his duty and she was fulfilling hers.

Margot blinked back tears and forced herself to turn her attention back to Aveline. The girl had gone on to her hands and knees, crawling into the rose bush, towards branches covered in large, aggressive thorns.

The Stallion woman gasped, fear suddenly clutching her heart. “Aveline, n-”

The toddler reached out and clamped a hand over a thorny rose twig. She screamed from pain. The sound pierced through the entire garden, rattling the very air and tearing at every cell in Margot’s body.

“Mamaaaaa!” Aveline wailed. “Mamaaaa!!”

Fighting the instinctive waves of panic that were sweeping through her body, she scooped her child up in her arms and hugged her close.

“Hush, hush now, it’s alright, Aveline, it’s alright,” she murmured, sounding far more comforting than she really felt. Plucking Aveline’s hand from her side, Margot brought it up to her eyes to see how much she has hurt herself. A pinprick of blood welled from the girl’s palm but, mercifully, it did not appear to be deep.

She sighed with relief, cuddling Aveline closer and hushing her. Eventually, the toddler’s crying quietened down to a soft whimpering. Margot took the edge of her sleeve and wiped the tears that rolled down her daughter’s crimson cheeks.

“There, there, you’re fine,” the Stallion woman said gently, planting a kiss on Aveline’s forehead. “Come on, let’s go inside. We can get you cleaned up and-” she kissed the cut, “-have somebody look at that.”

She turned and almost stumbled into a man who had been walking along the path. Margot leapt away, giving out small, startled squeak. Her eyes ran down the man, scanning his features. Black hair fell in short straight locks down his head, framing a slightly rounded, young face from which gazed two merry deep blue eyes. A medallion hung off his neck, embossed with a stag. He was dressed well, wearing a fine linen tunic dyed navy with a light grey cloak covering his shoulders. Colours that were not seen in either the knights or the servants. Margot could not even recall seeing him around before.

She and her child were out here, alone, with a complete stranger. Pangs of fear began to run up her body and she clutched Aveline closer to her, angling her tiny body away from the man.

“W-who are you?” Margot stammered out, staring at him with wide eyes.

He jolted as though suddenly struck. “I’m sorry, I did not mean to startle you,” the man bowed to her. His voice was deep but with a melodic lilt that made him sound almost owlish. “I only recently arrived here. My name is Ives Perlino.”

“Perlino…” Margot rolled the word over her tongue, wondering why it seemed familiar. “As in, the minor House of Perlino?”

“That’s right,” Ives replied with a nod and a smile. “And you are, your ladyship...?”

“Margot. My name is Margot Stallion. And this-” she shifted Aveline in her arms to face the man. “is my daughter, Aveline. Aveline, say hello.”

The girl had already been gawking at the man, wide-eyed and curious about this stranger. After a short while, she raised her hand and wriggled it half-heartedly while babbling something along the lines of ‘hello’.

“She’s not quite grasped how to give a proper greeting,” Margot smiled sheepishly at Ives. “I do apologise. She is only one.”

“No, it is quite alright. For her age, she is already quite well-mannered,” Ives smiled and bowed to the child. “It is a pleasure to meet you, my ladies.”

“The same to you, Lord Perlino,” the Stallion lady delivered her best curtsy while balancing her daughter on her hip. “I do apologise but I cannot stay here long. Aveline has cut herself and I want to get her wound cleaned.”

“I hope it is not serious,” the man said, frowning as he looked over the child.

“No: she pricked herself on a thorn, nothing more, but I want to make sure she really is alright. And maybe get some of this mud cleaned off her,” Margot smiled fondly at Aveline, gesturing at her dirty dress.

“Ah, well, in that case, I won’t keep you,” Ives replied with another bow. “We shall see each other again, I am sure, Lady Margot.”

“If you are a guest of our House, we’ll see each other at the High Table, right, Lord Perlino?” she queried.

“Maybe today,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “But I don’t know for certain. It all depends on what her ladyship in the absence of his Grace decides.”

Margot blinked, not quite understanding why Maura would deny a visitor- even one from a minor House- a place at the High Table. Nevertheless, she bit back her question: she could ask it later, when Aveline had been seen to, or even wait until dinner.

“I hope to see you tonight then, Lord Perlino,” she said, giving him a hasty bow.

“You too, Lady Margot,” he replied before folding his arms, smiling. “But may I suggest you get used to calling me Ives? I will not be Lord Perlino for long.”

This only deepened her confusion further but there was no time to enquire further into the man’s reasoning as Aveline wriggled in Margot’s arms. “Mamaaa,” she whined, reaching out for something only she could see. “Down. Down!”

If the Stallion woman wanted to get her daughter cleaned up, she would have to hurry before Aveline escaped and went exploring again. Shooting the Perlino another polite smile alongside a knowing glance to her child, Margot stepped around Ives and strode down the path out of the gardens and in the direction of the castle. If there were questions about the Perlino lord she really wanted answers to, there were ways of finding out. Right now, Aveline was the most important thing that needed to be taken care of, especially with her father being away. He had entrusted his daughter’s care to Margot after all.

Perhaps, if the older woman felt well enough, she could ask Maura about the Perlino lord later, once she had put Aveline down for the child’s nap.

***

The physician had confirmed Margot’s assessment of the scratch in Aveline’s hand. He applied a cleaning tincture while Margot held her daughter, partly to keep her in place for the man and to comfort her as the tincture stung at her tiny palm.

When it was over, Aveline was carted off to the nursemaid, who had washed the rest of the mud off and changed her into clean clothes. Aveline was not keen on sleep so Margot spent the rest of the day with her in the nursery, playing with her and holding her while the nursemaids told the little girl stories.

All this activity made her brief encounter in the garden fade in her mind to an obscure piece of trivia, so much so that by the time they made it down to dinner and she had a chance to ask Maura about the Perlino lord, Margot had forgotten completely.

Aveline awoke the next day energetic as ever: only the rain prevented her from going into the garden again. Instead, she raced up and down the castle, stopping occasionally to thoughtfully examine a tapestry or a piece of furniture. Horses in particular fascinated her, a fact that did not surprise Margot in the slightest, given the House she was part of. Luckily for Aveline, there were more than enough horses in Stallion’s décor to keep her busy. Every time she saw one, she called her mother over with a delighted squeal of “Ho’se! Ho’se”

By late afternoon, however, all this running around and all the impressions she picked up had left Aveline exhausted. Margot took her to the nursery where she was placed into her crib, and after a few songs from her nursemaids, Aveline fell soundly asleep.

After convincing herself she was not going to wake up for at least an hour or so, Margot tucked the blanket around her daughter and retreated into an adjacent room with her sewing. Settling into a comfortable armchair by the window, she soaked up the sounds of birdsong coming from outside. In the distance, the hills were shrouded in mists left behind by the reminds of rain hurrying away, drawing her eyes to their majesty.

A nostalgic sigh escaped her. As beautiful as they were, Margot still missed the sea of her homeland. From here, with the clouds topping them, they could have fooled her into thinking they were overly high emerald waves. Except they never moved. They always remained still as the stones that made them up, a reminder that no matter what, she could never recapture the unique nature of the sea so far inland.

Her musings were broken by a sharp knock. The Stallion woman straightened in her chair, her gaze turning door. Who could it be? Alain and his father were not due to be back from their tour until tomorrow. He never knocked anyway. Perhaps it was one of the nursemaids or a servant?

There was only one way to find out. “Come in?” she called out to the visitor.

The door opened and a round face with deep blue eyes peered into the room. It took Margot only a second to place where she had seen the man before.

“Ah, hello, Lady Margot,” Ives Perlino said, bowing his head to her. “I did not realise you were in here.”

“Hello, Lord Perlino,” Margot replied, blinking slightly. “May I ask what you are doing here, in the private quarters?”

In answer, the man opened the door fully and stepped in, letting her see his clothes. Unlike yesterday, he had discarded the muted grey, navy and sand colours of House Perlino and was now sporting a maroon tunic contoured with silver. His medallion still rested upon his chest, right beside a badge depicting a silver horse’s head that was held up high, as befitted Stallion’s pride

“You’re a servant?” she exclaimed, her eyes dashing up and down the young man’s body.

He chuckled. “I hope this is not too much of a surprise, but indeed, starting today, I am,” the Perlino man bowed. “I now work as junior steward of Destrier castle, under command of the chamberlain, responsible for taking care of every need of House Stallion.”

“Oh, I see,” Margot uttered. “Congratulations on your new post, lord…” she looked at him imploringly.

“You can just call me Ives, Lady Margot, and thank you,” he smiled. “Right now, I am touring the castle and familiarising myself with its layout. May I come in?”

“Of course,” she gestured inside. “If you are to live in this castle and work for its family, you should know every nook and cranny.”

“Thank you,” Ives stepped inside, shutting the door behind him, and looked around. “This cannot be your room, is it, lady Margot?”

She shook her head. “Mine is a little further down. This is only the room I go to for a bit of peace while Aveline sleeps in the nursery. I’m sure you noticed it as you walked through.”

He grinned. “I was too busy dodging the dirty looks the nursemaids gave me. If your daughter is sleeping, that would explain those.”

“Yes, although she is a heavy sleeper. Sometimes I feel like all the knights in the castle could come through her nursery in full armour and she still wouldn’t wake,” Margot remarked with a fond, warm smile. “Barring her curiosity, she is such an easy girl to look after, and so cheerful too.

Ives chuckled. “When she is not putting her hands in rose bushes?”

The Stallion woman squeaked. “Thank Woo that does not happen often!” she gave a fond sigh “And even when it does, I still believe I am lucky to have her.”

“Indeed,” the man nodded. “And I am sure her grandparents and her father feel that way.”

“Oh yes. Maura adores her, and Lord Lachlan certainly seems fond of her. Alain…” Margot sighed, looking away. “I know he loves her, and I am glad he does.”

Ives raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t Duke Alain and Grand Duke Lachlan away right now? By the border?” he tried to meet Margot’s gaze. “You must be worried, Lady Margot, about your husband being so close to a hostile country.”

She stiffened, her breath catching in her throat for a moment before she shook her head, still looking away from him. “He would not want me worrying about him.”

“You must still miss him,” the Perlino man remarked.

Margot bit her lip, praying Ives would not see the cracks in her composure. The man was a minor noble and a servant of Stallion: she could not give him any hints of the difficult relationship between her and Alain.

“I hope he returns soon and safe, like a good wife should. That’s all there is to it,” she replied in a stiff voice, looking straight ahead into space. Immediately, she turned to the Perlino, a rigid smile plastered across her face. “What about you, Ives? You’re far from home. You must miss things there too, and unlike me, it won’t just come back to you.”

The man laughed softly. “I suppose it won’t. I must admit, it’s still not fully sunk in that I am not going home any time soon. But to be frank, Lady Margot, I’m glad I left.”

“Oh?” the Stallion woman blinked, surprised. “I am sorry. Are things so bad?” she gestured to the seat opposite her. “Do feel free to sit down if you’re going to stay. I do not wish for you to remain on your feet, Ives.”

“Thank you,” he lowered himself into the chair opposite, resting his elbows on the handles. “It isn’t bad, nothing you should concern yourself with. My main problem was my older brother: we did not see eye to eye, to put it mildly.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry,” Margot said sympathetically. “My brothers mean so much to me. I could not imagine getting along with them.”

Ives snorted. “They probably aren’t as selfish and petulant as Nairn is. It pains me that he is the heir,” the man’s voice carried a strained edge. He shook his head. “But since I am a younger brother, I either had the choice of throwing my lot in with him or going to seek my own prospects. I chose the latter without a second thought.”

“It is very brave of you,” the Stallion woman stated, her eyes wide with wonder. “I would never be able to make such a decision.”

“Lucky for you then, Lady Margot, you did not have to,” Ives rested his chin in his hand. “But it’s not all bad. I’m actually quite excited; a steward’s job is much less gruelling than a physician’s. I thought about the latter – even studied a bit for it- but decided on the former. As a steward I make a difference right away, as opposed to having to study for years like I would have had to at college, or the university.”

“I suppose. I’m afraid I don’t know much about either profession: I have not been in Bern very long, nor was I told about them before. Much of my education focused on being a proper noble lady, among other things,” Margot looked up, her eyes wide. “I am not complaining, please don’t misunderstand, it is simply that I do not know much else.”

“Don’t worry, Lady Margot, I understand: a lady has a different path laid out in her life,” the Perlino smiled. “I can only hope yours is as fulfilling as mine.”

“Well, yes,” the Stallion woman replied almost automatically, feeling her stomach churning. “It has its ups and downs, but I cannot complain, really,” she returned his cheery expression. “I have enough here to be grateful for, and I am sure you will find Destrier and House Stallion very much to your liking.”

“I am certainly enjoying it so far, though it is early days. Who knows what can happen?” Ives shrugged and leaned forward in his chair. “But, may I confess something to you, Lady Margot?”

Margot blinked, her mouth unhinging a little as she looked at him, confused. “What?” she eventually asked, her mind already churning as she tried to figure out what he was about to say.

The upward curl of the Perlino man’s mouth bore a hint of conspiracy. “Destrier reminds me a lot of Noriker, only bigger. It’s a beautiful city but no doubt made of the stone that was quarried in our lands. And, of course, it does not have Loch Tamond to make it sparkle like Noriker does.”

The Stallion woman stared at him for a moment before putting a hand to her mouth, covering the grin that came across it. “I thought you were going to tell me something much more sordid, Ives,” she turned back to him. “I did not realise that Destrier owed so much to your House. I knew that much of the stone for this castle came from further north but I had no idea it was specifically from the land of House Perlino.”

Ives chuckled. “Without a doubt, tt would be from us. Most likely following my great-aunt who came here to marry the Duke at the time,” he cocked his head at Margot. “You might have heard of her; Lady Alana Perlino, her name was. She achieved a bit of notoriety later.”

Margot paused. The name was mentioned in the lessons she received before her wedding on the history of House Stallion but she did not recall any notoriety attached to it. Then again, all she had been told were names, dates, ancestry and descendants. It mentioned nothing of who all those people really were.

“I know her name and that she was Grand Duke Lachlan’s grandmother, but that is it. I don’t know anything about her reputation,” she finally answered, looking at Ives imploringly.

“Well, that doesn’t surprise me,” the man grinned. “It was an enormous scandal and a disgrace to my House at the time. Lady Alana gave birth to a child that was clearly not her husband, Duke Ashley. He…”

Ives cleared his throat. “Well, he never thought his wife would cheat on him willingly. So, jumping to conclusions, he had the father executed. Only after that did his wife tell him she was more than willing: she was cuckolding him for over a year. Fearing his wrath, Alana fled, only to return years later to the full forgiveness of then-Grand Duke Ashley,” Ives spread his hands, shrugging. “That is the basic gist of that story.”

Margot stared at him, dumbfounded. Silence fell over the two as she processed this new information about the ancestry of her adopted House. Disgust welled up in her at the thought of Lady Alana’s callous abandonment of her duties. Why would the woman even do such a thing?

And yet, if her husband was so vengeful that she saw the only way to save herself was to flee…

“Poor Lady Alana,” she finally said to Ives. “But she should not have cheated on her husband.”

“I should not say this, not in his household but…” the Perlino man glanced around before leaning in. “Some say Duke Ashley was not kind to her. He was paranoid and jealous. That’s why she left.”

“Well, nobody’s husband is perfect-” Margot bit her tongue, guilt running through her as she realised what she said. She looked down. “But I still think Lady Alana’s actions were wrong. She had a duty, even if Duke Ashley was unkind to her,” the woman turned back to Ives. “Woo, I don’t mean to offend you or your House by saying such a thing. Please forgive me.”

“Oh, no offence taken. That was the line of thought taken by House Stallion towards her, one we had to adopt in order to keep their favour,” Ives replied with a shrug. “Grand Duke Ashley forgave her and admitted his fault in the matter to us when he realised what he had done. It is no longer an issue. Just an interesting bit of trivia about the connections between our Houses.”

Margot nodded, not sure what else to say about the topic. As much as she wanted to demonise Alana, to think of her as a renegade to her duties, she could not help but feel for her. Pushing those feelings down would only make them surge back stronger, like a cork in water.

“Maybe we should move on to a more pleasant topic?” she asked, smiling at Ives. “You talk badly of your family but so fondly of Noriker. Do you miss anything from there?”

“Oh, do I!” Ives laughed before a nostalgic smile crossed his face. “Most of all would have to be the loch and the views you get across it. On a clear day, when the mountains reflect in its glassy surface…” he sighed. “That is a view that can only be replicated in the Woo’s heaven.”

“That sounds beautiful,” Margot replied, breathless as she tried to imagine it. “I grew up in Websteros by the sea. I always loved it. Staring into its surface, listening to the waves crash against the rocks, it was the most relaxing thing.”

“Oh yes. Whenever I got tired of being in the castle, I always went down to the lake to calm me down,” he nodded. “You would love it, Lady Margot. It is on an island, separate from the city.”

“A little like this castle then?” she asked, smiling.

“I suppose,” the Perlino man said with another clear laugh. “Except with a lot more water surrounding it. There is nothing here of that ilk aside from the river.”

“No…” Margot gazed out through the window, her eyes suddenly veiled with sadness. “But I have learned to appreciate the hills too. I’m not going home, not any time soon and certainly not forever, so I have to take what I can from this place.”

“Indeed, and there are plenty of good things in Destrier,” Ives said cheerily. “You can find anything on the market. Just yesterday I went out and found all kinds of spices here, some of which I have never seen before up north! I won’t even speak of the guilds, which I sadly didn’t get a chance to look at.”

“They are interesting. The craftsmen there are masterful, though I have no idea how a lot of their craft actually works,” Margot remarked before sighing. “I’m afraid I’ve not been able to go and see them much though. My pregnancy and then looking after my daughter has been taking much of my attention.”

“Well, you’re here for a while; you’ll get the chance at some point,” he replied, tilting his head slightly. “Perhaps you could ask your husband once he returns if he could go with you and your daughter?”

Her breath caught in her throat. Margot lowered her gaze away from Ives, hoping he would not see the dejection in her eyes. “Perhaps,” she murmured quietly. Alain may very well take Aveline whenever he wanted to spend time with her but, save for formal occasions, he never made room for Margot. If he fancied it, he might allow her to come with them but all it would serve is remind her of how distant he was. A reminder that he felt nothing for her.

“I apologise. I hope that was not a painful topic,” the lilting voice of the Perlino man broke through her misery.

Margot looked back up at him, forcing a smile across her face. “It’s fine, Ives. I just don’t know if…if Alain would have time for that. He is always running around doing something.”

“And he is not even the Grand Duke yet? What a dedicated man,” the steward remarked with a wry smile before shrugging. “It was just a suggestion anyway, Lady Margot. You know your husband better than I.”

I doubt it, the Stallion woman though, though she did not dare give it voice. She had already told enough about her marriage to a man who was supposed to serve this House- including her husband- with loyalty and good faith. To give Ives a bad impression of Alain would be betrayal, even if she somehow could find it in her heart to allow anybody to think badly of the latter.

She was about to open her mouth to speak, to change the subject once again, when a whimper carried in from next door caught her attention. Her heart beat faster as she recognised the voice: Aveline! She must have woken up.

“I am so sorry, Ives, but I must go,” Margot leapt up from her chair, giving him a hasty bow.

“What is-” he broke off with an understanding smile as he heard the beginnings of a cry. “Ah, I understand. Go, Lady Margot. I would not wish to keep you from your baby,” the man stood up. “And I must be getting back to my duties. But it was a pleasure to speak with you.”

“Ah, yes. You too,” the Stallion woman nodded, trying to conceal how heart-rending each note of distress in Aveline’s voice was. “Goodbye, Ives. I am sure we shall see each other again.”

“Indeed,” he bowed back. “Especially since my purpose is to serve you and your family. Lady Margot. Should you need me, all you have to do is call.”

“Of course, Ives, and thank you,” she replied, her tone strained as she fought between politeness and her maternal instincts.

She did not have to wait long as the man turned on his heel and strode towards the door. He gave her one final look before he exited, shutting it behind him. As soon as he was gone, she picked up her skirts and dashed into the nursery. Aveline had been taken out of her crib and a nursemaid was already murmuring something to her in a comforting tone while dabbing her eyes with her sleeve.

“Thank you. I’ll take her now,” Margot held out her arms. The nursemaid bowed and placed the toddler into her mother’s arms, where Margot immediately wrapped the girl in a tight hug, feeling the weight of her tiny body against her.

“It’s alright, my angel. Your mama is here,” she said quietly, stroking the girl’s hair. “I love you, Aveline. I love you a lot.”

“Mama…” Aveline sniffled a little. Slowly, her body relaxed, and her breathing became steadier. Margot sighed, the tension escaping from her. She absorbed the warmth of her child, basking in the presence of someone she loved and who unconditionally loved her back.

The girl lifted her head, looking around the room. “Papa?” she asked, her eyes wide.

Margot bit her lip. “He’s not here, dearest. But he’ll be back tomorrow, along with your grandfather,” she kissed the top of her daughter’s head. “Shall we go into the gardens in the meantime? The rain has cleared a bit; you can go and play.”

The girl did not seem too put off by the idea, nor did she seem to have much interest in the toys that were littering her room. Smiling and giving her another cuddle, Margot looked up at the nursemaids. “We’ll be back soon,” she told them before starting to head for the door. “I’ll try to make sure she does not get too dirty this time.”

“That would be appreciated, your ladyship,” the nursemaid said with a chuckle. “Goodbye then. Enjoy your time.”

“I will,” Margot replied, hugging Aveline closer. It was the last day she was going to get with her daughter without her father also wanting a share. Though she did not begrudge Alain that time- in fact, she could not be happier to give it- she would have to adjust once again to longer, lonelier times without the girl around.

She could only pray Maura felt well enough to indulge her company.

Part 2

SPOILER: Click to show

Maura did find her the next day, while Margot was in the nursery watching her daughter play with her nursemaid. Freida had devised a rhyme to go with a clapping game of a sort Aveline always loved. They were so engrossed in it that only Margot heard the knock.

Opening the door revealed her mother-in-law. “Hello, Margot,” she trilled, a smile on her face. “I thought you’d want to know our men have finally returned. I’m going down to meet Lachlan now. There’s quite a few things I want to tell him about.”

Margot squeaked, leaping to her feet in an instant. They were here. He was here, at last. Woo, her heart was beating faster already.

“Aveline!” she called out to the girl, who looked up, slightly startled from having her name called. Her mother reached and scooped her up, holding her in her arms. “Your father is back. He’s-”

“Margot, you don’t have to throw everything aside just because Alain’s back,” Maura chided, folding her arms. “He can wait.”

The younger woman shook her head. “I should be there to greet him. I want to be there to greet him,” she looked down at the toddler in her arms. “And he should see his daughter, as should Aveline see her papa.”

“Papa?” the little girl’s head spun like a windmill. “Papa?!”

“Well, I can hardly say no to that now, can I?” Maura asked, laughing. She leaned closer to Aveline. “Your papa is home, and I am sure he will be very happy to see you,” she grinned, ruffling the little girl’s thin hair. “Do you want to go now, wee one?”

“Papa! Papa!” Aveline wriggled in her mother’s grasp, so much so that Margot had a hard time keeping a firm grip on her.

“I think that means yes, Maura,” the younger woman said, smiling a little. “What I want is irrelevant at this point.”

“Ah, well, that’s what happens when you have kids,” Maura began to make her way towards the corridor. “They’re in the entrance hall. Follow me. There’s business I need to take care of with Lachlan,” a grin briefly crossed her face. “Actual House business, for once.”

Margot nodded, deciding not to ask what that business was. If she needed to know, Maura would certainly tell her.

She followed her mother-in-law, carrying her daughter on her hip, down from the private quarters and through the castle until they reached the entrance hall. Having just given their cloaks to a waiting servant, Alain and Lachlan both turned in synchronous motion towards the two women as they heard their footsteps, their eyes alighting on Maura and Margot. As soon as he saw his wife, Lachlan’s deep blue eyes lit up and a smile broke through his stony face like the sun through clouds. Alain too smiled, but it was a cool, polite smile. His eyes registered only a flicker of emotion as they swept from his mother to his wife.

His eyes met Margot’s and as always, bored right through her. She looked down, suppressing her shivers even as she felt his icy gaze studying her, watching her, it seemed, for the smallest hint of failure.

Beside her, Maura grinned and hitched up her skirts, sweeping down the stairs and into her husband’s waiting embrace. Margot followed cautiously, deliberately placing her foot down on every step, even as the excited chatter from her in-laws drifted up to her. She was only being cautious so as to not drop Aveline. That was all.

Eventually, she made it down to the bottom of the stairs and walked forward until she could see the tips of Alain’s boots in her peripheral vision. Bracing herself, she lifted up her head and once again met his gaze.

“Hello, Alain,” Margot said quietly, a weak smile on her face. “Welcome home.”

“It is good to be back,” he replied in a tone devoid of emotion. His eyes rested on her briefly before turning to look at Aveline. “How is she doing?”

“She’s fine. Me and the nursemaids have been doing our best to look after her,” the young woman replied, gently adjusting the toddler on her him. “She missed you though.”

“Papa! Papa!” Aveline cried, stretching her chubby hands out towards him.

A soft chuckle escaped from him. “I can see that,” Alain remarked, his mouth curling into a smile. “Aveline, would you like to come to papa?”

He reached out and took the toddler under her shoulders, plucking her out of Margot’s grip. The young woman’s fingers flexed reflexively over the empty air where her daughter had just been. Shortly, however, the girl’s absence was registered, and she quickly withdrew her arms, folding them in her lap.

Aveline gave off a delighted squeal and rubbed her head against her father’s shoulder, a grin running from one ear to another. The smile must have been contagious: the next thing Margot saw was Alain smiling. Maybe not as enthusiastically as the little girl but warmly and genuinely, leaving no doubt he was delighted to see her.

Margot stood back, taking in the joy her husband and daughter- especially her daughter- radiated. As long as they were happy, that was all that mattered. She clung to the thought even as the desperate desire to be part of that scene simmered under the surface.

Eventually, the young woman forced herself to turn away before her emotions overwhelmed her. Maura had removed herself from the Grand Duke and was now enthusiastically talking to him and a cluster of several others, who must have joined when Margot was not looking. One of them was the senior castle steward and -Ives?!

He was barely paying attention to the ruling Stallion couple but instead was looking directly at Alain with eyes as dark as thunderclouds. His head turned and for a split-second his gaze locked on Margot. Though he said nothing, the pity that suddenly flared in his eyes was painfully clear.

She swallowed, her throat suddenly feeling tight. Instantly, she turned away, looking back to Alain. “How was your trip?” Margot asked, plastering a smile on her face. “Was it to your satisfaction?”

He turned to her slowly. “It was fine,” his voice remained impassive as he spoke. “There are concerns about the defences in Konik, and the raiding parties seem to have grown bolder in the past year but they are all issues we can counter. We already have plans.”

Alain’s eyes flickered to the gathering of people around his parents. “I see things here have been busy too,” he blinked, taking them in. “I don’t recognise some of those people.”

“I think…your mother hired new staff while your father was away,” Margot said quietly, fearing she was wrong. “I know at least one of them is a new steward.”

“I see,” her husband remarked. He studied the group for a few more moments before turning away, back to her. For a moment, Margot could have sworn she saw the ghost of a smirk flicker across his face. “I hope you are doing well too, Margot.”

Her heart beat faster. She clasped her hands together, trying to force herself to be calm and make her tongue move in such a way as to give a good answer. “I am fine, thank you,” the woman finally said, her voice strained. “I am happy that you are back, Alain, and that your trip was a success.”

The Stallion man remained silent for a moment before giving her a curt nod. “I too, am happy about both those things,” he glanced fondly at Aveline as he spoke. She grinned and leaned against him, giggling happily. He stroked her light wispy hair, the warm smile once again appearing on his face. Margot could not help but stare at it, soaking it in.

“Margot,” Alain’s voice broke her thoughts. She squeaked a little, her spine going ramrod straight as she turned to him. “I am going to take Aveline for today. I would like to spend some time with her now that I have returned.”

The young woman immediately suppressed the pangs of sadness that welled up in her at the thought of being away from her child. It was only fair: Alain loved the girl and he deserved time to spend time with her alone.

“Of course, Alain,” Margot replied, nodding. “She is your daughter, and you have been away for a while. I am sure she missed you too.”

She spoke without meeting his eyes, unwilling to let him see the desperate desire to accompany them both. She would have settled for simply being with them, basking in the warmth between him and her child. But if Alain had wanted that, he would have asked. If he did not, she would accept it. Margot was not about to impose on his will.

His gaze remained on her only a short while before he walked away, his footsteps clicking on the stone floor. He stopped beside Lachlan, hovering for a few moments until he caught his father’s attention. “If you need me for anything, Father, send for me.”

With those words, he disappeared into the depths of the castle. Margot stared at the space he had been in as if trying to call him back. That ability, however, was beyond her. She gave out of the smallest sigh.

“I will be in the private family quarters. Good day to you, Grand Duke Lachlan, Maura,” she curtsied to them both as well as the small gaggle of servants surrounding them before heading back up the stairs, towards her rooms.

Once inside, the young woman shut the door behind her, closing her eyes as she took in the silence. There was no clacking, no crying, no over-excited screams…

Without them, everything felt frozen and hollow.

Her latest sewing project- an embroidered blanket for her daughter- lay where she had left it, folded neatly upon the table. Picking it up, she exited her room and went to a solar perched on the corner of the castle. Its wide windows let the sunlight pour in and gave wonderful views of the hills, unobscured by the city. Those windows were a double-edged sword: in winter, the solar was off-limits. But on sunny days like today, it was her favourite place to be.

Sitting down in a plush chair, Margot began to sew. Needle out, stitch, needle in, turn, needle out, stitch…the rhythm soon allowed her mind to wander.

Alain only wanted to spend time with Aveline because he had been away, that was all. There was no way he could disapprove. It was obvious she had been taking good care of Aveline. He had to have noticed. Aveline had been in this world for an entire year after all!

What if he did not? Well, she did not need any thanks: she was doing her duty in raising her daughter, a daughter who meant the world to her.

Aveline also meant the world to her father. They could never split her in two. There was and could only ever be one Aveline.

Though perhaps, soon that might not be the case. Aveline was growing up and becoming less of a handful. Eventually, they needed a son, an heir for the House after Alain. Soon, perhaps, it would be time for a second child.

Margot shuddered, momentarily losing her concentration. Heat flushed through her cheeks. It would mean nothing and yet, she would be lying if she denied she wanted that intimacy. Any chance to be allowed closer to Alain would be one she would grasp at.

Her hand clenched around her sewing. Why could she not stop loving him, even if he did not love her? She had accepted he would never feel the same way and yet, that had not weakened her feelings. It only made her dreams more painful.

The door’s hinges creaked as they were opened. Margot squeaked, startled out of her thoughts. She turned towards the intruder, clutching the embroidered fabric to her chest like a shield.

“Ives?”

“Forgive me for intruding, Lady Margot,” the Perlino man bowed deeply to her. “I saw you downstairs and simply could not go without saying something to you,” he took a deep breath. “May I come in?”

She nodded, gesturing for him to come inside. Ives shuffled in, closing the door behind him and going over to stand by her side. His deep blue eyes gazed down directly at her.

“I understand why you were so reluctant to talk about your husband yesterday,” he said in a heavy tone. “I saw everything.”

Her heart leapt into her throat. “It’s- it’s not like that, Ives,” she stammered. “Alain is just…he is a man who does not easily show his emotions. It isn’t…what it…looked like…” Margot lowered her eyes.

The Perlino’s mouth thinned. “It looked like he was showing plenty of love and care towards his daughter while treating you like a nuisance which would go away if he ignored it,” his gaze did not relent. “Perhaps I am rude for noting this, but I’m not wrong, am I?”

Margot swallowed, the sound briefly disguising the heartbeat echoing in her ears.. She did not want to admit such a thing to Ives: it was not his business to know about the difficulties between her and Alain, nor did she dare disgrace her husband by admitting them to a steward. On the other hand, he seemed to have gathered enough just by looking at them.

Just like Alain. If Ives was anything like him, a lie would only confirm his suspicions.

She took several deep breaths, trying to force her tongue to move and spit out the words on her mind. “You’re not,” her hair veiled her face as she tilted her head down. “But it’s…it’s fine. It’s nothing that I…”

A sigh tumbled out of her mouth. “Our marriage was arranged, Ives. Nobody ever expected it to be a loving one,” she bit her tongue. Nobody except her.

“That is true: a loving marriage among nobles is the exception, not the rule,” Ives sat down on the windowsill opposite. The sunlight caught on him, illuminating him from behind. “But one does not have to love someone to respect them or treat them like a human being. Duke Alain was doing neither.”

“That’s not true!”

“Then what is? Does he normally treat you otherwise?”

“I…” her voice died in her throat. She sighed again. “It’s fine, Ives. Yes, it does make me sad, but it’s fine. It’s nothing I cannot live with, and certainly nothing you should concern yourself about.”

He drew back, looking cowed. “That’s true; this is none of my business. I need to remember I am just a servant now and you are my masters; I should not interfere in your relationship. But-”

Ives lifted his head, looking directly at Margot. “-one of many, many things me and my older brother disagreed about was how he treated his wife. Isolde is intelligent, kind and beautiful but-” an involuntary scowl crossed his face. “The selfish idiot treats her like a permanent burden. Not only that, he constantly runs around her with other men. You can imagine how humiliating it is for her.”

“Poor woman…” Margot murmured. “I suppose I am lucky: Alain has not yet shown the inclination to cheat on me.”

“Yet,” the Perlino man’s tone was laced with poison. He cleared his throat. “My point is, Lady Margot, it hurts to see this: to see another good woman be squandered like you and Isolde are by your husbands.”

The Stallion woman clasped her hands together. “My brother is the same way: he hates my husband for what he sees as cruelty. But it’s alright,” she did her best to smile at Ives. “Like I said, I can live with how he treats me.”

Her voice lowered. “I love him and I want to please him. That will never change,” she sighed. “It isn’t rational, I know that, but I can’t stop loving him, even if I try.”

Ives looked at her intently before putting a hand to his temple, shaking his head. “Woo, Lady Margot, you are far too good for this world!” Crossing his legs, he rested his elbow on his knee, placing his head in his palm. “It must make you awfully lonely…”

She lowered her head. “I have my daughter, and Lady Maura to keep my company,” Margot looked away wistfully. “But they are not always around and during those times…I do get a little lonely.”

“In that case…” Ives hopped off the windowsill and fell on one knee in front of her. “May I extend to you the offer of my company? I might be a servant but, as demonstrated, I have not yet learned to act like one. That could be of some advantage?”

The Stallion woman blinked rapidly, her mind processing what was being offered to her. Eventually, however, the confusion on her face was replaced by a smile. “I would like that, Ives. I do like speaking to you.”

He grinned. “You don’t even know what I am capable of,” the Perlino man tilted his head. “Do you enjoy stories, Lady Margot? Or songs?”

“Oh I love them!” she pressed her hands together. “Llyr and my other brothers told me stories all the time when I lived in Websteros. However, I’m not too familiar with the songs and stories of Bern though. Lady Maura had shown me a few songs but stories…” she glanced down. “Perhaps you could tell me some?”

“It would be a pleasure,” Ives got up, though his head remained bowed. It was not enough to mask his smile. “Whenever I am freed from my duties and you wish to see me, I’ll grace you with them, Stories, songs, anything you desire.”

“That would be nice,” Margot suddenly looked away. “I just hope it would not be too scandalous.

“What?”

“You spending so much time with me.”

“Why would it be?” the Perlino man shrugged. “It is the job of a steward to see to the needs of his masters anyway and it just so happens that you need company. There would be nothing sordid going on. Besides…”

He shot her a coy smile. “I know almost nobody in Destrier. I could use a friend too, and I’d be honoured if that friend was you, Lady Margot.”

She put a hand to her cheek as if that would control the colour that had begun to spread to it. “You flatter me, Ives. I am hardly a person whose company is so desirable.”

“You judge yourself far too harshly, Lady Margot,” the Perlino man replied, shaking his head slightly. Before she could reply, he gave her a low bow. “Whenever we can meet then. I promise I will show you the best the Perlino lands have to offer.”

She replied with a nod of acknowledgement. “I’ll look forward to it.”

Ives back straightened, and he looked down at her, smiling widely. “Until we meet again, Lady Margot. I am afraid I must be off before the senior steward questions where I am.”

“Of course,” the Stallion woman smiled back. “You go now, Ives. I would have to keep you.”

“We shall see each other again soon though, I promise,” as he turned Margot could have sworn she caught a glint in his eye. If it was there, she lost sight of it when he began to head towards the door.

“Goodbye for now then, Ives,” she waved to him as he left. Once he had disappeared, she sighed, turning back to her sewing. The melancholia that had lingered in her heart from the morning with Alain, however, had all but disappeared, instead replaced by a faint excitement at the promises Ives had made.

Stories…she did not realise how much she had missed those since coming to Destrier. Hearing them from someone again, especially a person who she could call a friend, would make her life here so much more bearable.

Perhaps she could even take Aveline with her. Oh, if she could learn stories from her homeland too…

Margot forced herself to focus. They would have to see. One thing was for sure: she was looking forward to seeing Ives again.

Part 3

SPOILER: Click to show

It had rained during the night, so much so that there were still puddles and muddy patches in the gardens when Margot took Aveline out. Though she had been careful to steer the girl away from the worst parts, in the end, what got the toddler dirty was a simple loss of balance at the wrong time. While she hardly seemed to mind- in fact, she delighted in digging her fingers into the gloopy mud- Margot could not hurry enough in getting her out and carrying her through the castle, almost at arm’s length towards the keep. Upon entering, she instructed for a message to be sent up to Aveline’s nursemaids to prepare a bath.

Though it was hardly uncommon for her to bathe her daughter, upon seeing the child, Frieda has insisted on taking care of Aveline’s bath this time. “A woman of your rank, Lady Margot, should nae be dealing with a bairn as muddy as that!” she proclaimed. Margot had decided not to argue with that. So, she agreed the nurses would bring Aveline back as soon as she was clothed and changed.

While she waited, she took refuge in a nearby sitting room. No sooner had she settled, however, when she was joined by a very familiar face.

“Lady Margot, hello. Frieda told me you would be here,” Ives bowed deeply to her when he saw her. When he got back up, there was a smile on his face. “I heard your daughter got into mischief today.”

“Oh, yes,” the Stallion woman hid a smile with her hand. “I’m afraid she had not yet quite understood that mud is not ladylike.”

I’m sure she will in time,” the Perlino approaches her where she sat. “But thanks her mistake, you’ve been deprived of company for now, haven’t you?” he glanced down at the Stallion lady. “I have finished my duties for now, and if you are lonely, perhaps this is the time for me to make good on my promise?”

“Ah, that would be wonderful,” Margot smiled widely up at him and gestured to the chair opposite her. “Please, do have a seat, Ives.”

He sat down and leaned forward, clasping his hands in his lap. “So, Lady Margot, what would you prefer I tell you this time? A story? Or perhaps a song? The Perlino lands are rich in song, though I would rather not sing the ancient ones,” he chuckled. “I’ll only butcher the old Bernian language if I do.”

“Then I won’t ask you to, Ives,” the Stallion woman told him before pausing, deep in thought. “I would like you to tell me some of the stories of Bern, please. My brother told me stories all the time, and I should be able to tell my children the lore of their homeland.”

“A noble reason, though I better expand my horizons,” Ives laughed. “Can’t have your children growing up only Perlino mountain tales.”

“You can still tell me those,” Margot replied, clasping her hands together. “I would love to hear the stories you grew up with!”

“Alright,” he shifted in his chair, putting a hand on his chin. His fingers tapped against his jaw. “What to tell you, Lady Margot, what to tell you…” He pondered for a few minutes before, at last, a wry glint entered his eyes. “I think I know.”

Ives sat back in his seat, getting comfortable. “There are plenty of stories in the mountains about being we call fairies, Seelie or fair folk. That’s a good place to start. If you want to, of course.”

“Yes please,” Margot said almost breathlessly, smiling with excitement. “I would love to hear anything you tell me.”

“Really? Then I best be careful to only tell you the good stuff,” the Perlino man laughed and cleared his throat. “This tale begins a long time ago- or perhaps yesterday- deep in the mountains to the north.”

The Stallion woman folded her hands in her lap and looked at Ives intently with wide eyes, preparing herself for the story that was about to unfold.

“There lived a stonemason who was very lucky. Instead of a wife and a thriving family, he had only one son. Although, it’s not fair to see he was that unlucky: his son was a bright, energetic boy of sixteen who was keen to take over the family business. As far as the stonemason was concerned, it was enough,” Ives paused for dramatic effect. “One day, he was called for work into a nearby city and set off, alone. As he travelled through the dusk, looking for a place for the night, a young woman dressed all in grey met him on the road. She alleged she had work for him if he followed her. But something was off. He refused and continued his journey. By the time he reached town, he had forgotten about the incident completely.”

The Perlino took a breath. “Some time passed. The stonemason needed something from the market in the city, but he was too sick to go himself. Instead, his son offered to go. The father let him leave with his blessing. But all was not to go well. The boy returned suddenly the next day. When his father asked him what was wrong, he did not reply. He crawled into bed and stayed there.”

Ives sighed for effect. “The change in his son was sudden and immediate. His skin became pallid and waxy and his limbs refused to support any kind of weight. He remained in bed, curled up, refusing to eat and drink, showing no interest in work, play, his friends or even his father. All he did all day was lie there, listless, staring at the ceiling with wide, sunken eyes.”

“His poor father…” Margot whispered under her breath.

“Indeed,” the Perlino nodded. “It goes without saying that his father tried everything. He called in every physician he could afford to examine his boy. They found no cause for his illness. He bought tinctures and poultices made from every plant the village herbalist had available and gave them to his son. Nothing helped. He even gave his money to a man who promised him a magical cure-all but of course, it did not work,” he smirked. “Though whether that said more about his son’s condition or the so-called cure all, I don’t know.”

This earned a giggle from Margot, who was glad for the small injection of levity into a grim situation. When she had finished, she cleared her throat and gestured at Ives to go on.

“Months passed until one day, his grandmother from the next village over came to visit. She was very old and knew the ways of this world. When her grandson told her of his woes, she immediately became suspicious,” Ives lowered his voice, imitating a creaky old woman. ““Take me to see your boy,” she asked. The stonemason, having nothing to lose, took his grandmother to his son’s bedside. She stayed there for a few minutes. Then, when she came out, there was a grim look in her eyes. Approaching her grandson, she lowered her voice and said “T’is not your son in that bed but a fairy creature. They have taken your son and left it in his place. It only looks like him, but it can’t be him. That’s why it’s taken to acting sick.”

“Good Woo,” Margot gasped, causing Ives to grin.

“Funnily enough, that’s what the stonemason said too,” he remarked. “After which he asked his grandmother what to do. The old woman told him to first line all of his door and window rims with ash twigs and iron scraps. Then he was to take a pellet of pure iron, put it into a full bowl of fresh milk and give it to the fairy. It won’t be able to resist the milk and burn itself on the iron. When it was vulnerable, he was to grab it by its centre and throw it out of the house, and no matter how much it begged, to not let it inside. Once it left, he was to come back to her: she would tell him how to get his son back.”

Ives shifted in his chair, adjusting his legs to be more comfortable. “When his grandmother left, the stonemason set about doing as she instructed. He asked for scraps of iron from the local blacksmith, gathered ash twigs from the forest, then wove the two together and put them around his doors and windows. The changeling asked him what he was doing, but the stonemason assured him he was “making our house warm for the winter, son”. Afterwards, he got milk from a milkmaid and placed a pellet of iron into it. Once again, the fairy asked him what he was doing again, to which the mason replied, “making medicine to heal you”. He took the bowl and offered it to his pretender son. Unable to resist the milk, the fairy took the bowl. He placed it to his lips and-”

There was a soft knock on the door. Margot squeaked, startled. She suddenly became aware that her hands were clenched. Slowly forcing herself to relax, she turned towards the door. “Yes?”

It opened, revealing Freida carrying Aveline, now clean and wearing fresh clothing. “I’ve brought ‘er for ye, Lady Margot. She’s all washed and dried and-” the nursemaid’s eyes fell on Ives. “Ah, I do apologise. If yer busy, I can come back later.”

“Noo, it’s fine. I’ll take her,” Margot stood up and walked over, extending her arms out to the nursemaid, who placed Aveline in them. The girl wriggled in her mother’s grasp, getting comfortable.

Margot turned to Ives. “I’m sorry. I was enjoying that, and I really want to know what happens next but-” she put her hand on Aveline’s head, cuddling the girl closer. “I’m afraid duty comes first.”

“You can do both?” the Perlino asked, smiling. “I don’t mind finishing the story with her here.”

“Yes, but I’m worried she will be bored,” the Stallion woman gazed at her daughter with a mixture of affection and sadness. “She listens sometimes but only if she is in the right mood. Otherwise she just wants to explore.”

Ives laughed. “Well, she is still very little. Droning words can never beat something shiny, can they?” he grinned at Aveline. “Luckily, babysitting my nephew has left me with a few tricks up my sleeve.”

He stood up, holding his arms out. “May I please take her?”

Margot hesitated, glancing between her daughter and Ives. It felt wrong to just hand her daughter only a moment after getting her back, and to an unrelated man who she had only known for a few days.

However, he was a servant of the House, one not so fundamentally different from the nursemaids who fussed over Aveline day and night. Even if she had not known him long, he had already proven himself to be warm, kind and capable; enough, Margot, realised, for her to trust him completely. Besides, if something did go wrong, she could easily snatch Aveline back.

Nevertheless, she remained wary as she held the toddler out to him. “Please be careful. She means the whole world to me.”

“I know. I promise I will be,” Ives took the little girl out of her hands, gripping her in an expert hold. She stared at him, wide-eyed and confused by this strange man. Seeing the girl’s uncertainly, he flashed her a smile. “Don’t worry, Aveline. I’m a friend of your mummy’s. I won’t hurt you.”

Aveline continued to stare at him with her mouth open. Nevertheless, she did not squirm or whimper. For now, it seemed, she was happy to be held by someone who was not her mother.

Satisfied, Ives looked back at Margot. “Now, where was I? Oh yes, I remember: the fairy had just drunk the milk.”

He adjusted his grip on Aveline, holding her beneath her arms. “The fairy continued to drink until his lips and tongue touched the iron ball. Suddenly, whoosh!” he lifted his arms up sharply, tossing the toddler into the air. “The changeling leapt up to the ceiling, screeching as the iron burned its tongue!”

Margot leapt out of her seat with a gasp. Aveline screeched, but it was with loud, unprecedented delight as she was held up. At her joy, the Stallion woman’s face broke into a wide smile.

Ives too, grinned. “As soon as the mason saw this, he found himself staring but soon remembered there was no time to linger. Gathering all his wits, he grabbed the changeling by the waist. It wriggled and struggled,” he waved Aveline side to side. “But the mason was strong from years of work. He held the fairy at arm’s length-” Ives stretched out his arms, holding the girl as high as he could, “-and carried it over to the open door of his home where, without hesitation-” he made a flinging motion with Aveline without letting her go. “Tossed the thing out into the cold before slamming the door shut behind him.”

She almost felt the urge to clap at Ives performance, not even minding that her daughter had been used as a prop. Judging by the enormous smile on Aveline’s face, she had enjoyed the whole experience. Only by looking at her did she realise that the corners of her mouth hurt too.

Margot clasped her hands together. “Well done! That was amazing!”

“He was only doing as he was told,” the Perlino winked. “After he had tossed the fairy out, the mason locked his door. It cried in the voice of his son, begging and pleading to be let in. But he remembered the words of his grandmother and remained steadfast until, at last, the creature seemed to have left. The stonemason risked a peek outside,” he brought Aveline over to the window. “But there was neither hide nor hair of the changeling.”

The girl giggled, clapping her hands as she gazed out on the world outside. Ives, smiled, letting her soak in the view before turning back to Margot. “The next day, quickly as he could, the mason headed over to the village where his grandmother lived,” he jogged over to the other side of the room, bouncing Aveline on his hip as he did. “He told her everything that had happened. When he was done, he asked her what he could do to get his son back.”

“She gazed at him-,” the Perlino thought for a second before an idea occurred to him. “-sitting in her rocking chair,” he began to rock Aveline back and forth, imitating the motion, “After a few moments, she asked her grandson where his boy had disappeared. The mason told her about the time he sent his son to market, after which the boy never returned, with only the changeling coming back in his place. At this, his grandmother smiled knowingly and continued to rock back and forth, before speaking…”

Margot hovered on the edge of her seat, something which did not escape Ives’ notice. He was silent for a while, only continuing to rock Aveline back and forth, before speaking in the creaky voice used for the old woman. “There is a fairy barrow in the thickest forest by that road, and your son is probably trapped inside it. If you want to free him, take an iron dagger, a woocifix, holy water, a stake made of iron and a rope, one long as you can find. Go to the barrow on the night of the next full moon, douse yourself with holy water, tie the rope to the stake and the other end to your waist. Put the stake into the group and enter the barrow. Keep your thoughts only on your son. Ignore all that happens around you. If you become distracted, you will lose yourself. Close your eyes if you must. When you find him, take him and run. Use your woocifix to clear the way but stronger creatures will need a touch of your dagger. Do not attack unless attacked first or they will kill you.”

The Perlino stopped the rocking motion. Aveline turned around and burbled, perhaps surprised or annoyed by the sudden halt. “Don’t worry, little one, it will get exciting again in a moment,” Ives told her, smirking. “The stonemason left for home with a lot to think about. Without doubt, ahead of him was a hard task but he was not going to abandon his only son to his fate. As quickly as he could, he gathered all that he needed and waited for the full moon to appear in the sky. And when it appeared…”

He stood up, beginning to walk around with Aveline again. “He headed down the road towards the town until he got to the thick forest. There, he turned and began to walk. At first, he only heard the night-time sounds of the forest but then-” Ives paused and lifted Aveline up, making her look around “-Music began to reach his ears. But how could there be music in the deep woods?” he grinned, turning the toddler to himself as if speaking to her. “He knew instantly how. Without a moment’s hesitation, he rushed towards its source-”

Ives began to run around the room, ducking and weaving so quickly around furniture that Margot’s heart leapt into her throat. “-Until at least, he saw it: the barrow.”

He stopped, turning himself and Aveline directly to face Margot. “At first glance, it looked like a hill but as he approached closer, he could see light coming from an entrance. However, the glow obscured anything that lay beyond. The music he had heard in the woods flowed from the doorway. This was the place. There was no time to waste.”

Ives ducked down suddenly, making Aveline squeal. “He took the stake and jammed it into the ground, tying one end of rope to it and the other end to his waist. Then, clutching the woocifix in one hand and his dagger in another-” he stood up once again, “-the stonemason stepped into the barrow.”

“What did he find?” the Stallion woman asked, wide-eyed.

A smile crossed the Perlino’s face. “When his eyes got adjusted to the light, what he saw was unlike anything in the mortal world. Colours and scents seemed far more brilliant and intense, buildings that appeared woven from trees stretched as far as the eye could see and everywhere, strange beings flitted around. The mason could not help but stare, enthralled by this beauty but he remembered his grandmother’s words: focus only on his son. He closed his eyes, conjuring up the image of the boy: his bright brown eyes, his freckles, the curls of his hair, the dimple in his cheek when he smiled, so many other small things…I’m sure you know what makes a child beautiful, Lady Margot.”

She sighed wistfully. “I do,” her eyes fell on Aveline, taking in her wispy flaxen hair and fair skin. The toddler, meanwhile, had begun fiddling with the stag medallion around Ives’neck.

“Then perhaps you want her back. I’ve held on to her long enough,” the Perlino man tried to place her daughter down on Margot’s lap but she gave a cry of protest, refusing to let go of the medallion.

“Alright, fine,” Ives took it off his neck and handed it to the girl. Satisfied that her newest toy was not going away, Aveline settled into her mother’s arms. “Now, where was I?”

“He was just thinking of his son,” Margot said.

“Ah, yes,” Ives slapped himself on the forehead before clearing his throat. “With the image of his son still on his mind, the stonemason opened his eyes. He saw the previously bright landscape had faded into a dull grey, decaying one. There was only time for him to breathe a sigh of relief before he charged ahead, clutching his dagger and his woocifix close. Good thing he did too: though many creatures came near him, they immediately backed away, allowing him to go on unheeded.”

“He continued on through the fairy world until at last, he saw a sight he thought he would never see again: his son. The stonemason was to relieved that he forgot where he was and ran to the boy, almost falling to his knees in front of him,” Ives approached Margot and Aveline, stopping barely an inch away from them. “But then, as soon as he saw who was with him, the man froze in his tracks.”

“Who?” the Stallion woman gasped.

He smiled. “The grey woman he had met on the path; the same one who had told him there was a job for him. Obviously, his son, being young and more susceptible to the charms of pretty women, had fallen prey to her. Young men are weak to beautiful women. Although I do not speak from experience,” the Perlino chuckled before shaking his head. “Back to the story. The woman sat with the stonemason’s son as he chipped away at a block of granite, pitch black except for white granules studding it. It looked as though he was working on the night sky. He was intensely focused on the stone, but when his father tried to look at it, his eyes begun to hurt, and his thoughts swam. It was as though his mind was a soup being stirred. Fearing he would lose himself, he forced his gaze away. Instead, he reached out and put his hand on his son’s shoulder.”

Mimicking the motion, Ives touched Aveline’s shoulder. The girl paused in her fidgeting, turning her wide blue eyes on Ives, but once she saw he had nothing interesting to offer her, resumed playing.

Her lack of attention, however, did not deter the Perlino. “Unlike your daughter, his son looked up. The touch had alerted him to his father’s presence. Recognition bloomed across his eyes, tugging at the stonemason’s very core. Before he realised it-” Ives threw his arms around Aveline. “He was hugging the boy tightly, tears streaming out of his eyes.”

Aveline wriggled in his grip, giving off an unhappy squeal, forcing Ives to retreat. “Once the stonemason withdrew, he looked at his son, telling him he has to go. The boy opened his mouth to reply but was immediately cut off by the grey lady clasping her arms around his mouth.”

Here Ives cleared his throat several times. When he spoke again, his voice was a falsetto. “He is not going anywhere. I need him to complete his work.” She directed the boy’s attention back to the otherworldly stone. As soon as his eyes locked on to it, they became glazed and he stopped responding to his father’s cries. So instead, the man turned to the fairy.”

Here, the Perlino man lifted his eyes, looking directly at Margot. His expression suggested he was almost enchanted too. ““Please, let my son go. He is all I have,” he begged, but she ignored him, only focusing on the stone. He tried again, only to be met with silence once again. It was clear that his pleas would be ignored,” Ives sighed. “It left him with only one choice. Slowly, he approached the two and then, before the fairy could react…”

He suddenly reached out, plucking Aveline out of Margot’s grip so sharply that the Stallion woman gave off a startled squeak. “He grabbed his son by the wrist and began to run,” Ives took off across the room again, carrying the toddler close to his chest.

The girl’s eyes had gone wide form the sudden shock of being snatched from her mother. However, as she began to bounce up and down with Ives’ movement, her frightened expression morphed into a smile followed by a delighter laugh.

Seeing her daughter enjoying herself, Margot sat back, allowing the tension to escape from her body. A few giggles managed to force themselves out of her mouth: Aveline’s laughter was proving infectious.

“Don’t laugh just yet, Ladies Stallion, for our heroes are not out of danger,” the Perlino gently chided. Taking his advice, Margot covered her mouth with her hand. Once she had stifled her amusement, she nodded to him, urging him to continue.

“Behind him, the fairy shrieked. The stonemason saw her shadow twist and morph into what can only be described as a nightmare. She leapt up into the air, diving towards him and his son, her talons gleaming in the unearthly light. He barely had time to react as he snatched his dagger out of its holster and slashed blindly up at the sky,” gripping Aveline with one hand, Ives pantomimed a stab upwards with the other. “He felt the iron blade stab into something flesh-like. The fairy’s deafening scream ripped through the air and she fell, her form collapsing into ashes. But Instead of relishing his victory, the stonemason grabbed his son and resumed running, following the rope attached to his waist towards the exit.”

He continued to jog around the room with Aveline in tow, an effect that made him look far more comical than he intended, especially with the girl still giving off shrieks of joy. Margot had to restrain her laughter in order not to be chided again.

“Other fairies lunged at the mason and his son but he warded them off with either a wave of the Woocifix or a slash of his dagger. Even as his breath grew short, he did not stop, continuing to run until he saw a sight that raised his spirits higher than the clouds: the pitch blackness of the exit from the fairy barrow. Gaining a second wind, he lunged towards it, still holding his son and leapt.”

Ives flopped down into his chair, taking several deep breaths before he continued. “Darkness replaced the unreal light within the barrow. Cold night air wrapped around him and he fell into the dew-moistened grass, never realising he would be so happy to feel either sensation. Behind him, the entrance slammed shut, leaving the two men out alone in the night.”

“The mason lay in the grass, panting, until he heard a word that made his heart stop: “Father?”,” the Perlino paused, a smile appearing on his face. “His son was looking at him with clear, concerned eyes. Once again, the stonemason hugged him tightly, only instead of tears, his face was one of joy. They were safe and best of all, after all this time, he had his son- his real son back.”

Ives took Aveline off his lap and handed her back to her mother, taking care to palm his medallion out of her tiny hands while the girl was distracted. Margot gladly took her daughter, bouncing her on her knees to keep her contented for the end of the story. “And what happened to them then?”

The Perlino shrugged. “They went home and lived as they had done before. The son had barely any memories of the time he was trapped in the fairy world, but,” he held up one finger, smirking knowingly. “He had the talent to carve even the most difficult stone into the most spectacular creations. After his father died and he inherited the business, he became well-known all over Kyth. If there is stonework anywhere that catches your eye, more than likely he had something to do with it.”

Margot’s eyes widened. Seeing this, Ives gave her a wink. “Of course, that might not be true. This is, after all, just a story,” a grin spread across his face. “So, what did you think, Lady Margot? Are you pleased?”

“Am I?!” Margot exclaimed with glee. “That was wonderful, Ives!” she clapped as she spoke. “You even managed to keep Aveline entertained.”

“As I said, I have a little nephew. I picked up a few tricks to keep him occupied, all I had to do was incorporate them into the story,” he bowed. “I do hope it was not too out of line.”

She shook her head. “To be honest, I was a little worried, especially when you grabbed her like that, but Aveline clearly enjoyed it so I can’t complain,” the Stallion woman stroked her daughter’s head. “Did you like Ives’ tricks, Aveline? Do you want him to do it more?”

The toddler paused, looking briefly back at the Perlino steward. He shot her a smile but she paid it no heed, turning away and wriggling out of her mother’s arms, sliding down to the floor where she began to totter around, looking for something to entertain herself with.

Margot shot Ives an apologetic look. “I think that’s a no, I’m sorry, Ives,” she turned back to watch the girl, keeping a close eye on her. “Aveline, no, don’t touch that!”

The toddler blinked, stopping for a moment before reaching out and tugging at the corner of the large tapestry hanging off the wall. Her mother squeaked in panic and leapt out of her chair, scooping her daughter up in her arms.

“She is certainly a curious little thing, isn’t she?” Ives asked, chuckling.

“Yes, she is,” Margot said with a sigh, though that was undermined by the sheer love in her eyes as she gazed at her daughter. “She’s at that stage. Maura told me her children were just as bad, if not worse.”

Maura’s children…logically, she knew who they were and yet, when she tried to picture them at Aveline’s age, her mind refused to conjure up an image. Alain could never be anything but the cold, aloof man who so utterly captivated her on the parapets when they first met. His brother…well, the less she thought about him, the better she felt.

“Lady Margot?” Ives’ voice cut through her thoughts. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh?” the Stallion woman looked up swiftly before nodding. “Oh, yes, everything is fine. I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

She bit her lip. “Nothing.”

Ives’ lips thinned. His eyes flickered across Margot, taking her in. “Perhaps I can distract you then?” a smile appeared on his face. “I think I promised you a song? That is, if you think your daughter won’t destroy something when you are distracted.”

“Oh, no, it won’t be a problem at all,” the Stallion woman smiled down at Aveline, stroking the little girl’s flaxen hair. “She actually loves music, especially singing. She stops whatever she is doing and warbles along to it, or at least she tries to,” she sighed. “I wish I could sing just for her. But her nurses and sometimes her grandmother have to do it instead.”

“Well, now you also have me to call upon to play minstrel for her,” Ives grinned before clearing his throat. “So, Lady Margot, what would you want me to sing?”

She lowered her eyes to think, absently rocking Aveline to keep her from being bored. What did she want him to sing? More importantly, what did she want to hear?

“A happy song,” Margot finally said, looking up at the Perlino. “I want to hear something happy from your part of Bern. Something Aveline would also enjoy.”

“A happy song a toddler would also enjoy…hmm…” Ives rubbed his chin. “How about this one?”

He hummed a few bars, his deep, lilting voice giving the sound a reverberation that Margot could almost feel in her chest. She froze, listening intently. Aveline too, stopped fidgeting in her arms and rotated her body towards Ives. Like a bird joining in with the dawn chorus, she began chirping along to the notes. It was irregular and off-key, barely matching the melody, but Aveline’s little voice was hardly unpleasant, and the enormous smile on her face as she attempted to join in more than made up for the interruptions in the music.

Ives paused, grinning at the toddler. “You were not exaggerating, Lady Margot,” he remarked before turning to Aveline. “Alright, young Lady Stallion, if you want to sing along, try to keep up. This one is called ‘High the Eagle Soars’. I think you both will like it.”

After another breath, he opened his mouth and began singing the song, about an eagle flying over the landscape and all he saw beneath. Aveline hummed along and clapped on occasion as she saw fit, a wide grin stretching from ear to ear. Though Margot heard her daughter’s chirruping, the new, unfamiliar sound of Ives’ singing voice enchanted her. Its lilting, exaggerated by the rises and falls of the song’s notes, was hypnotic, unlike anything she had heard before. Combined with the depth and richness of his voice, the song was almost palpable, wrapping around her like a comforting blanket, erasing all her thoughts except those focused on the tune.

As the last note of his song evaporated from the air, she finally remembered to take a breath.
“That was amazing,” Margot murmured, keeping her voice deliberately quiet to not kill the sound in her memory. “Do you know any others?”

Ives smirked. “Quite a few. If you are so taken with me, I do not mind entertaining you, Lady Margot.”

“Oh, err…” she looked away, clearing her throat. “If you could, Ives. I do enjoy your songs. And Aveline does too.”

The toddler in her arms clapped her hands and looked up at the Perlino steward, her blue eyes twinkling with expectations.

“Alright, alright!” he laughed, throwing his head back. “I could hardly disappoint two ladies of Stallion, can I. Now…” he stretched himself out to his full height in his chair. “Let me sing you the Ballad of the Old Fisherman…”

Part 4

SPOILER: Click to show

Margot saw next Ives while Aveline was spending time with her father. With no toddler needing entertainment, they wound up speaking about their homelands and their families in further detail. She learned of his other siblings, ones he sadly had to abandon to come here, and how he had considered becoming a physician before deciding on the role of steward. In exchange, she told him about all her brothers, with Llyr getting special fond attention. When told of the latter’s occupation in privateering, the Perlino remarked that he would not get on his bad side. Margot assured him that he would not: since he was looking after his beloved little sister, Llyr would have nothing but praise for him.

When he was finally called away to his duties, he went reluctantly. Margot too, was sad to see him go; after that meeting, after the ease of conversation unaided by stories and songs, she felt like she had made a friend. The second friend she had made during nearly two years here.

The first was, of course, her mother-in-law. Though technically, she was of a higher rank, her easy-going nature made Margot forget that. She wondered sometimes if that was due to Maura’s peasant background: the woman certainly possessed no airs and snootiness that some noble ladies did, instead being open and welcoming. Though Margot was reluctant to talk about the difficulties of her marriage- even if she somehow could bring herself to badmouth Alain, she had no desire to tattle on him to his own mother- she could confide in her mother-in-law about her homesickness, any rare troubles Aveline gave her, or simply chat with her about life in Destrier.

Maura also made sure to spice her life up a bit. If Margot went anywhere in the city that was outside the castle or the cathedral, it was usually in Maura’s company. Such was the case when on one sunny day in late April, her mother-in-law knocked on her door and, when Margot invited her inside, entered with a beaming smile.

“Good morning,” she exclaimed brightly. “I was wondering if you fancied a little trip?”

Margot, who had just finished straightening her hair under her headdress, blinked, confused. “Where to, Maura?”

“Weeell…” her mother-in-law took a seat in an empty chair. “There’s some very interesting new faces at the market today. New faces trading lovely goods from faraway lands, which certain noble ladies might just find to their liking…”

“Foreign merchants?” Margot’s eyes widened. “When I was a little girl, I loved going to see them when they were in town!”

“Really now?” Maura said with a grin. "I should have guessed: you were born in a large port to a maritime House.”

“Yes,” the young woman’s gaze grew wistful. “They brought in all sorts of things from as far as Mzia or Tengiz: jewels, spices, the most beautifully decorated silks…and other stranger, more exotic things,” she smiled a little. “Llyr used to love staring at them and trying to guess what they were, or what they were used for. He came up with the silliest things sometimes!”

“They do have some odd items on sale, definitely,” Maura remarked. “Though the ones we get in Destrier are probably very different from those who pull into Websteros,” she winked. “A lot of ours tend to be Lyellian, for a start.”

“I’m sure they are still worth looking at,” Margot nodded. “And it would all be new for me anyway.”

“Hence why I am inviting you,” her mother-in-law replied. “Now that your baby is a bit older and is happy to be in the care of the nursemaids, you have a bit of time.”

“I suppose- Oh!” Margot gasped. “But should we still not take Aveline?”

Maura paused. “She might enjoy the market, and I do love her a lot…but wouldn’t you also like a little time in adult company, without your daughter?”

The young woman bit her lip, looking away. “I am her mother though. It is my duty to look after her. And what if she gets lonely?” she shifted in her seat. “I should be there for her.”

“Margot…” Maura reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Your love and concern for Aveline is admirable, but you need a break too. You’ve been looking after her non-stop for a year now. If she needs something, that’s what the nursemaids are for. And if she gets lonely, well, she’s got her father,” she shot the younger woman a smile. “He can tend to her for a few hours.”

“He won’t…” she swallowed “…think badly of me for abandoning her, will he?”

“If he does, that’ll earn him a cuff around the ear,” Maura rolled her eyes. “And I’ll remind him of how he was when he was a child, because Woo knew, I needed a break from him and his brother every now and then.”

She smiled at Margot. “Besides, this was my idea. Pin it all on me if my son gets huffy.”

“Oh, I could never do that!” the younger woman exclaimed.

“Then I’ll do it for you. I take full responsibility for everything that happens,” she got up from her chair, smiling at the young woman. “I’ll get an escort arranged for us. Shall we go after lunch? We’ll have full bellies and the market will be at full swing!”

“That sounds good,” Margot said with a curt nod. “I would like that.”

“Good, dear,” Maura leaned down, patting Margot’s shoulder. “I’ll let our husbands know then,” she winked. “And don’t you worry about anything either. This will be fun.”

True to her word, with the deft hand of an experienced lady of a noble House, Maura had everything organised by the time Margot had come down to the family’s private dining room to eat. Both Alain and Lachlan were there, and much to her relief, they knew and approved of their wives’ plans for the afternoon. Nevertheless, the young woman could not help but fret.

“You will make sure Aveline does not get lonely, will you?” she furtively asked Alain. “I won’t be gone long but I am still worried about her.”

“I’ll look after her, and she will have her nursemaids when I am not available,” he chuckled softly. “It isn’t like you’re planning to leave us forever, is it?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that!” the woman shook her head, going wide-eyed at the accusation. “I only worry, that’s all. I love her, and I don’t want to cause her distress by being away too long.”

Before Alain could answer, however, Maura took her hand. “Really, dear, you worry too much,” she smiled. “As long as she has her nursemaids and her daddy, she won’t even notice you’re gone.”

“Oh…” Margot deflated. “She won’t?”

The older woman frowned. “Maybe that’s a bad way to put it. What I meant is she won’t be unhappy. She’ll be glad when you come back but she’ll manage without you,” she patted Margot’s hand. “And besides, didn’t I say you needed a break?”

“Yes…” she bit her lip, glancing hesitantly at her husband.

Alain shrugged. “I’ve already said yes. It doesn’t matter to me, and if mother wants to take you along, all the better. You can keep her company,” without waiting for an answer, he returned to his meal.

“That could have been worded nicer, Alain,” Maura shot her son a stern glance before turning back to Margot. “But he is right: I’d love some company. So, don’t fret: just think about what you’d maybe want to find at the market.”

Calmed, the young woman nodded. “I’d like to see if there are any river pearls for sale,” she said, thinking out loud. “Either in jewels or sewn into clothing.”

“Then we’ll look for just that,” Maura replied, smiling at her and patting her hand again. “Finish up now. The sooner we go, the better”

***

They left the castle in a handsome carriage, surrounded by a couple of knights for the ladies’ protection. It trundled down the High Road, its wheels rattling against the cobbles as the coachman fought to keep the carriage from going too quickly down the slope. The people of Destrier moved around it like water around rocks. Sometimes, children or town gossips gawked closer at the carriage to see who was in it, but for the most part, the city’s inhabitants paid the nobles no attention, getting on with their business, whatever it might have been. However, it was impossible to not see that most people were heading in the direction of the docks or the Market Square that stood close to them, ready to receive any goods that were unloaded from incoming ships.

Soon, it became clear why. As the carriage rounded a corner and came out into the open space where traders set up their stalls on market days, the two women got their chance to gaze at the crowd that swarmed in between the colourful cloths that marked a merchant’s tent. From a distance, it looked like a swarm of bees zipping between all the flowers in a meadow, each one stopping at one spot before rushing off in another direction.

“Look at that! That definitely means there’s something good in there!” Maura exclaimed.

“Ah, yes…” Margot nodded, looking out at the crowd nervously. “There’s a lot of people.”

“We’ll be alright. We’ve got knights to clear the way for us, and prevent any louts from jostling us,” the older woman leaned back in her seat. “Ah, the perks of nobility! It never gets old.”

The carriage finally ground to a halt and a servant opened the door, allowing the two ladies to step out. Immediately, the knights escorting them flanked the Stallions, forming an intimidating barrier to anyone who would dare to start trouble. However, they could not protect Margot’s senses from the sights and sounds that surrounded them. Merchants cried out in all variety of accents, their voices all melding into one raucous song. Mixed in with the noise in the air were a smorgasbord of scents. Whether it was the pastry scent of a street seller’s pies, floral perfumes hawked by various merchants, or even the sharpness of exotic spices brought from faraway lands, it all seemed to mix together, creating an indistinct but overwhelming atmosphere.

For a moment, Margot could have sworn she was a little girl again, back in the docks of Websteros with her brothers. She breathed in that heady scent, taking it all in. A smile crept across her face.

“Look at you all happy. We’ve not even had a look at anything yet!” Maura patted Margot’s shoulder before taking a few steps forward. “Come on now. Was it pearls you were looking for?”

The younger woman nodded, hurrying along after her mother-in-law. As predicted, the two knights by their sides made the crowd partly swiftly ahead of them, allowing the pair easy passage through the market.

By mutual agreement, the two stopped at any stall that caught their eye. Maura spent a while at a merchant’s who traded in exotic silks and laces, admiring the light, shimmering material that was on display. To his surprise, she even began haggling with him over the price until they eventually settled on a not-insignificant sum for several bundles of silk and lace which would be delivered to the castle later.

Maura pocketed the receipt, a wry smile on her face as she turned to Margot. “Looks like I’m getting a new dress,” she remarked. “So let’s go find you something.”

They continued to wander through the market, absorbing its sights and sounds. A stall of dried fruits caught Margot’s eye and she bought a small selection which her and her mother-in-law shared. They stopped briefly to watch several trained animals and their handler, who had somehow carved a space out from the market and was now using the amassed crowds to earn a crust.

She couldn’t remember the last time she enjoyed herself so much.

Once the performer had finished and gone off to allow her and the animals to take a break, Margot, Maura and their escorts moved on. They had only managed to walk a short distance, however, before a glint caught both their eyes. Margot found her pace quickening towards its source, which soon became apparent: a stand decorated with jewellery of all kinds.

Margot turned to Maura. The other woman caught her eye and began to stride over to the stand alongside her. It did not take them long before they were in front of the glittering display, taking in everything it offered. Delicate gold and silver necklaces and bracelets sat on cushioned surfaces. Precious stones decorated a few choice items, ranging from a single gem embedded in a strategic point in a necklace to a tiara studded with jewels. All of it was guarded by thin spikes to ward off any sticky fingers.

The young woman allowed her gaze to linger on them, but the merchant’s selection was so rich that she could hardly focus on one item. Her eyes jumped first from the silver fox brooch with a glinting amber eye, to a simple golden necklace consisting of three coils braided together, to a ring with three turquoise stones. Right beside it though- oh! On one of the cushions sat a pearl bracelet: a delicate thing consisting of a silver frame and a string of milky white river pearls.

Margot gasped, absently reaching for the bracelet but coming to her senses just in time to stop her hands going onto the spikes. Seeing this, the merchant at the counter smiled.

“Careful, your ladyship, wouldn’t want you getting hurt,” he spoke in a croaky, raspy voice that sounded like a door scraping against wood. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

“Yes…” the young woman replied, nodding absently as she gazed at the bracelet. “How much would it be?”

“For you, your ladyship, it would be-” the merchant’s voice was cut off by a violent coughing fit. The sound rolled out of his mouth in waves, each one seeming to tear at his throat, threatening to even rip his lungs out from him. Alarmed, Margot stepped back, looking at the man in horror. Maura, however, looked up from the earrings she was perusing, keeping her gaze firmly on him.

“Are you alright?” she asked the merchant one his coughing had subsided to a wheezy hacking.

He nodded, clearing his throat. “’Pit-take this cough,” he gasped. “Apologies, Ladies. I caught some sickness on the way here and it just won’t go away.”

Just as he had finished speaking, the man doubled over as another coughing fit overtook him. Maura pursed her lips and reached for the herb pouch around her neck. Lifting the silk cord over her head, she crushed it several times in her hand before holding it out to the merchant.

“Here,” she instructed. “It might help you.”

He grabbed the pouch as if it was a life rope and pressed it against his mouth, sucking the fumes from the herbs. After a few sputtering coughs, his breathing returned to normal. With a look of gratitude, he held the pouch back out to Maura.

“Thank you, your ladyship, you are far too generous,” the man said, bowing deeply and holding out the pouch. “Please accept this back.”

“You’re welcome,” the Stallion woman hung the herbs back around her neck. “I frequently have trouble breathing; I know how terrible it is. No-one should have to go through that.”

“Still, thank you, for your compassion,” the merchant smiled at the two women. “In exchange, I’ll grant you a discount on anything you buy, your ladyships,” he shot a glance at Margot. “How about it? You were eyeing that bracelet very fondly, Lady Stallion.”

“Ah, yes…” the younger woman glanced at her mother-in-law, who flashed her an encouraging smile. Swallowing, she signalled to the knight beside her, who produced a purse from a hidden pocket. “I’d like to buy it.”

“Excellent, thank you!” with a practiced hand, the man scooped up the bracelet. Once Margot had handed over the money, he undid the clasp and clicked it in place around her hand. “How is it?”

She held it up, looking at it in the light. The bracelet was slightly heavier than she was expecting but the pearls were as flawless as they had been on first impression. Happy with her purchase, Margot drew back her arm, running her other hand over her wrist to feel the smooth texture of the precious gems.

“It’s wonderful,” she smiled at the merchant. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, your ladyship. Enjoy,” the man said before launching into a coughing fit, though one that was not as violent as before.

“Happy?” Maura asked. Once Margot had nodded in confirmation, she grinned. “Then let’s continue on!”

They headed onwards through the market. An over-eager perfume seller ambushed them, attempting to get them to sample and perhaps buy her wares but the two women moved swiftly along past her. Maura stopped at a stall selling exotic birds, including a falcon which caught her eye, though not for the purposes of hunting: she simply enjoyed looking at them. A loud shouting caught their attention and they were drawn to the cart of a flamboyant man claiming to be selling parts from magical animals. Among his choice of wares were several large blue, glossy feathers he claimed once belonged to a pegasus, dull scales the size of saucers that might have someday been attached to a hydra and long, silvery hairs that he said came from a fairy’s beard. Displayed front and centre was an enormous curl of bone he proudly proclaimed as a unicorn’s horn.

Margot was about to take a closer look when Maura grabbed her sleeve. “Don’t bother. They’re all fakes,” she took several steps away from the stall, gesturing after her. “Come on, let’s go somewhere else.”

The younger woman swallowed, embarrassed at having wanted to go look at the things in the first place, let alone believing they were magical. She hurriedly walked on, ducking past the crowds and furtively glancing at the surrounding stalls, not wanting to be taken for a fool a second time.

Only one of the knights taking her shoulder stopped her. “Lady Margot, we should wait for Lady Maura,” he exclaimed.

Margot whirled around, her eyes catching her mother-in-law lagging behind. It took her a few minutes to catch up, by which time worrying wheezes were coming from Maura’s throat.

“Slow…down,” she gasped. “I’m not as…young as I…once was.”

Finally catching up to Margot and the knights, the older woman lifted the pouch around her neck to her mouth and inhaled deeply. She repeated the procedure several times until at last, she allowed the herbs to drop back to her chest.

“There, that’s better,” Maura grinned widely at Margot. “Shall we?” she strode onwards, almost acting as though nothing had happened.

The younger woman swallowed before quickening her pace, catching up to her mother-in-law. “Perhaps we ought to go back?” she asked cautiously. “If you’re wheezing like that…I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. I’m fine,” Maura chuckled before pausing, looking thoughtful. “Though maybe we should start thinking about heading back soon. But-“ she held up a finger. “Only after we’ve gotten a snack. Do you like marzipan, Margot?”

“Oh, yes, I do,” Margot replied, nodding. “Will they have any here?”

“Only one way to find out,” her mother-in-law exclaimed before turning and striding forward.

It did not take them long before they found a stall selling all kinds of exotic sweets, including sesame paste, dates and the sought-after marzipan shaped into fruits. Margot and Maura bought several between them and a bunch for the knights as thanks for escorting them. The two women ate their sweets as they headed back to the carriage, happily chatting amongst themselves.

Once they had climbed inside and the knights had shut the door, Margot sat back against the cushions, closing her eyes.

“Tired?” Maura asked, slight concern in her voice.

“A little. But I also really enjoyed that,” the younger woman brushed her fingers over her bracelet again. “Thank you for taking me.”

“Oh, you’re welcome. I know sitting in that castle can drive a person stir-crazy sometimes,” her mother-in-law laughed. “But I’m happy you had fun, Margot. You deserve to smile occasionally, and not dwell on what my jerk of a son does.”

Margot opened her mouth to protest but Maura lifted her hand, silencing whatever words she was about to say. “I’m his mother, I can say such things,” she smiled. “Maybe we should change the subject. What did you think of the market? Different from Websteros, I bet?”

That was a topic Margot was all too happy to talk about. She regaled her mother-in-law with stories of the most exotic things she and her brothers had seen at the markets of her home city, like rare Tengizian parrots or the skins of creatures that looked like horses but were instead covered in black and white stripes. She barely realised how quickly time went by until they had reached the castle.

Once it had stopped in the courtyard and the door had been opened for the two ladies, Margot stepped out of the carriage. She bowed her head respectfully to Maura.

“Thank you once again. I had a lovely time. But I should go see to Aveline. I’m afraid she’s been lonely without me.”

“Oh, I doubt it,” Maura said as she climbed out of the carriage herself. “Still, if you’re so worried, why don’t we go see her together? She’s my granddaughter too, after all.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” the younger woman replied with a hasty nod. “We’ll both head up then.”

“Why head up? She is right here, after all,” Alain’s voice sounded behind them.

Margot squeaked in surprise. The two women turned almost in synch to see him standing behind them with a sly smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Aveline sat happily in his grip, but upon seeing her mother, her face lit up and she began to squirm out of his arms. “Mama!” she cried excitedly.

Maura tilted her head, giving him a disapproving look. “There was no need to sneak up on us.”

Alain chuckled. “Did I startle you both, mother? My apologies: I did not mean to,” he struggled to keep a grip on Aveline as her squirming intensified. His head lifted towards Margot. “I think she missed you.”

The young woman’s heart clenched. Before she even realised, she stepped forward and scooped Aveline out of his arms, hugging her close. The girl squealed happily, nuzzling against her mother’s shoulder.

“How interesting. She was perfectly content exploring the courtyard with me before you arrived,” her husband remarked.

“You did say she missed me,” Margot replied, stroking Aveline’s back.

“That I did. She is very attached to you,” he smirked. “I suppose you are her mother…”

“Children tend to be attached to their mothers, Alain,” Maura rolled her eyes and folded her arms. “Especially when their mothers spend so much quality time with them as Margot does with your daughter.”

“I suppose…” his tony was sly, the smirk still flickering across his face. Before either of the women could continue the conversation, however, he bowed his head to them. “If you’re happy to take her now then, Margot, father did ask me to come and see him when I can. He has some work for me.”

“I wouldn’t want to keep you then,” she bowed her head. “Thank you for looking after her.”

“It was a pleasure, I’m sure you understand qhy,” Alain purred. “Good day.”

With those words, he headed past the two women and entered the castle’s keep.

“Obtuse as ever,” Maura grumbled under her breath before a smile returned to her face. “Still, I told you there was no need to worry: see how happy she is?” she tapped Aveline on the nose, an action which caused the little girl to giggle.

“Yes, she is.” Margot gazed lovingly at her daughter, stroking her head. The toddler rested against her briefly before starting to wriggle in her grasp. “Down. Down!”

“Alright, alright,” her mother replied, putting Aveline down. Newly freed, the girl picked a random direction and began to toddle off, hoping to find something interesting.

“I better follow,” Margot said apologetically to Maura.

“Yes, you better,” the older woman laughed. “I’ll see you later. Right now, I want to a lie down.”

She shot Margot a final smile before following in Alain’s footsteps into the keep. Margot only had a moment to acknowledge her before Aveline darting towards the fountain forced her attention away. She had to keep her daughter from getting into trouble after all.

***

Maura was at dinner that day but excused herself afterwards, claiming not to feel well. Lachlan seemed concerned, but she brushed it off, citing tiredness after a long day full of impressions. Margot at least, did her best to think nothing of it.

The next day, however, Maura was missing, and the Grand Duke sat at breakfast with a worn, haggard look on his face. Though he normally took milk with breakfast, a servant was pouring him a cup of strong tea. A chill ran down Margot’s spine as soon as she saw this: something was wrong. Alain- who had entered the room around the same time- remained expressionless, but even he was slightly perturbed, judging by the slight slowing of his step as he approached the table.

“Good morning,” Lachlan said as soon as he saw them. “Maura sends her apologies but she has come down with a bad cough. She won’t be joining us.”

Margot gasped, clapping her hands against her mouth. “Oh Woo, no…” she swallowed. “Will she be alright?”

“The physicians are attending to her. A normal person would be able to recover within a week or two but because of Maura’s lungs…” Lachlan shook his head. “They are doing their best for her. All we can do is wait and see.”

“It’s not the first time, or the last that she’s been taken ill like this” Alain remarked flatly, picking up a slice of bread from the basket.

His father looked up, meeting Alain’s gaze. Their eyes remained locked for a few moments before the older Stallion turned away. “She has had worse, you’re right, and I trust the physicians. And it is not winter, so she has better chances,” he took some fruit for his own plate. “As I said, we must wait and see.”

Margot remained frozen in place, refusing to look at either of the two men. “Can I go see her later?”

“Perhaps, if the physicians allow you, but I would rather you not be taken ill either, Lady Margot,” Lachlan told her calmly. “You have a young daughter, after all.”

“Ah, yes… you’re probably right,” she nodded, twining her fingers together. Her hands clenched. It was probably a bad idea to see Maura, but the older woman was a good friend to her. “Will the physicians let us know how she is doing?”

“I specifically asked they keep me updated so I will pass on any news to you,” the Grand Duke replied. A smile appeared on his face. “Maura would probably tear my head off it I made you worry more than you should.”

Despite the grim news, Margot found her lips curling upwards. “Thank you, Grand Duke Lachlan. I would be very grateful.”

“While she is ill, perhaps you can take over mother’s duties?” Alain tilted his head slightly, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. “You are to become Lady of Stallion someday, Margot. It would be useful for you to see what it is like.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” she nodded fervently before looking up at him, trying to meet his gaze. “You are right: it will be part of my duties eventually. I would like to grasp the reality of running this household.”

“Good,” he cocked his head towards his father. “Can we send mother’s schedule to Margot?”

“I’ll have one of the stewards bring it,” Lachlan turned to one of the servants who had been hovering in the background. “Could you let them know to do it once Lady Margot finishes her breakfast?”

The woman nodded and ran off. With that matter sorted, the two noblemen returned to their breakfast, occasionally chatting about matters pertaining to the House or the kingdom, forcing Margot to pick at her food alone. Ordinarily, Maura would have distracted her, or directed the conversation of the two men to include them too, but she was not here: she was in her chambers, struggling with whatever illness had overcome here. Aveline too, was sleeping, so she could not even rely on the child for a meagre provision of company.

In front of her was a rich milky porridge, filled with honey and fresh fruits but she could barely taste it over the feeling of loneliness which welled up inside her, gnawing at her like a dog at a bone. Reminding her that she was never fully free of being alone. Though it would have been better if she was truly alone…

Margot looked up at Alain, silently begging, pleading that he would take even a moment to acknowledge her, but her hopes were in vain. Once he had finished, he gave them both nothing but a curt nod and headed off into the depths of the castle. Lachlan too, stood up but unlike his son, he paused, looking back at Margot.

“I’ll let you know how Maura is when I get word,” he told her with cool politeness before leaving the room.

With the two men gone, Margot finished her breakfast in a hurry and exited, just barely hearing the clatter of dishes as the servants began to clear the table. As she left, however, someone tapped her shoulder. She jumped in surprise, whirling around.

“Ah, sorry, your ladyship. I was waiting tae tell you Lady Maura’s schedule,” he cleared his throat. “Yer due for a meeting with the stewards after breakfast, then there are some letters that need addressing, as well as a meeting with a craftsman to discuss furnishings in the guest rooms…”

He continued, listing all the tasks that Maura had planned for the day, tasks that had now passed on to Margot. She listened carefully, memorising everything, though she could not help but feel a little despair at how much there was. Woo willing she would have enough time to spend with Aveline today.

Nevertheless, she had a job to do. Her duties were not just as a mother but eventually would grow to encompass all the domestic affairs of House Stallion.

“First things first then: please take me to where the stewards are waiting,” Margot asked the servant.

The man obeyed and headed down the corridor, the Stallion lady following close behind. He led her downstairs to a reception room tucked away behind the great hall. The castle stewards were already assembled and rose respectfully as she entered, bowing to the lady. Margot scanned them. Each one was a familiar face who she had seen around the castle but one drew her attention: Ives was here too. As their eyes met, he smiled at her, to which she responded by smiling back. However, as soon as she remembered why she was here, the smile was wiped from her face, replaced by a more serious expression. She strode forward into the centre of the room, taking a seat in an armchair set out for her.

“Thank you all for coming. I will be in charge while Mau- Lady Maura is sick,” Margot stated with as much authority as she could muster as she looked out across the room. “What is the first order of business we must discuss?”

The senior steward cleared his throat. “Firstly, your ladyship, a matter was brought to my attention that the Keep’s north wing has suffered some weather damage over winter, which the recent rains have made worse. We require repairs, as soon as possible.”

A straightforward enough request. One her training her done more than enough to prepare her for.

“Then arrange for craftsmen to come in and see to them. Please negotiate a price and let me know what it will be, so I can authorise it and let the bookkeeper know,” she replied, giving the man a curt nod. “Anything else?”

One by one, the stewards voiced the grievances they had brought to the table to Margot, in response to which she proposed a solution. On occasion, the conversation evolved into a rigorous debate, one she felt dizzy just keeping up with. Whenever this happened, it was Ives who slowed things down, allowing her to catch up and gather her thoughts enough to formulate a reply. He himself only had a few small issues regarding the servants to bring to Margot but otherwise, he remained in the background.

Eventually, the meeting was finished. Margot dismissed the stewards to get on with their daily tasks. With a final bow, they all filed out of the door and she briefly closed her eyes. The first job was done. Now, what was next on her agenda…

“Lady Margot?”

Her eyes flickered open. Ives had not left; his gaze was fixated on her. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” the Stallion woman replied, shaking her head. “It was a little bit more intense than I expected. I have been trained in such matters, of course, but training is never quite the same as the real thing, is it?”

“No, it rarely is,” Ives tiptoed closer to her. “Still, I think you did very well, your ladyship. Especially with the senior steward: he can be quite stubborn. I’ve not been here very long, and I’ve already seen him engage Lady Maura in very passionate discussions at least once.”

“Really? He must have gone easy on me then,” Margot said with a smile. “I do appreciate your help though, Ives. I would have struggled had you not intervened on my behalf.”

“It was the least I could do,” he gave her a shallow bow. “I must say, it is quite noble of you to take on Lady Maura’s duties all at once. Even if she’s sick, would she have put all this pressure on you?”

The Stallion woman looked away. “I did not ask her. It was Alain’s idea.”

“Ah,” Ives replied, clicking his tongue. “It figures.”

Margot shook her head. “No, I’m glad he did it. I want Maura to recover. If I can help in any way, I am happy to.”

Some tension went out of the Perlino’s shoulders. “That is very selfless of you, Lady Margot. One would think you have your hands full enough with your young daughter.”

She swallowed as she remembered Aveline. The girl must have been awake now, no doubt wondering where her mother was. Shaking her head, she pushed the thought to the back of her mind. “It’s not forever. And I’ll do my best to see Aveline whenever I can, so she does not get too lonely,” Margot clasped her hands in her lap. “I’m sure she’d be happy to see her grandmother again. And I…I need Maura around. She gives me such good advice, and she helps me. She’s my friend.”

“Not many people can say that about their mother-in-law,” Ives chuckled. He kneeled beside Margot’s chair, looking up at her. “It sounds like you care a lot about her.”

“I do,” the Stallion woman nodded. “She’s been consistently kind to me ever since I showed up. When she’s not ill, she is wonderful company, but when she is…” she swallowed. “I admit, I get very lonesome. Aveline is sweet but…”

“You can use some adult company?” the Perlino finished for her. “One you can sit down and talk with instead of running after and preventing from causing trouble?”

“Yes,” realising what she said, Margot looked up in panic. “Don’t misunderstand, please, I love my daughter but-”

“A toddler’s company and an adult’s are very different, Lady Margot. I understand what you meant,” Ives replied, shaking his head and laughing a little. “There’s no need to panic.”

She sighed with relief. “I just…wouldn’t want anyone to think…”

“Well, I certainly don’t, so don’t worry. And as for company…” the Perlino man bowed his head and scooped her hand from her lap. “You have me. I told you before that I do not mind entertaining you, Lady Margot, but I am also happy to extend a sympathetic ear, if you would trust me with your troubles.”

He raised his head towards her and Margot met his gaze. Compassion reflected openly in those deep blue eyes, staggering her with its intensity and earnestness. He truly wanted to help her.

Had she not opened up to him before? After all, they had spoken about her relationship with her husband, and she had confessed to her loneliness. He was not offering anything new and yet, Margot wanted to fall to her knees and thank him. If there was anyone in this castle who could provide her with the level of support Maura did, it would be a kind, gentle, caring sweet man like him.

She squeezed his hand, smiling at him. “I trust you completely, Ives,” the Stallion woman said quietly. “And I do want your support.”

He smiled back, so bright that he almost acted like a second sun. “Then I’ll do my best to see you. Whenever I have free time, I’ll come to you,” the Perlino bowed his head. “We can exchange stories and songs, but if you don’t want that, we can just…talk. About anything you wish.”

“That would be wonderful,” Margot replied. “And perhaps…we’ll also see each other during our duties? If I am filling in for Lady Maura, I will be talking to the stewards a lot.”

“Oh, of course,” he laughed. “We’ll be seeing each other a lot.”

She blinked. “Is that a bad thing?”

“On the contrary, it would be a joy, at least for me,” Ives gazed up at her. “I hope you feel the same way.”

“Yes,” Margot nodded. “It would give me confidence, to know I have someone on my side.”

“Then it shall be an even greater joy for me,” Ives bent down and, before she even realised, landed a tiny kiss on Margot’s hand. Bringing his head back up revealed a cheeky smile. “I hope you don’t mind.”

The Stallion woman blinked, her mouth hanging slightly open. Did she mind? She ought to be indignant and yet, the gesture was such a small one that she could barely muster a speck of annoyance. Was it too informal? No. For a nobleman, it was just right. And Ives technically still was a Perlino: he had not renounced the House after all.

“I don’t mind,” she smiled at him. “That was quite sweet.”

He gave a small sigh of relief. “I was worried you would take offence, with me being a servant.”

“Maybe others would have but I don’t,” Margot remarked. “Especially not since you offered to help me. And I trust you, Ives. I trust you completely.”

“Already?” the Perlino laughed. “So quickly.”

“Well, um, even before this, you have been a good friend. Even if we haven’t known each other long,” the Stallion woman swallowed. “I’m happy when you’re around.”

“So am I,” he murmured. Gently, he returned her hand to her lap and stood up, bowing deeply. “For now, though, I must be going. We both have duties to attend to.”

“Yes. I suppose I have to go address Lady Maura’s letters,” picking up her skirts, Margot stood up. “But we shall see each other again very soon?”

“Most likely,” Ives opened the door, allowing her through. “Either for work or for fun, we will see each other.”

She smiled at him. “I look forward to it.”

Her smile was returned by the Perlino. “So do I.”

Part 5

SPOILER: Click to show

Ives kept his word. When nothing else occupied him, he always came to see Margot. If she was occupied with House business, he would aid her, and if her attention was taken by Aveline, as before, he would entertain them both with stories and songs. The little girl loved them: she waved to Ives when she saw him and, on occasion, would repeat words he said after him.

Without a doubt, however, the one most grateful for his presence was Margot. Maura’s illness lingered, and though her and the younger Stallion woman remained in touch, her need for rest and Margot’s continued filling in for her meant they spent barely any time together. With Ives by her side, however, whatever gap was left by Maura’s absence was plugged. The fact that he was a relatively new steward worked to their advantage: instead of lecturing Margot, they often figured out problems together, bouncing ideas back and forth until they arrived at a workable solution. Margot knew she was not intelligent, far from it, but he somehow managed to convince her, even briefly, that she was.

However, they did not just work together. There was still plenty of time, especially in the evenings for him to grace her, and Aveline if the little girl was still awake, with the usual stories and songs. Margot would do her best to return the favour by telling him stories from Albion, or ones that she and her brothers had made up as children. On one memorable occasion, Ives even convinced her to sing a sea song for him. Even though she was flushed bright red from embarrassment at the end, Margot still thoroughly enjoyed it, and it was clear by his grin that the Perlino had gotten what he had wanted.

This pleasant company had a subtle but persistent residual effect. Margot spent most of her days feeling lighter, as if a burden has been lifted off her shoulders Of course, it came crashing back down like a rotten roof whenever she so much as glimpsed her husband, but for the most part, she felt a little more confident, a little happier and secure in the knowledge she had someone to rely on.

She did not realise how profound the change was, however, until others noticed.

“You’ve been looking very well lately, Margot,” Maura remarked to her one day, smiling.

“Oh, have I?” the younger woman asked, putting down her cup. She and her mother-in-law had been taking tea in Maura’s rooms whenever the latter felt well enough. “I suppose I have been feeling quite good.”

“Is it because of the young steward?” her mother-in-law gave a sly grin. “I have heard you and he have been developing a strong friendship.”

“I…I suppose I have,” Margot managed a little smile. “He has been very kind to me, Maura, and he has helped me a lot taking over your duties.”

“I am sure. He seems like a nice young man,” Maura said. The sly expression still played on her face. “Just do be careful. Nice young men can sometimes have other things on their mind. And people do like to gossip so much…”

The younger woman frowned. “What do you mean?” she asked, confused.

“Nevermind,” her mother-in-law shook her head, reaching out and patting Margot on the shoulder. “You enjoy your friendship, no matter what others think. Woo knows you need some other friends besides me.”

She suddenly began to cough again. For several moments, her body was wracked with convulsions as she fought to dislodge whatever it was that had irritated her lungs. The younger woman drew back, watching with discomfort as her mother-in-law struggled for breath.

“’Pit take this illness!” Maura finally gasped before spitting out a swearword. Upon realising what she had said, she shot the shocked Margot a little smile. “I’m sorry, dear.”

“N-no, it’s fine,” she shook her head and leaned closer. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, except for this cough that refuses to clear up,” her mother-in-law grumbled, taking a large sip of tea. “Close to thirty years my lungs have been wrecked and yet it still doesnae get any less frustrating when ahm ill.”

“I’m sorry,” Margot murmured, clutching her cup closer. She knew her mother-in-law had had severe pneumonia before she married Lachlan that had damaged her lungs permanently, but she hated being reminded of it whenever Maura became ill. The older woman’s fragility and mortality became all too stark in these times.

“Ach, it’s nae your fault,” Maura looked up, smiling at her. “I’ve shaken this off before and I can do it again. I got the best physicians in Bern looking after me.”

She cleared her throat with a painful, strangled sound, but despite that, she smiled at Margot. “Enough about me. How is Aveline? Still growing like a little weed?”

“Oh, yes, she is!” the younger woman exclaimed, glad to have something else to talk about. “She keeps picking up new words and is always so curious about everything, but she’s so gentle too,” she sighed, smiling fondly. “She’s going to be such a proper lady when she grows up, I can feel it.”

“We shall see. She is still very young, she might decide on a different path entirely,” Maura remarked. “As long as she is happy.”

“Of course,” Margot nodded. “I love her so much; I would give anything for her to be happy.”

“I have no doubt about that. I’ve seen how you dote on that girl,” her mother-in-law laughed slightly. “I think the whole castle has noticed.”

“Really?” the younger woman blushed under the praise. “It’s nothing really. I am only doing what I am supposed to do: being a dutiful mother to my husband’s children.”

Maura snorted. “And? I still think you deserve praise for that,” she smiled. “When someone pays you a compliment, Margot, there’s no need to deflect it. No shame in admitting your good qualities after all.”

“I…I suppose not,” Margot smiled back, bowing her head. “Thank you, Maura. Your words mean a lot to me.”

The two women chatted a little more until the castle physician came into the room. With a bow and an apology, he politely but firmly insisted that Lady Maura needed to rest and perhaps Lady Margot better facilitate that. The older Stallion woman did not even bother to hide her annoyance but nevertheless, reluctantly complied with the physician’s orders. They exchanged their goodbyes, with Margot promising to bring Aveline to see her grandmother next time, to which Maura promised she would have some treats ready for her beloved granddaughter.

Aveline…the girl was still on her mind when Margot exited her mother-in-law’s room. She had left the toddler peacefully sleeping when going to visit Maura but now, for once, she had no official engagements and no business to take care of.

Perhaps she ought to see if the toddler was awake. If she was, she could spend some time with her, like she should as her mother. If not…the thought of watching over her daughter, sleeping peacefully filled Margot with a deep sense of serenity.

She picked up her skirts and set off down the corridor, heading towards the nursery. Yet she barely took a few steps before the sound of voices reached her ears. Margot stopped, her footsteps dying immediately, allowing her to better hear what was going on. She could not make out the individual words, but she immediately recognised one of the pair of conversationalists. Alain’s deep, smooth tone could not be mistaken for anybody else.

The other person, however, she was not too sure of. She listened closer. It was obviously a man, though his voice was not as deep as Alain’s. There was a strong undercurrent of annoyance, something he was barely bothering to conceal. He had a strong Bernian accent, with a lilting tone that reminded her of the hoot of an owl-

Ives! But what would he be doing speaking with Alain?

Margot chided herself almost immediately for that question. Alain was the Duke and Ives was a steward: of course, they would speak on a regular basis. Yet Ives’ tone set her on edge. If they were just speaking, why would he sound so irritated? Almost as irritated, she realised, as when she spoke to him about Alain.

Perhaps she should not be listening to this. It was none of her business what the two were speaking about. She could find another route to the nursery. Margot turned and was just about to start walking when the voices died away. Footsteps echoed down the corridor as one of the two men began to walk in the direction away from her. The other, however, was heading right for where she was, and by his footsteps, she could tell who it was: Alain.

She froze in place, wondering for a moment if she ought to leave but there was no time before her husband rounded the corner. His gaze fell on Margot and he stopped. A smile curled on his lips but it was a stretch to call it pleasant. Sly would be more fitting.

“Hello, Margot. Have you been to see my mother?”

“Er, yes,” she nodded curtly.

“How is she doing?”

“She is still ill, but she is doing better. We were able to have a nice conversation and have some tea,” Margot’s eyes turned to the floor as she spoke. She could never bring herself to look at him, not for long at least.

“Good. I am glad to hear. I should pay her a visit myself later,” Alain’s gaze scanned her. “Are you busy just now?”

“I was going to see if Aveline is awake.”

“She is still sleeping. So if you’re free…” her husband stepped back, gesturing with his hand down the corridor. “Perhaps we could talk?”

Margot blinked. “About what?”

He chuckled. “Can’t we just talk? We are married after all.”

“Yes, we can, of course we can, it’s just…” she lowered her gaze again. “You so rarely ask me to.”

“Well, I am asking you now,” Alain gestured again, a little bit more empathetically this time. “That is, if you want to.”

“I do, I really do,” Margot gasped out in a split-second, her head shooting up to look at him. “Please.”

He smiled. “Follow me then. I know a place where we can speak undisturbed.”

With those words, he turned on his heel and started down the corridor. Hitching up her skirts, Margot followed like an obedient dog, her eyes fixated upon his back, taking in the sight of him.

Her husband was here, right in front of her, but it seemed like he would simply turn a corner and disappear if she so much as looked away.

Alain stopped suddenly in front of a door and pushed it open, entering the room beyond. He wasted no time sitting down in one of the high-backed chairs, but Margot hesitated in the doorway, taking a moment to glance around the room.

It was a small, private sitting room, one of several scattered around the family quarters, designed for receiving guests or simply relaxing. Light streamed in from the window opposite a large, granite fireplace that, without the warmth of a fire, was cold and imposing. Beside it stood two ornate chairs, one of which Alain had occupied, divided by a small, plain table. The remaining wall was covered by an intricate tapestry of a rampant unicorn, it’s golden mane splayed out behind it as it affixed the occupants with a single, judging eye.

“Are you going to stand there, or will you sit?” Alain’s voice broke through her musings. Margot squeaked in surprise and bustled over to the empty chair, smoothing her skirts down as she took a seat.

“Are you well, Margot?” he smiled as he scanned her. “You are certainly looking well.”

“Ah, thank you,” she gasped, disarmed by the sudden compliment. “I have been well, you’re right.”

“Even though you have been working quite hard over the past month managing the household for my mother?”

“Well, yes,” Margot nodded. “It has been fairly straightforward though. I will confess, however, the organisation around the feast of Saint Absolon was a challenge. There were many things to manage.”

“Unsurprising. The feast is a complicated affair,” he smirked. “Though I’ve heard the stewards have been helping you.”

“They have,” she nodded again. “They’ve been excellent in showing me how things work. I have been trained in such matters, but I appreciate their experience, since I have so little.”

“It is what they’re there for,” he replied, gazing squarely at her. “I do hope you will have less difficulty with the Craftsmen’s Banquet in late June. It is hardly as complicated as Saint Absolon’s feast but who knows? Unexpected problems crop up from time to time.”

Margot paused, thinking about this. The stewards had mentioned it to her, and with it being less than a month away, they had begun to prepare. The Craftsman’s Banquet was the annual gathering of the guilds under Stallion’s roof. She remembered the heads of the guilds being there last year, and the Grand Duke examining new, promising creations of the guild members who their leaders had deemed worthy of attending. By all accounts, it was not the diplomatic web that was Saint Absolon’s day but if Stallion valued progress as much as they did, it was unlikely to be less vital.

“Of course, I am sure mother will soon recover and can take over for you if you do not feel up for it,” Alain broke through her musings.

“No. I will do my duty. I want Maura to get plenty of rest. Besides,” Margot smiled wanly. “As your wife, someday, I will have to do this without any assistance.”

“You will. Though you will still have the stewards,” her husband replied with a chuckle before turning his icy gaze back on her. “Nevertheless, I expect you to do well, Margot. You have been doing fine so far. Do not falter.”

“Never,” she murmured, bowing her head to escape his cold eyes. “I would not want to disappoint you.”

“Good,” Alain smirked and leaned back in his chair. “Aveline must be getting quite lonesome though.”

Margot started. “I-I have been doing my best to spend as much time with her as I can,” she stammered.

“Has it been enough?” he replied, his gaze flickering up to her.

“I…I think so,” she swallowed. “She seems happy enough, at least, though I can tell she misses me. It breaks my heart when I must leave her,” Margot looked slowly up at her husband. “If you think I don’t spend enough time with her, however-”

“No. You seem to be doing alright,” her husband told her, though it was impossible to tell by the stoic tone of his voice if it was a compliment or not. “It is not like this arrangement is forever. Mother will be well soon, and you can return to our daughter.”

“Yes. I am very much looking forward to that,” Margot nodded, a smile forming on her face. “Aveline means so much to me.”

“To me as well. I confess, I have been making more frequent visits while you have been busy. They have been very enjoyable” a note of fondness crept into Alain’s voice as the corners of his mouth tugged upwards. The expression only lasted for a few moments, however, before his stony gaze once more took over and his attention turned back to his wife in front of him. “That does, however, bring us to another matter I wanted to speak to you about.”

“Oh?” she looked up, eyes wide. Her breath caught in her throat as her thoughts raced over what he could possibly want from her.

He steepled his hands in front of him. “Aveline is growing very quickly and becoming easier to look after. For now, our duties outside her are light enough but eventually, I’m sure you know, the time will come that we must take on more. Finally, as much as I love our daughter, she cannot be Stallion’s heir…”

Margot gulped. A shudder ran down her spine. “So you are saying…it’s time?”

Alain nodded. “We should think about having another child.”

She gave off a tiny squeak of surprise, one she immediately suppressed but not before noticing the tiny smirk forming on her husband’s face. It hardly mattered though. Another child! She knew this was inevitable, especially since they only had one daughter, but she had not expected it so soon.

Her husband’s soft chuckle disturbed her turbulent thoughts. “I understand this might come as a bit of a surprise,” Alain smiled a little. “But it must be done, Margot, as I’m sure you know.”

“Of course. I know my duty to the House, and to you,” she murmured in a shaky voice, clasping her hands together. “I am just…the timing is much sooner than I expected.”

“Perhaps. However, things can easily change; it’s important to be prepared. Especially when it comes to circumstances beyond your control. It’s possibly nothing will happen but just in case…” he affixed her with a piercing gaze. “I want to make sure there is a Stallion heir, nothing more, nothing less.”

Margot shivered, feeling herself shrink under his stare. He was right, of course. There was no point wasting time, doubly so when it concerned such a vital matter. There was no knowing what could happen to either of them in the future.

She wondered idly if Maura’s illness had spurred him into this decision. But surely Alain would have borne witness to his mother being sick many times?

“Margot,” Alain’s voice cut through her musings like a knife. Her head shot up, meeting his gaze. “Will you do this then? I must have your answer.”

“Of course, I will,” Margot answered without hesitation. “It is my duty and I want to please you, Alain,” she bit her lip. “When will you...be needing me?”

He pondered this for a few moments. “Tonight,” the Stallion finally stated. “Let’s start there and see how things progress.”

Her breath caught in her throat at the thought. All she could do was nod and attempt to erase the gobsmacked expression on her face, a venture that was met with little success. Her cheeks suddenly felt warm.

Alain smiled wryly, clearly taking amusement at her reaction. Margot felt her cheeks flush even further. She waited for her husband to make some cutting remark, but none came. Instead, he stood from his chair, his icy eyes boring into her.

“I shall see you later then, Margot,” he turned on his heel, only stopping to give her the smallest nod. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” she barely managed to whisper as he walked away, her head bowed low. His footsteps sounded off the stone floor and Margot found herself listening, committing the noise to intimate memory.

The door slammed, and she jumped in her seat. Her head shot up to catch a glimpse of her husband, but he was already gone. Margot sank in her seat, sighing. He never stayed for long.

Except, she remembered, she would see him tonight. Oh Woo. A shudder passed through her entire body for which she immediately chided herself. It was duty, nothing more. That was all she should expect.

Pushing the thought forcefully from her mind, Margot got up and headed out of the room, resuming her original trajectory of Aveline’s nursery. The thoughts of another child and especially of her husband kept drifting back. So absorbed she was in fighting off and flitting between these momentary daydreams that she barely noticed her surroundings.

“Lady Margot?”

The Stallion woman stopped in her tracks, startled into wakefulness. Slowly, she turned in the direction of the voice and was met with concerned, dark blue eyes.

“Ives?” she gasped. Relief immediately swept over her. Thank Woo; she needed somebody to speak to.

“You look lost,” he stepped away from the windowsill at which he had been standing. “Is everything alright?”

Margot clutched her hand to her chest, looking away. Things were fine, or at least, nothing bad had happened, quite the opposite. Yet she still hesitated. Ives had made it clear he had very little regard for Alain beyond what he needed to towards a superior, and the fiery tone of his exchange with her husband earlier still echoed in her ears.

“If something is wrong, no matter what it is, you can talk to me,” the Perlino said in a gentle voice. “Please, Lady Margot. I would hate to see you distressed.”

She swallowed, lowering her hands to her stomach so she could somehow suppress the butterflies within. “Alain has said we ought to have another child.”

Ives lowered his gaze. “I see,” he said quietly. “I take it you agreed?”

“Of course,” Margot nodded eagerly. “He needs a son, an heir. I have a duty to produce one for hm. And I…” she shivered, biting her lip. “I want to be close to him, somehow.”

An open scowl flashed across the Perlino’s face. “A decent husband- no, a decent person wouldn’t withhold affection from you until you’re so desperate you will take even the scraps that are offered,” he looked the Stallion woman squarely in the eye. “Don’t you realise that he is using you, Lady Margot? For his own purposes?”

She blinked rapidly. “If that is what he wants…” her voice quivered. “Then he can use me.”

“Dear Woo!” Ives exclaimed, burying his head in his hands. “What is it about him that makes him worth sacrificing yourself?”

Margot lowered her eyes, fighting back tears. “I love him.”

“But why?!”

Her breath quickened as though she was running for her life. “I don’t know,” she gasped. “I just know that I do. I would do anything for him. Especially if it meant…I could…have even a little attention from him.”

“Woo, there’s no convincing you, is there?” Ives shook his head. “But it pains me, Lady Margot. It pains me to see you, young and beautiful, throw your life away for him.”

Despite herself, Margot smiled. “You sound like my brother, Ives,” she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and took a breath before looking up. “But I have no choice either way. He is my husband. However I feel, I must do as he pleases.”

“Even if it hurts you?”

“Yes.”

The Perlino turned away from her but even so, she could see him bristling. “I hate it,” he finally muttered. “I hate that you give him everything and he gives you nothing. He doesn’t even seem to respect you.”

He glanced back at her. “You know no matter what you do, he will never love you like you love him, right?”

“I have long accepted that,” Margot nodded. Nevertheless, her eyes began to sting with fresh tears at the thought. She squeezed them back. “But I will turn my love into execution of my duty as a wife, and somehow, I will find happiness in that.”

Ives sighed, his voice echoing the scepticism he felt. “You ever consider there might be another way to happiness?”

She blinked, looking up at him. “What do you mean?”

“…Nevermind,” he turned away again. “I hope your child will be a healthy one and bring you as much joy as Aveline does.”

Margot brought her hand up to her chest, her lips thinning, discomforted by the sudden change in Ives attitude. Nevertheless, she bowed her head in acknowledgement. “Thank you, Ives,” a wan smile formed on her face. “And I hope he will love your stories and songs as much as we both do.”

“I’ll do my best,” he replied, chuckling softly. “I cannot disappoint my Stallion masters after all.”

“If it’s even possible,” Margot told him before taking a step back. “But I must go. Aveline should be waking up at any moment.”

“Of course. Go,” the Perlino nodded. “Remember though, Lady Margot: I’ll be here. I’ll always be here for you.”

Her heart swelled at those words. She bowed her head deeply and breathlessly uttered “Thank you,” though those words could not fully express her appreciation. Sometimes, Ives felt like a calm harbour she could rest in and unload her cares to.

Not wanting to waste any more time, the Stallion woman hitched up her skirts and dashed away towards the nursery, already trying to think of what she could do with Aveline this afternoon. She did not have anything to attend to so perhaps they could go into the gardens again. The flowers were in full bloom and the little girl loved exploring among them.

Part 6

SPOILER: Click to show

Aside from the prospects of a second child, life for Margot continued as it had always done. Alain remained cold and distant from her as ever, except when it came to the issue of their- she supposed she could now say children, plural. They decided that until Margot got pregnant, there was no need to announce what was happening. Lachlan and Maura remained unaware. The only one who knew was Ives but he acted as though the conversation never happened at all. Instead, he behaved towards her as he always did, something Margot was grateful for. She did not want to ruin their friendship with an errant slip of the tongue.

Ten days after her and Alain’s talk, just as May was slipping into a warm June, Maura arrived to tell Margot she although she had not fully recovered, was well enough to take over her duties again. Relieved, the younger woman happily handed over her post, explaining what she had done and what still needed to be done so that her mother-in-law was caught up. In return, she received warm hugs and heartfelt thanks for taking care of everything. Margot absorbed them like a sponge. Even if she did it because she had to, it was still nice to be appreciated.

With her duties as Lady of Stallion safely handed over, she returned to Aveline, who squealed and cuddled with her mother as soon as she got her back. Margot was all too happy to reciprocate the affection and bask in the company of her little daughter once again. As soon as the girl was done cuddling, however, she said something unexpected.

“Ives sing?” the toddler gazed up at her mother with wide, expectant eyes. “Story?”

Margot blinked, looking down. She has not expected Aveline to remember Ives. Then again, why would she not? Ives’ songs and stories entertained the little girl just as much as they had her mother.

“I hope he will,” the woman said after a few moments, running her fingers through her daughter’s hair before planting a kiss on the top of her forehead. “I love his songs and stories too.”

Much to both their disappointment, however, the Perlino steward was nowhere to be found that day. Aveline found plenty other things that made her forget all about Ives, but all Margot could do was swallow her sadness. But why should she be surprised? Just because she was now freed of duties did not mean he was.

The next day, however, she did her best to put it behind her. Above Destrier, the sun shone brightly without a veil of cloud to obscure it, bringing light and warmth to Bern. It was a perfect day to spend in the gardens, which is precisely what Margot did.

This time, there were no muddy puddles for Aveline to get dirty in, but that hardly meant there was nothing for her to enjoy. In all corners of the garden, flowers bloomed with a rainbow of colours, all stretching out to take full advantage of the sun. Bees and butterflies flitted amongst the plants, weaving a complex dance only they understood. Though the trees only had lingering remains of blossom upon them, the green leaves that had replaced the flowers whispered a song above the heads of the two women, a song underscored by the trill of birds in their branches. Aveline sometimes looked up, her attention caught by the sound, before she turned back to investigating the flowers and chasing after butterflies and bees. The latter especially gave Margot a challenge in keeping her away from them.

Eventually, the girl finally settled on the grass, exhausted by all the running. Her mother sat down beside her, her skirts spreading out around her like ripples in water. “Aveline, look,” she said and picked a daisy from the lawn. The toddler snatched it from her hand but Margot picked several more, forming them into a little crown and putting it on Aveline’s head.

“It’s just like your grandpa’s now,” the Stallion woman smiled. The toddler, however, reached up and plucked the daisy circlet from her head, clenching it in her chubby hands.

Margot frowned. “Be careful, Aveline, sweetie, before you-”

Aveline tugged a little too hard, causing the daisies to fall apart. She stared at the handfuls of crushed flowers in her hands before looking up at her mother with the gaze of a lost puppy. “Broken.”

“It’s okay, dearest, we’ll fix it,” her mother replied, kissing the top of her child’s head. “You need to pick some daisies for me. Like so,” she plucked a flower nearby and placed it on her lap.

The girl watched for a second before leaning down and pulling a daisy from its stem, giving it to her.

“Well done!” Margot exclaimed. “Now go find some more.”

Aveline barely took a few steps however before she looked up and waved to someone behind Margot. The woman blinked as the shadow fell over them, wondering who it was who disturbed their privacy. A gardener? Aveline did not know any gardeners well enough to smile and wave at them.

She looked up, only to find herself gazing into the smiling face of Ives.

“Hello, Lady Margot,” he gave her a shallow bow. “I thought I would find you here.”

“Hiii!” Aveline exclaimed, continuing to wave at him.

Margot pulled the girl close to her, balancing her in her lap. “Hello, Ives,” she gave him a nod of acknowledgement. “Were you looking for me?”

“I was,” the Perlino kneeled on the grass beside them. “I had a day off yesterday and went to browse the markets. There were a lot of foreign traders there selling all sorts of goods.”

“That sounds lovely,” the Stallion woman smiled. “Did you buy anything?”

“As a matter of fact, I did,” Ives’ hand flew to his pocket. “I bought you a gift.”

He reached inside and took out a parchment-wrapped package which he held out to Margot. She gasped, picking it reverently out of his hands as though it was a fragile little bird.

“Ives…you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” the Perlino gestured at the gift. “Open it. I want to see what you think.”

Carefully, she unfolded the parchment, revealing several thin dark brown slabs nestled in the package. One of them had begun to melt in the corner, staining the paper with thick goo. A rich, sweet smell emanated from them, making Margot’s mouth water.

“Have you ever had chocolate before, Lady Margot?” Ives asked, smiling.

“Long ago, at a feast in Websteros,” she looked up at him, eyes wide. “This must have cost you a fortune.”

He shrugged. “I’ve saved enough and I don’t have much else to spend it on. Treating you is a better use than letting it gather dust.”

Aveline leaned closer, peering into the parchment and gazing at the chocolate within with hungry eyes. She glanced up at her mother, silently begging her.

Margot smiled, turning to Ives. “You do not mind if I share this with her?”

“Of course not! It’s your gift. You can share it with whoever you want. Especially with your beloved daughter.”

Happy with that answer, the woman picked up the top piece, handing it to Aveline, before taking the next one and offering to Ives. “You said I can share with whoever I want.”

He chuckled and picked up the second slab of chocolate, leaving the final one for Margot. She took it and bit into it, letting the bitter and sweet flavours contained within it melt on her tongue, coating her mouth with the rich taste. It was just as good as she remembered from all those years ago, if not more so.

Beside her, Aveline carefully nibbled on the chocolate, clutching it tightly in her hands. As soon as she got a taste for it, however, she began taking larger bites, smearing it all over her lips and her face in the process. Chocolate, melted by the heat of her hands, began to ooze from between her fingers, staining them brown.

“Oh, Aveline,” Margot sighed, looking down at her daughter. The toddler blinked, looking up and dropping the melted chocolate on to her skirt. Her mother gasped and carefully tore the piece away, revealing brown, sticky stains on the fabric of her daughter’s clothes. “Oh no.”

She placed the salvaged piece chocolate back into its parchment wrapper- it was far too expensive to waste- and scooped Aveline up, careful to avoid her sticky hands. “I’m sorry, Ives, I should go clean her up,” Margot bowed her head. “I wish I had time to properly enjoy your gift but-”

“No need to apologise, Lady Margot, just go. I understand: your child comes first,” he smiled. “Good luck cleaning her up! You look like you’ll need it.”

“Thank you,” she said before dashing off up the garden and towards the castle. Once she got inside, she headed to the nursery to recruit Aveline’s nursemaids in the task of washing the chocolate off the toddler and her dress.

She barely got a short distance up the stairs before she heard Alain’s voice at the bottom. “Margot?” his voice compelled her to turn around, briefly meeting his gaze before she lowered her head.

“Hello, Alain,” she murmured.

By contrast, Aveline in her arms suddenly grew more animated, sitting up and wriggling. “Papa! Hi papa!” she waved to him, a radiant smile spreading across her face.

His eyes flickered towards his daughter, examining her. A tiny upward twitch tugged the corner of his mouth. “I would have thought it was too dry for there to be any mud,” Alain remarked, turning back to Margot. “Where did she manage to find this mess?”

“It’s...” the woman suddenly sound herself focusing on the tiny scratches in the stone steps. She could so easily have told him about the chocolate but for some reason, her tongue refused to sound out the words.

“Ives!” Aveline suddenly exclaimed. “Ives cholat! Ives cho’late!”

Alain raised his eyebrows at her words. His eyes met Margot’s, making it impossible to miss the sly glint in them. He did not even need to speak: the demand for an explanation was clear enough.

She felt so much like a criminal who had been caught sneaking out of a window. “Ives…brought some chocolate, as a gift.”

“For Aveline?” her husband’s tone told her he did not think it was the case.

Margot shook her head. Her heart was racing in her chest. “Then we…we shared it out. But Aveline melted hers, and then dropped it on her dress. So I wanted to…” she swallowed. “To go clean her up.

“I see…” Alain purred like a cat who had found the fish pond. “Then I won’t keep you any longer. After all, Aveline is a lady of Stallion: she does need to be clean.”

With those words, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving his wife and daughter in his wake. Aveline waved as he walked away “Buh-bye papa,” she called after him.

Margot, however, could not summon any words to see her husband off. She stared at him as he left, a sinking feeling in her stomach. She should have been relieved that Alain was letting her go and yet, she could feel this was not over. He was only letting her go because he was pondering his next move.

No! She had not even done anything wrong! Whatever he thought, it was wrong. There was nothing in Ives giving her chocolate. It was just a friendly gesture.

So why was she feeling so guilty about it?

“Mama?” Aveline shifted in her arms, getting dangerously close to smearing chocolate over Margot’s dress.

“It’s alright, sweetie, everything is fine. Mama was only thinking,” she replied, giving her daughter the best smile that she could muster. “Let’s see what we can do about that dress, your hands, and your face.”

She continued up the grand staircase and towards the private quarters, where she hoped the nurses would be. With their help, Aveline would soon be freed of the sticky melted chocolate goo that clung to her face and hands, and the launderesses would have a task getting her clothes cleaned. However, even with all this work to do, the memory of her brief interaction with her husband gnawed at the back of Margot’s mind. He was not one for stalling: whatever his action would be, he would execute it very soon.

***

Her anxieties continued to eat at her through the very next day. Margot was quieter than usual at breakfast, only looking at her food or at Aveline but never once daring to glance at Alain. She almost jumped in her seat when she felt a hand on her shoulder, only to find herself meeting Maura’s concerned eyes.

“Is something wrong, Margot?”

“No, nothing,” the younger woman shook her head. As she did, she caught a slight glimpse of Alain. There was a smile on his face: the same, sly smile he had worn during their conversation at the foot of the stairs yesterday.

“You seem on edge is all. More than usual,” Maura’s voice carried more than a tinge of worry.

“It’s really nothing. I’m just not feeling too well,” Margot replied. “I might rest a little after breakfast.”

There was very little rest to be found, however: Aveline needed to be entertained or, being the ever-inquisitive toddler that she was, had to be supervised in her explorations around the castle. For that Margot was grateful: being around her daughter made her anxiety melt away. It was only when Aveline lay down for her nap and Margot retreated into her usual antechamber to sew that her thoughts crept up on her again.

Could she just be imagining it? No: he made sure she saw the subtle signals, signals he knew she was aware of. There was something he thought about the gift Ives had given her, just she did not know what.

She would have preferred it if Alain had acted like she had done something wrong. His anger would wound her worse than any weapon but at least she would have known what he was thinking. At the best of times, he was an enigma to her but now, she could not read him at all. She did not know what to do to appease him, if there was even anything could be done.

Margot’s heart clenched. She knew he had a very low opinion of her anyway but nevertheless, the thought of him thinking so poorly of her hurt. But surely it was nothing? She had not committed any crime. Why would he think such things?

The creak of the door forced her to look up, sitting straight in her seat as though she had a rod jammed into her spine. Was he here?!

“Sorry, Lady Margot, did I startle you?” Ives gentle, lilting voice reached her ears.

Margot relaxed a little. “No, I’m sorry,” she looked up, smiling slightly at him. “I’ve simply been on edge lately, that’s all.”

“Ah,” the Perlino glided closer to her. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Did she? “No.” The last thing he needed to know was the source of her discomfort. “It’s only a silly thing anyway. I don’t want to waste your time on it.”

Ives’ lips thinned. He kneeled beside her, looking up and meeting Margot’s gaze. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

The woman pondered this before gazing down at him. “Will you sing for me?” she gave the Perlino a smile. “Your songs always help me feel better.”

A grin spread across his face and he bowed deeply to her in a fashion that was almost exaggerated. “Anything to make you happy, Lady Margot.”

Ives cleared his throat and stepped back, into a ray of light. The sun reflected off his sleek black hair, making it shine. Taking a deep breath, he began to sing.

Margot listened to him, entranced by his voice as a sailor by a siren. The Perlino’s lilting accent came out most strongly when he was singing a song from his homeland. She leaned back and closed her eyes, allowing the notes to roll over her ears, wearing away her cares like water wears away a stone’s edges.

Farewell to the mountains, high-cover'd with snow,
Farewell to the straths and green vallies below;
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods,
Farewell to the torre-

The door creaked as it was pushed open, startling Ives into silence. Margot’s eyes snapped open and she gasped. The Perlino stood frozen in front of her, his gaze firmly on the entrance to the room, his expression steely. Slowly, arthritically, she turned her head to see what had caught his attention.

Alain stood in the doorway, a sly smile fixed on his face. For a moment, his icy eyes fixed on Margot’s, making her shudder. His presence had suddenly made the airy room feel very stifling.

“Pardon me,” he purred, glancing between the two as he stepped into the room. “I hope I am not interrupting.”

“No,” Ives replied, his voice as stony as his face. “You are not interrupting, your Grace.”

“Oh, good,” Alain remarked almost cheerily. “Because I want to speak to my wife. In private,” he looked Ives squarely in the eye. “So please, don’t let me keep you.”

The Perlino barely restrained a scowl before he turned on his feet and, in stark contrast to his earlier, relaxed and friendly attitude, gave a sharp, curt bow to Margot. He slowly lifted his head, lingering just long enough for her to catch a glimpse of his eyes: dark and thunderous, simmering with anger.

Before she could react, however, he marched away, only slowing his pace as he got behind Alain to shoot a glare in the other man’s direction. The Stallion did not so much as glance his way. If it was not for the slight upward twitch of his lips, it would have been safe to assume he did not notice the steward at all.

It took only a moment before Ives left, closing the door behind him. Margot was now left all alone with her husband. She swallowed, trying to suppress the frightened lurching in her stomach.

Alain, however, finally took the time to glance back at the doorway, still smiling. “He was quite abrupt, wasn’t he?”

“Yes. He’s not usually like that,” she replied, her voice and her head lowered.

“Is he not? Funny, that’s not the impression I get,” her husband remarked. “He always seems coldly hostile towards me. I suspect only a lower rank keeps him from openly expressing his anger.”

A cold prickle ran down Margot’s spine. She had begged Ives to not hold Alain disdain but obviously her words had no effect. Nor did her husband’s hawkish eyes miss anything.

Alain glanced back at her. “Any idea why he would dislike me?” his voice dropped to a purr. “You are very close after all.”

“I’m not sure…” it could not have been because of her: Ives would not ignore her wishes like that. When they spoke about it…had he not mentioned his brother?

Margot dared to look up, meeting his gaze. “I think you might remind him of his older brother. From what he’s told me, Ives has no love for him.”

“Earl Nairn?” a soft, humourless laugh escaped from Alain’s mouth. “Quite an unflattering comparison, and, to be frank, not one I agree with.”

His wife swallowed, lowering her head and almost wishing her seat would swallow her up. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. Perhaps she should have remained silent and not tried to offer an explanation.

Why had she not? Guilt? But what would she have to feel guilty about? She would not do anything to cross Alain.

“Regardless of his feelings for me, Ives Perlino seems very fond of you,” her husband continued. “Perhaps inordinately so.”

Her stomach sunk. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“Me? …No,” Alain stated. Inwardly, Margot breathed a small sigh of relief but her stomach dropped when he continued speaking. “I was merely thinking about how it would look from the side: a married noblewoman, spending time with another man, accepting expensive gifts from him…people might talk.”

“Your mother said that to me as well a few days ago, but she did not say what she meant,” she blinked, confused.

“Come now, Margot, don’t pretend like you don’t know,” a smirk spread languidly across his face. “What other gossip would somebody spread about a married woman and an unmarried man?”

Oh Woo.The realisation hit Margot like she had suddenly been thrown into the icy ocean. Numbness spread from her torso to her extremities as her breath quickened. She stared at Alain, wide-eyed with growing terror. “You don’t think I-I would…be unfaithful to you?”

“It is a thought that has crossed my mind,” her husband rested his elbows on the sides of the chair, steepling his fingers.

“I would never!” she exclaimed, shaking her head, blinking to hold back the first sting in her eyes. Clasping her hands together, she looked up at him. “I would never betray you, Alain, not with Ives or anyone. I couldn’t. And I…I…” Margot’s voice fell. “I love you,” she whispered under her breath, hoping he would hear and at the same time, afraid he would.

“I am aware,” Alain’s voice was flat as a plain. A stab went through Margot’s chest at his words.

“Then please, trust me,” she murmured, her clasped hands making her look as though she was in prayer. “I beg you, trust me when I say I will never be unfaithful to you.”

Her husband blinked slowly and dispassionately like a snake and continued to stare at her, his icy eyes seeming to cut her open and dig around within her entrails, looking for answers. She shudders, instinctively pressing her arms closer.

“Please! I will ask nothing else of you,” Margot begged. “Believe me when I say I will always remain loyal.”

Alain continued to watch her with an iron gaze, even as her shoulders began to shake and the stinging in her eyes became unbearable. She watched him for any twitch of his sharp face, any break in eye contact, any shudder in his broad shoulders, that would indicate emotion, trying to read him like he could read her. However, that was a talent that she did not possess.

She gritted her teeth, trying to hold back tears. “Please…” her head slumped, defeated. “I would never do anything to disgrace you. I know also how much it would hurt Aveline if I cheated.”

His lips thinned. “Yes, there is that…” Alain’s icy eyes locked on to hers and she recoiled at how steely they suddenly were. “I do not want her hurt, not by anyone or anything.”

“Neither do I,” Margot murmured. “I love her so much. She is my whole world.”

Her husband slowly, almost imperceptibly, nodded. In a flash though, that emotion was gone, and his eyes once again bored into Margot. “Prove it,” he uttered. “Let your actions speak for you.”

“I will. I swear I will,” she nodded vigorously. “I will do anything for you, and for Aveline.”

“Of course,” a smirk briefly flashed across Alain’s face before he pushed himself up from his chair. “I am glad we had this conversation, but I am afraid I must be leaving. I promised father I would meet him to discuss a complaint put in by House Tobiano over the latest taxation proposals.”

“Then I wouldn’t want to keep you from your work,” Margot murmured meekly. “Give your father my best regards.”

“I shall. Goodbye, Margot,” Alain stated. He took a few steps away.

“Wait!” his wife called out.

He brought his feet level to each other and turned his head, one eye glancing back at her, waiting for what she had to say.

“We will…still be trying for our second child, right?”

There was a slight chuckle from Alain. “Of course. Unless…” he turned to face her. “You have other thoughts?”

“No!” her head shot up as she shook it vigorously. “I want to give you the son you want, and I want to have more children to love. It would be an honour and a joy for me.”

“Then we shall go on as planned,” he remarked before dipping his head a fraction of an inch. “Until then, goodbye.”

She watched him go, drinking in the way he moved. But even his presence could not hide how cold she felt, despite the warmth of the sun streaming in through the window.

Alain barely opened the door however before he was greeted by the nursemaid rushing in, clutching a wailing Aveline. She barely saw the Duke as she made a beeline towards Margot, who was instantly wrenched out of her chair by the cries of her child.

“My lady, thank Woo. I was just gonna find ya,” the woman exclaimed, rocking the toddler as best as she could. “She woke up sobbing and demanding her mama, or her papa. I tried to soothe her but it dinnae work so I hoped I’d run into ya, or Duke Alain.”

Behind her, Alain smirked. Margot stole a glance at him but immediately turned her attention to Aveline. “It’s alright, my dearest, mama is here,” she plucked the girl out of the nursemaid’s hands and hugged her. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

“Mama?” the toddler clung to her as her shuddering cries came to a halt. “Mama!”

“Yes, mama. It’s okay,” Margot murmured, running a comforting hand down her back.

She glanced up. Behind the nursemaid, Alain’s eyes were on her like a hawk. Was that a hint of a smile curling at his mouth? The woman blinked, and just like that, it was gone.

The nursemaid turned around, almost jumping ten feet into the air when she saw the Duke. “Ah, yer Grace! I’m sorry, I didnae notice!” she bowed hurriedly and awkwardly.

“It’s alright, I was just leaving,” he gave the servant a nod of acknowledgment before fixating his gaze on Margot. “Remember what we spoke about.”

With those words, he turned around and was gone. The nursemaid blinked but she remained quiet, knowing better than to interfere in the private lives of her employers. “Will ye be needin’ me, yer ladyship?”

“No, Frieda,” Margot shook her head. “You may go.”

After giving her a bow, the nursemaid left the woman and her daughter alone. Margot smiled at Aveline, gently rocking her in her arms. “Now, what shall we do with you today?”

Her daughter beamed back at her and she absorbed that sight like a plant absorbs sunlight. Hopefully Aveline would distract her from the turmoil that had settled in her stomach from her husband’s words.

Part 7

SPOILER: Click to show

She did not see Ives over the next few days, but instead of loneliness, Margot experienced only relief: his absence allowed her to gather her thoughts. She was doing nothing wrong by befriending Ives. Their relationship was a platonic one and her husband, with all his insight and intelligence, had to be able to see that. As for others in the castle, had Maura not told her to ignore what they thought as long as she was happy with the friendship? Even if she ignored her own wants, Aveline also likes Ives. It would no doubt be devastating for her to suddenly lose a friend.

Alain had told her that he would judge her by her actions. However, her actions suggested nothing but loyalty to him. He would never love her, and the thought was like a spike to her heart every time it surfaced in her mind, but she was nevertheless determined to be a good wife for him, and a good mother to his children. Surely, he would see that in time, even if she did nothing to change her behaviours?

Which is why when Ives finally reappeared, she greeted him with a bright smile.

“Hello,” she greeted him cheerily, but her expression fell as soon as he lifted his head to her: his face was sallow, and his eyes were heavy with thought, almost literally as he could not meet her gaze. His arms were clenched to his side and his breathing was artificially even.

“What’s wrong?” Margot asked.

The Perlino lifted his head up to her. His eyes dashed back and forth. “Where is Aveline?”

“She’s out with her father. He wanted to take her out of the city, show her the countryside,” she felt a terrified pang run through her. “Why, is something wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” his eyes met hers. “I simply wanted to speak to you alone, Lady Margot, without interruptions.”

“Let us speak then,” the woman put her sewing to the side and smoothed down her skirt. “Do you want to sit down, Ives?”

He paced over to a nearby chair and sat, resting his elbows on his knees. A pregnant pause settled over him like fog on a cold morning.

Margot politely cleared her throat. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

The Perlino clasped his hands in front of his mouth as if in prayer. “It’s hard to put into words. I had thought- no, I had hoped this would never happen, but ever since I saw you in the garden that day, and I listened to all your troubles and spent time with you,” he sharply drew in breath. “Woo take this curse!”

“Curse?” the Stallion woman frowned in confusion, shaking her head slightly. “I don’t understand. Ives, what do you mean?”

A sad smile formed across his face. He sighed and lifted his head up to her, making her almost recoil at the sudden misery and vulnerability present in his dark blue eyes. “Would it help if I tell you a story, Lady Margot?”

“If it would help you explain,” she replied with a nod. “I do love your stories; I will gladly listen.”

“Thank you. In that case…” Ives took a deep breath and began. “Once, there was a young stag, tall and in the prime of his life. He wandered everywhere, from the high mountains to the broad river valleys. It was on one such trek that he heard weeping coming from a river bank. Intrigued and worried, he followed the river, until at last, he came upon the source of the tears. It was a young woman, beautiful beyond compare, crying into the water rushing by her.”

He cradled his hands, resting his chin in them. “Cautiously, so as not to startle her, the stag approached the maiden and nudged her with his muzzle. “Fair maiden, why are you crying?” he asked gently. She looked up at him, her eyes rimmed with crimson, and said “I saw a unicorn. It was so beautiful. Now that it is gone, I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t eat or sleep. I will die if I cannot find the unicorn who has entranced me!”

“Poor woman,” Margot murmured.

Ives gave a slow, deliberate nod of the head. “The stag’s heart too, was moved by her beauty and infatuation. “A fair maiden like you should not be unhappy. Let me help you find this unicorn who has enchanted you so.” As he spoke, the maiden visibly brightened. “Oh, thank you!” she threw her arms around the stag’s neck. “Let us begin searching immediately! We do not have a moment to lose.””

He shifted in his chair. “So the two begun their journey together. The stag remembered his mother telling him a legend of a fairy pool deep in the mountains where unicorns would gather. He told the maiden of it, and though the journey was to be long and dangerous, she did not hesitate to set out. The stag could not help but admire her courage and determination and so, he promised to lead her to where the pool was said to be.”

A smile briefly flitted across Ives face. “Their travel was long and difficult, however, and it was not long before hunger began to gnaw at the maiden. Though she continued to press on, her eyes were dull and unfocused, and her stomach’s growl disturbed the otherwise quiet forest. Not wanting her to suffer, the stag began to forage in the undergrowth during their stops. He presented her with edible berries whenever he found them, or knocked down fruit and nuts with his antlers for her to eat. He even gifted her with a few mushrooms that could be eaten without upsetting a human stomach. Every time he presented her with his offerings of food, the maiden thanked him profusely, and in return, she picked flowers and wove them through his antlers. Though the stag had not done what he did for any kind of reward, he nevertheless enjoyed how his reflection looked with those garlands adorning him, and more importantly, he loved the maiden’s touch as she worked on weaving them around his horns. “Oh, how beautiful you look,” she cooed before sighing deeply. “I wonder how beautiful a unicorn’s golden mane would look interwoven with flowers as your horns are.””

The Perlino paused to gather his thoughts. “Soon, however, forest gave way to hills and hills to mountains, with narrow, steep and treacherous paths. Though the maiden was far from weak, over the course of their journey, the hard going sapped her strength until she could no longer hide her exhaustion. She stumbled and fell, unable to get up from where she lay. Unable to bear seeing her so beaten down, the stag nudged her with his muzzle and kneeled beside her. “Ride on me, maiden. I have enough strength for us both; I can carry you,” he told her.”

“She complied, climbing onto him. The stag set off across the mountains once again, barely burdened by her weight. Grateful for his help, the maiden settled on his back, her hands stroking his fur. “You are so strong, so brave and so kind for doing this,” she murmured tenderly. “You can make it across these mountains and find the unicorn without any difficultly. I believe in you.” At her words, the stag felt as though he was running on air, until the maiden, with a deep sigh, remarked “The unicorn must be this strong, fast and agile. Riding him must be like flying!”” Ives shook his head. “And suddenly, the stag felt firmly tied to the ground.”

Margot shifted in her seat, clasping her hands together in her lap. It was a wonderful story, no doubt about it, but it felt so personal, to the point of discomfort. It was unlike him to wheedle at such sensitive topics so precisely. Especially because she could not work out what exactly Ives was trying to say. The stag was the symbol of Perlino, yes, but other than that…

“Are you listening, Lady Margot?” the Perlino suddenly asked.

“Oh? Yes, yes, I am,” she nodded. “Please go on.”

“Alright,” Ives nodded. “As night began to fall, a blizzard whipped out of nowhere. It blinded our heroes and prevented any chance of progress. Thinking quickly, the stag carried the maiden up to a snowbank and dug in with his horns, creating a den for them both. There, he curled up around her, keeping her warm as they waited for the storm to pass. But even as the wind howled, the maiden’s soft voice cut through it to reach his ears. “Thank you for keeping me warm and safe,” she murmured, nuzzling into his soft fur. “I am so thankful you came here with me. You have made this journey so much more pleasant,” the maiden then stroked his muzzle. “I will miss you when we find the unicorn.””

The Perlino’s mouth twitched in a bitter smile. “At those words, the stag suddenly felt as cold as if he was in the storm outside. “I am happy I met you too,” his replied, though his tone was tinged with sadness. He rested his head on the maiden’s shoulder, not wishing to give voice to the other thoughts in his mind: that he never wanted to find that unicorn.”

“Even after they had come so far and faced so much?” Margot suddenly asked. “Why?”

“You will see,” that bitter smile returned before Ives’ face once again became a mask of concentration. “Eventually the storm subsided, and the snow cleared enough for them to continue their journey. As they came closer and closer to the location where the fairy pool was said to be, the maiden became visibly more excited. She kept chatting to the stag about the unicorn, about what she would say to him when they found him, what he could reply or even what she and him would do together. The stag listened patiently but, in his apprehension, he could not reply.”

“Eventually, he glimpsed the shimmer of water in between the trees. They parted to reveal the crystal-clear waters of the pool, still as glass, showing the turquoise depths below. But there was no time to admire its beauty. As soon as they stepped out towards it, the sound of hooves against grass reached their ears. They were not alone. The maiden and the stag looked up towards the other side of the pool. There, drinking from its waters, was the unicorn.”

Margot gasped, prompting the sides of Ives’ mouth to curl up with satisfaction. “The maiden was instantly entranced. She clasped her hands in reverential awe and walked across the grass as though in a dream. The hem of her dress rustling against the vegetation. The unicorn’s ears flicked, picking up the sound, and he lifted his head, his eyes locking on to the woman. She shrivelled under his glare, but nevertheless, she spoke. “Fairest unicorn,” her voice quivered. “I have been looking for you for so long. Ever since I saw you, you’ve haunted my dreams and your thoughts with your beauty. I love you more than I can bear. I beg you, allow me, unworthy as I am of such an honour, to be your companion. Please!””

He sighed deeply. “The unicorn, however, burst out laughing, striking his hoof against the ground. Once he had stopped, however, he tossed his mane and gazed right at the maiden with barely veiled contempt. “And why should I?” he sneered. “I don’t care about you. You’re nothing to me.””

The Stallion woman drew a sharp breath before she even realised it. Her hands clenched over the folds of her dress as she bit her lip, suddenly aware of her heart pounding against her ribs.

Ives gave her a sympathetic smile. “I don’t have to tell you how the maiden felt, do I, Lady Margot?”

She shook her head. Satisfied with her answer, the Perlino continued. “The maiden, wide-eyed, held up her clasped hands as though in front of the Woo himself. “Please, I beg you. All I ask is simply to follow you, to be with you. I will be useful to you, I will do anything you ask, just please, do not reject me like this! I will die without you!” she cried, shaking all over. The unicorn, however, only flicked his tail. “That’s your problem,” he scoffed. “Why should a being such as me ever care for a mortal woman, especially one who was stupid enough to fall so hopelessly in love with me at first glance?” he trotted past her, whispering more venom into her ear. “I don’t want you. Go away!” And with those words, he galloped towards the trees, disappearing into the dappled forest.”

Margot sucked in air, shutting her eyes to stop tears from rolling down her cheeks. “Why did you tell me that story, Ives? You know-” she swallowed the lump bobbing up in her throat. “You know…how I feel.”

“There’s more to the story than that,” the Perlino murmured without looking up at her. “When the unicorn had left, the maiden sank to the ground, wailing in grief. It was then that the stag, who had stood back as the meeting took place, stepped out of the shadows and wrapped his body around the maiden, comforting her. Without thinking, she threw her arms around his neck, burying her face into his fur. The stag nuzzled her and said the following words.”

Ives’ head jerked upwards, his dark blue eyes meeting Margot’s. ““ I am sorry for what he has done to you. You are fair, kind and gentle: you deserve far better. Perhaps…we have spent so much time together, and you have been so good to me. I know I can never be the one you love, but I wonder if you can accept me anyway. Because…because…”” the Perlino’s breath quickened. “I love you,”

Margot stared at Ives, her mouth open. Did he just…no, he could not have done. Even if the story had been uncannily familiar, even if it was about them, there was no way he really meant that.

“I don’t understand,” she sputtered. “Ives…that was just part of the story, wasn’t it?”

“Yes it was, and no it was not. You know it’s more than just a simple story, Lady Margot. What I just told you is the absolute truth,” he smiled, gazing up at her. “I love you, my lady.”

She wanted to scream. Every fibre of her being wished to bolt out of the room and find the darkest, most secluded corner of the castle to hide in for all eternity. Only decorum shackled her to her seat, though it could not stop her staring at Ives in horror as though he had become a rabid wolf in front of her eyes.

“Ives, I…” Margot choked, trying to find the words. “I am flattered, but you know I am already married.”

“To a man who doesn’t love you, doesn’t care for you and treats you like you’re nothing!” the sudden venom in the Perlino’s voice made her jump. “It pains me every day to see how he treats you and how miserable you are with him. Have you never thought about how you deserve better?”

“I have no choice,” she murmured, clenching her hands together. “I cannot leave Alain, not even if I wanted to.”

“You don’t have to, but you deserve to be happy, Lady Margot. I would do anything to make you happy,” his blue eyes were open and earnest, looking right at her. “You know full well what love does to a person.”

The Stallion woman’s breath grew quicker as she thought about it. The burning, unbearable wrenching throughout his whole body that compelled, better than any oath or contract, to give one’s life unconditionally to another, wanting nothing more than to see them happy…oh yes, she knew full well what it felt like.

“I’m sorry, Ives,” her voice quivered as new tears stung her eyes. “I am so sorry. I wish I could return your feelings, I really do-”

“Do you not care about me, Lady Margot?” Ives asked her in the tiniest voice.

“No, no! I care about you very deeply!” she cried. Impulsively, she reached forward and took his hand, squeezing it. He sharply drew breath, looking up at her, his dark blue eyes watery. Margot swallowed, continuing. “You mean so much to me, Ives. Since you came, you have been a bright spot in my life. But my duty, to my family and to both my birth House and my adopted House, prevent me from giving you what you want.”

The Perlino bowed his head, closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths. “I understand. I don’t like it, but I understand. Yet I must still ask…”

He looked up at her, his dark blue eyes meeting hers. “Do you love me like I love you?”

The desire to bolt welled up in Margot again and she had to clutch the arms of her chair in order stop herself. She loved Alain, completely and utterly, with every fibre of her being! No matter what, she simply could not love anybody else! It was like asking a fish to fly!

The Stallion woman opened her mouth and met his gaze. His dark blue eyes were full of sorrow, miserable as a hungry beggar’s, pleading with her to say something, anything loving. Margot knew that look far too well: she had seen it mirrored in her own eyes too often.

Immediately, her mouth slammed shut again. No, she could not tell him that. Ives was her closest friend and confidant. Even if she did not love him like she loved Alain, she nevertheless felt a deep connection with him. She would not shatter his heart like hers was.

“I…” Margot picked her words carefully, trying to say what she wanted without breaking him. “I cannot answer that. I do have a lot of affection for you, but…”

A tiny ghost of a smile flitted across his face. “Affection?” she could feel the hand she was holding shake slightly.

“Yes,” the Stallion woman replied. “I care about you and I want to see you happy.”

“And that is enough, my lady,” he brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles. Margot stared at him, mouth open but she did not pull away, though she was not sure if it was out of shock or because she enjoyed the sensation. Her heart beat faster.

“You should go now, Ives,” she finally murmured, sliding her hand out of his grip. “We both have duties to attend to.”

The Perlino sighed. “If only we did not. Maybe things could be different.”

“Maybe,” the Stallion woman’s voice barely rose above a choked whisper.

“But it is not,” Ives smiled sardonically. “Such is the way of the curse,” he stood and gave Margot a deep bow. “I shall see you later then, my lady.”

“Yes. Goodbye,” she nodded in acknowledgement, not looking up at him.

The Stallion woman remained glued to her chair as Ives walked away. Even as he exited the room, she barely dared to breathe. What had just happened? More importantly, what had she done? What was she going to tell Alain?

Nothing. It was not like she had done anything wrong. She had spared Ives’ feelings and managed to retain her friend. That was all that had happened. He seemed to understand the boundaries between them.

And yet she still felt like she had done something wrong.

Carefully, she lifted herself up to her chair and strolled over to the window, putting her hand on the cool stone wall bordering it. Below her, the city stretched out, its citizens scurrying through its spider web of streets. Beyond, green hills kept watch, encircled at their feet with the ribbon of the Ursine River.

Margot absorbed the view, allowing the world outside to seep into her and calm her. Everything was going to be fine. She was going to be fine.

Part 8

SPOILER: Click to show

For fear of the older woman’s reaction, Margot did not tell Maura of what happened between her and Ives. As for Alain, she did not even dare to think about the encounter anywhere around him; the Stallion woman knew all too well he could see right through her. Given what he had told her he suspected about her and Ives, any word of the latter’s feelings would only serve to confirm Alain suspicions. Even the thought of it was a dagger through Margot’s heart.

The day after their conversation, she spotted Ives just outside the great hall waving goodbye to the senior steward. As he turned towards her, Margot gave off a tiny squeak and cloistered herself quickly into a side stair, catching her breath. She waited, her ears pricking for the sound of his steps fading away. Only when she was sure he was gone did the Stallion woman come out.

She blinked, staring down at her hands. Why had she done that? She should have been happy to see Ives and yet, all Margot could feel in her chest was a swirl of anxiety.

But why was she afraid? She could not understand it.

Cautiously, Margot looked in the direction Ives had gone, imagining seeing him again. The fear that had settled in her chest suddenly spiked, forcing her to clutch her hands to her sternum. What happened? He had told her of his feelings, yes, but that-

-no, that was the problem. She could not face the knowledge of how Ives felt about her, not with the all-seeing eyes of Alain under the same roof as her. As long as he was around, as long as he could ambush them and misinterpret their actions together, or worse, see through to Ives’ affection for her, she could not feel safe around the Perlino.

Instead of seeing Ives then, Margot threw herself fully into taking care of Aveline. She spent every waking moment with the toddler, playing with her, watching over her sleeping and even doing jobs such as bathing and changing that were supposedly “beneath” a noblewoman. Aveline’s nursemaid complained, asking what she was being paid for, but Margot countered that she was happy to her pay even if there was no real work for her to do if she, Aveline’s mother, could spent time with her daughter.

She managed this for over a week. With the warm mid-June weather, Margot and Aveline could spend plenty of time outside, away from the Keep where she was more likely to run into the servants.

Aveline was dabbling her hand in the castle’s spring, watching the water burble from its source and drop into the pool where it could be used by anybody who pleased. Her mother was hovering anxiously over her, ready to grab her daughter should she strain too far and fall in. She was utterly blind to the world, unaware of anybody else until they said her name.

“Lady Margot?”

Margot gave a startled squeak, grabbing Aveline from the edge and turning to face the intruder. In front of her stood a small servant girl, her eyes wide as an owl’s. She was clearly just as startled as the noblewoman had been. Nevertheless, she gave a hurried curtsy before anyone could accuse her of rudeness.

The Stallion took a moment to regain her composure before looking directly at the servant. “Yes, what is it?”

“Your husband, Duke Alain, asked me to pass on a message,” the girl stated. “A prosperous Lyellian merchant family has come to visit and House Stallion are hosting a dinner reception for them tonight. He would like you to be present and make sure Lady Aveline is presentable too.”

“I see. Thank you. Please tell him I will be there, and so will Aveline.”

The girl nodded, curtsied again and dashed like a deer back to the keep to deliver the message. With her gone, Margot turned to Aveline, smiling. “You hear that? Papa wants us at a banquet. So, you better be good.”

“Be good,” Aveline repeated, snuggling against her mother.

“Yes,” the Stallion woman murmured, hugging Aveline close. “You will be, and so will I.”

***

Their guests turned out to be named the Conti family: a powerful merchant family from the north of Lyell who did a brisk trade with Kyth and others in textiles. Three of them- a man and two women- arrived in the early evening, dressed in lavish attire, and were met by the Stallions in the entrance hall of the keep.

Lachlan stood at their head with Maura beside him. Alain was slightly off to the side, with Margot a little way behind him, holding Aveline on her hip. Frieda the nursemaid would take over the toddler’s care during dinner, as etiquette required, but for during the introductions, Margot could have her daughter with her. Just as well: the presence of the little girl, warm, soft and loving, made her feel that much calmer.

As soon as he saw them, the man- who Margot assumed must have been the head of the family- bowed deeply. “Greetings, your Graces your Ladyships,” he trilled, his Kythian heavy with an accent. “It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Dario Conti, and this,” he gestured to the women, “is my wife Brunella and our daughter Elene. They do not speak good Kythian but I hope their company will be charming nevertheless.”

Both women curtsied and offered quick, shy hellos. They had clearly put a lot of effort into their appearances, though in different ways which flattered their individual looks. Though short and stocky, Brunella had herded her luxurious curls into an elaborate hairstyle, accented with silver and pearls which stood out against the burned honey colour of her hair. Age lines had been filled in with makeup and where they could not be hidden, she drew attention away with garish jewellery and a dress that did well to flatter her frame.

Her daughter, in contrast, did not need anything to bring out her beauty. With her slim build, pale skin and jet-black hair, she made Margot think of the avocets she used to see feeding on the shores of Albion. Her hair fell loosely down her shoulders and though she wore some jewellery, it comprised of a modest pair of earrings and a necklace, all designed to draw attention to her delicate face and deep caramel eyes, eyes which were enhanced only by the faintest presence of eyeshadow around them. Her mouth was curved into a shy smile.

“A pleasure to meet you all,” Lachlan spoke, bowing his head. “As you might have guessed, I am Grand Duke Lachlan Stallion, and my family.”

“Maura, Lachlan’s wife. A pleasure,” the older Stallion woman curtsied, though the polite gesture was accompanied by her usual cheerful smile towards the two women.

“Alain, Duke of Bern. This is Margot,” her husband gestured at her. “My wife, and our daughter, Aveline.”

“Hello,” Margot curtsied. Aveline in her arms shyly looked out at the guests, though she could not resist giving them a bright smile, one that the Contis found themselves reflecting.

“She is sweet ,” Elena said slowly.

“Thank you,” Alain nodded, his eyes on the Lyellian woman. “I am very proud of her.”

Lachlan’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “If we are all introduced, I would like to invite you to the table,” he turned, taking a step deeper into the keep. “Our cooks have prepared a banquet which I am sure will be to your tastes.”

“I am sure anything you serve us will be incredible, your Grace,” Dario replied confidently. “Please, lead the way.”

The Grand Duke lead them to the chapterhouse, in which a table had been arranged for them all. As the dinner was too small for the Great Hall but too large for the family’s private dining room, this had been deemed a good compromise.

Frieda waited on hand to take Aveline from Margot, allowing the Stallion lady to dine without being disturbed. The servants had already laid the table and they took their seats, Stallions on the right side of the table and the Contis on the left side, with Lachlan at the table’s head. No sooner had they sat that the servants brought out the first course: a chicken and cream soup, pleasantly spiced with small amounts of warming pepper, mustard, coriander and cumin. All of this was topped with warm slices of buttered bread and good wine.

Naturally, where there was wine, there was conversation. Lachlan lead it, with Dario eagerly joining and chatting with the Grand Duke in his sing-song voice. Alain chimed in only occasionally, though it was with the precision of an arrow. Maura spoke more, though her attempts to pull Margot or the two Conti women into the conversation were met with limited success. The latter two had limited grasp on Kythian, and while the former tried to join in, she found that eventually, the conversation often went over her head or she simply had nothing to contribute. Inevitably, Margot retreated, either to her food or to thoughts of what Aveline would be up to now.

The first course completed, the servants brought in the main: honey roasted lamb with a thick, heavily spiced wine sauce. Margot looked up at the servants as they placed her portion in front of her and as she moved her head back, her eyes settled on Alain. His eyes flickered briefly to her, and then away, surveying their guests. No doubt taking in the sight of the pretty young woman, Margot thought with a small lump in her throat.

“So, Signor Conti,” Lachlan said to Dario as the meat had been placed in front of them and the Lyellian’s goblet had been refilled. “I have not yet been able to glean what brings you to Kyth with your wife and daughter. Would you care to enlighten us?”

“Why certainly, your Grace,” Dario took a swig of wine. “My daughter is of age now. Me and my wife are seeking a match for Elena.”

At the mention of her name, the girl looked up, making eye contact with Lachlan and smiling. The Grand Duke smiled back before turning to look at her father again. “I see. That is quite a noble goal. I assume you’re hoping for a profitable march, Signor?”

“You assume correctly,” Dario laughed before glancing at Alain. “Say, your Grace, since your heir is already taken, you do by any chance have a son who is marriageable?”

Both Lachlan and Maura sucked in a sharp breath. Alain froze where he sat, slowly closing and then opening his eyes. Margot shuddered at the sudden chill in the room. Even she knew that has been the wrong thing to ask.

“There is no other beside me,” Alain finally said. “However, that should not be a problem,” he turned to the Conti girl. “You are very beautiful, Elena. I suspect you will have many men clamouring for your hand.”

She smiled, a soft blush creeping across her cheeks. “Thank you.”

“Oh, you are most certainly welcome. Any man will be lucky to have you,” as he spoke, his eyes were fixed on the girl.

Margot turned away, staring deep into her plate. He never looked at her like that or said such things. What did she lack that this avocet-like girl had?

Maura cleared her throat. “Well, I wish you all the best of luck in finding a good match,” she gave the girl a gentle look. “It is scary, being married off, especially in another land, but I am sure you will manage it when the time comes, Elena.”

The girl nodded. “I hope,” she murmured to Maura. “Thank you, Lady.”

The Stallion woman smiled in reply. “Now, shall we eat? I do not want our food to get cold.”

“Excellent idea,” Dario clapped his hands and picked up his cutlery. “My compliments to your chef, your Grace!”

The rest of the meal passed without incident, with the Stallion nobles chatting to Dario, and occasionally his wife and daughter, who responded with the few words of Kythian they knew. Margot, however, picked at her food and did her best not to mull over the words Alain had spoken or the look he kept casting towards Elena. Nevertheless, it kept intruding on her mind like an unwanted guest, consuming her thoughts and draining all pleasure from the dinner she was trying to enjoy.

The main course gave way to dessert and then chatter over wine and cheeses before the evening drew to a close. Servants began to scurry around, lighting the candles, and both the nobles and the Lyellian’s eyes began to droop.

“Thank you for your hospitality, your Grace, but it is late. We have much to do tomorrow,” Dario finally announced.

“I understand,” Lachlan pushed himself up from his chair. “I shall get my servants to prepare your carriage, and we shall escort you to the entrance hall.”

“That would be most kind of you, your Grace,” the Lyellian said. He spoke a few words to his wife, who took his daughter’s hand and raised her up. Lachlan too, gave Maura his hand and she took it, and together, they guided the Contis out. Alain followed them, with Margot trailing behind, all the while watching her husband. He, however, gave no sign of paying attention to Elena, and certainly not to her.

At last, they reached the door, where two servants were waiting to take the Contis to their carriages. Dario gave them a nod of acknowledgement before turning and bowing deeply to the Stallions. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your hospitality, your Graces, your Ladyships. It was a pleasure to talk with you, about business and more personal matters.”

“The same to you, Signor Conti. I enjoyed your company and I wish you all the best in your endeavours, in both your business and with your daughter,” Lachlan replied.

He held out his hand, which Dario shook. Moving down the line, the Lyellian man planted a respectful kiss on Maura’s hand, doing the same to Margot before shaking Alain’s hand. The Conti women both curtsied to the nobles, to which the Stallion ladies did the same. Now Alain’s attention turned to Elena. Margot stiffened.

“I enjoyed meeting you,” he purred softly, looking the Conti woman in the eye. “I wish you all the best.”

Elena blushed again. “Thank you, your Grace.”

“My pleasure,” Alain held out his hand, palm upward. Recognising the gesture, Elena placed her hand in his and he brought it to his lips, giving it a soft kiss. A very standard gesture of respect, and yet, it prickled at Margot’s throat like needles. The memory of their first meeting, and of Ives’ kiss, rose in her mind.

She took a deep breath, pretending to be unfazed by it, even as her vision swam. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Maura’s expression stiffening and her gaze hardening into daggers. Alain, however, paid them no heed. He pulled away from the Lyellian, who by then had turned bright red, shot her one final smile and then stepped back into the ranks of the Stallions.

Margot glanced at Dario, but if he thought anything, neither his expression nor his stance showed it: he still held the same relaxed smile that had been present on his face during the meal. Giving a final bow, Dario stretched his arm out in front of him. “Good night, your Graces, your Ladyships. I hope we meet again.”

They exited through the grand entrance with the servants. Dario’s wife chattered to him in agitated Lyellian, with his daughter providing far gentler commentary, but only a few snatches reached Margot’s ears before the door closed.

Finally, they were gone. Relief flooded through Margot. She did not need any more reminders of how her husband saw her than she already got.

Silently, she chided herself. Nothing sordid had happened. He had paid Elena compliments, treated her with courtesy befitting a high-ranking lady and generally been pleasant. That was all. As long as he held to his duty to her and to the House- which she did not doubt he did- Alain had every right to find other women beautiful, even express it. So why did she feel so discomforted by it?

“Margot?” Maura gently shook her shoulder. “Are you okay, dear?”

“Y-yes, I’m fine,” the younger woman lied, trying to stop her voice shaking.

“Clearly you’re not. Are you ill?”

Margot shook her head again. “I’m fine, really.”

Her mother-in-law pondered this statement, examining the younger woman. Finally, she glanced back at Alain, her lips thinned. “Elena Conti was quite pretty, wasn’t she?”

Lachlan blinked, also looking at his son. He smiled and bowed his head slightly. “Yes, she was.”

Margot’s stomach twisted.

Maura’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps next time you talk to pretty girls, you could reassure your wife that she has nothing to fear?”

Alain blinked, glancing between her and Margot, who seemed to shrink in her spot. He shrugged. “I didn’t think she had anything to fear to begin with. I was only making pleasant conversation and observing decorum.”

His mother groaned. “Maybe next time, you dinae ignore yer wife as ye dae it?”

The Duke reflexively flinched, but he continued to smile as though nothing was wrong. He glanced between his parents. “You both know me. I would not renege from my duty.”

“Oh fer-” Maura tore away from Margot’s side, stretching herself to full height in front of Alain. “Ye ken we’ve talked about this! It’s nae about yet duty, it’s aboot-”

“Maura, it’s fine,” Margot grabbed her arm, pulling her away. “Really, it is. Alain is right: it was nothing. It’s just me. My mind runs away with things. Please don’t fight him for my sake! Please.”

Her shoulders drooped. “Alain can appreciate other women aside from me. I know this is a noble marriage, with all that entails.”

Silence fell over the entire room as Maura stared at her daughter-in-law, her jaw tightening as she fought to contain her fury. At last, however, the older woman sighed deeply, turning her gaze down to the floor. “Fine,” she spat out the last of her fury before glaring up at Alain. “You are beyond lucky your wife has the heart of a saint. I’m only doing this for her sake.”

“Nevertheless, I appreciate it. Thank you, mother,” Alain dipped his head to her.

Maura scoffed. “It’s not me you should be thanking. You do not deserve this girl,” her eyes could pierce through metal as she strode back to Lachlan’s side.

“Well, I…I…” Margot stammered, suddenly feeling very exposed. She clutched her hands together over her skirt, taking several deep breaths. “If you will excuse me, I am quite tired. I should go check on Aveline, and then head to bed.”

She bowed deeply to the rest of the Stallions. “Good night.”

Once they had all said their greetings, she dashed up the stairs and towards the private quarters as quickly as she could, holding her skirts so tightly her knuckles turned while. In her mind, a vision of Alain surfaced, particularly his eyes as he gazed at the Conti girl. In her imagination, they were full of appreciation and desire. And that kiss, rather than being one of simple decorum, had so much more behind it.

No! She stopped, leaning on a wall. It was inevitable. He did not love her; he should be free to pursue someone who he did. But why can’t he look like that at me? What am I lacking?

Margot forced herself to take a breath, and another, and another. She gazed out of the nearest window, watching as the stars began to twinkle into view. Eventually, her mood was calmer, and her mind raced a little less. Forcing herself to stand up straight, Margot walked towards the nursery and quietly entered inside.

The nursemaid looked up as soon as she entered. “Ah, yer Ladyship,” she put a finger to her lips and pointed to the crib beside her. “Aveline’s sleeping.”

“Oh, I see,” Margot whispered. On tip-toes, she crept towards where her daughter lay and gazed down on her. The toddler’s chest moved rhythmically up and down, her chubby arms lay splayed out by her side, framing the thin golden wisps of her head that fell from her head. Looking at her, all of Margot’s problems disappeared under a wash of love. Eventually, her husband would find somebody else who he truly loved and would no longer pretend with her, but she would always have her daughter.

“Good night, Aveline, my love,” she kneeled and kissed the sleeping child’s forehead. “And good night to you too, Frieda.”

“Sweet dreams, yer Ladyship.”

“Thank you. You too,” with that, Margot headed out of the nursery, towards her own bedroom. She could only hope for good dreams: her day has been miserable enough already.

***

She sat slumped in the corner of an unfamiliar room. Low-burning candles studded on black iron candelabras cast deep shadows across the rich red tapestries that covered its walls. Occasionally, a shiver of the candlelight made their patterns shimmer as if they were alive.

A large bed dominated the space, its four black bedposts looming like church spires up towards a crimson canopy. Upon it sat Alain, smiling at a woman who sat in his lap with her arms around his shoulders.

Margot sat, paralyzed by the sight, unable to tear her eyes away from the happy face of her husband. She could count the number of times she had seen him so delighted on one hand, and none of them had ever come from her. His eyes, normally so cold and impassive, were alight with passion. He brushed aside a lock of his lover’s black hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear with a tender gesture, all without tearing his gaze away from her.

Just looking at her, it was easy to see why he was so enamoured by this woman. Beside her dark hair, which tumbled down her back like a waterfall of wine, her face was slim and her skin smooth as vellum. A silk dress of red and gold was draped over her slender body, flattering her figure. Yet, as with a deer, there was a strong suggestion of strength in her otherwise slim frame. Most striking were her eyes: stormy grey, hiding a ferocity and intelligence Margot could never hope to achieve.

The woman murmured something in his ear, making Alain laugh. He grinned widely and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer before pressing his lips against hers. She closed her eyes with pleasure, eagerly returning the kiss.

Margot could not tear her eyes away. Though she felt no cold, she shook violently, and her breathing and heartrate both raced as if she was running away from a predator. Black bordered her vision. It felt like someone was rearranging her insides. Nothing else could explain the churning and the agony in her body.

In a haze, she reached out towards him with her right arm. “Alain!”

He tore himself away from the woman on his lap. She immediately rested her chin on his shoulder, completely ignoring Margot. He, however, fixed his steely gaze right on his wife. “Go away,” he murmured without a hint of emotion.

She reeled as if she had been hit in the head. “But I…I…”

“No one wants you here. Go.”

Tears stung her eyes. She fell on her hands and knees in front of him, looking up like a hungry beggar. “I love you! I can’t live without you!”

“I can,” Alain stated impassively. “Now go.”

Margot opened her mouth but only an undignified sob came out. He, however, did not even pay her a second thought before kissing his lover again. She grinned, quite happily returning the affection.

“A-” Margot cried out, but her words were cut off as the ground beneath her opened. She tried to grab the edge, but it slipped by her fingertips, sending her falling. Any scream she let out was cut off in her throat.

She woke up in her bed, gasping for air. The hot covers clung to her like soaked bandages and she fought desperately to get them off her. When they had finally surrendered their grasp on Margot, she sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, her hair falling over her face as she panted. Tears rolled down her cheeks: she had been crying in her sleep.

Margot did her best to wipe them with the back of her hand but more kept coming. Images from her dream flashed before her eyes: the dark-haired woman, Alain’s joyful smile as he delighted in her presence and the cold, indifferent glare that he had paid Margot. Despair filled her mind. Perhaps today it had been a dream, but what was to stop it being reality? She was already pushed aside. It was only a matter of time before another woman had what she so desperately wanted to have herself.

Her chest suddenly felt very tight. Out. She needed to get out. Somewhere, anywhere. Into the open air, to catch her breath and take her mind off the horrible nightmare that had invaded her mind.

Feeling with her feet, the Stallion woman found her shoes and slipped them on before she took off. Throwing her door open, she dashed out into the dark corridor as if running would help her get away from her thoughts. The sooner she could get out of the building, the better she would feel.

Reaching the end, she found the staircase that would lead her down to the lower levels and eventually, out of the keep. Margot put one hand on the wall and with the other, hitched up the hem of her nightgown. Her feet moved in a rhythmic flurry as she navigated the spiralling stairway, relying on memory to guide her in the pitch darkness. When she thought she was at the bottom, she put her foot out to continue running and-

-was met with empty air. Her arms flailed as she tried to grab something, anything to stop her fall but there was nothing. Margot cried out as she fell, tumbling down the last few steps before crumpling on the landing.

She lay there, her body throbbing where the hard stone had bruised her. The ankle that had taken most of her bodyweight now pulsated with raw pain. Margot tried to stand, putting her weight onto the right side.

It was a mistake. Agony shot up her leg and she collapsed back on the floor, clutching her foot. In her rush, she had hurt herself. She could no longer go anywhere.

Tears welled up in her eyes and she clutched her head, weeping from the pain, the indignity and the lingering remains of her dream.

Margot had no idea how long she sat crying on the cold floor, only knowing that her body had gone numb from it. As her sobs died off, the sound of footsteps reached her ears. She gasped, wiping her tears and sitting upright, trying to glimpse who the approaching person could be. Perhaps they could help her?

The light of a candle floated into view, illuminating the corridor and the person carrying it. The woman’s heart flew into her throat as its light revealed black hair and dark blue eyes that she knew far too well.

“My lady Margot?” Ives stopped in front of her, holding the candle high so he could see. “What happened?”

“I fell,” she said and immediately chided herself. That’s obvious enough.

The Perlino, however, smiled, unfazed by her response. “Can you stand?”

Margot shook her head. “No. I hurt my ankle.”

“In that case…hold this for me,” Ives placed the candle in her hands. When Margot grasped it, he bent down beside the woman and gently, one hand slid below her knees while the other supported her back. Then, when he was sure his hold was secure, he lifted her up.

She squeaked in surprise but did not protest, instead lifting the candle high in her left hand so Ives could see ahead. The Perlino shifted her in his arms to get a more secure grip, holding her against his chest. He had always looked lean; Margot never realised he was this strong.

“Are you alright, Lady Margot?”

“Err, yes.”

“Good,” Ives shot her a smile. “So where to? Your room?”

The Stallion woman nodded again, and they set off. She knew the route- she traversed it every day- so instead she found herself focused on Ives. Through his shirt, she could feel the warmth emanating from his body and his heart quivering rapidly in his chest. It was…nice. Very intimate, perhaps, but hardly unpleasant.

It was almost a disappointment to finally reach her chambers. The Perlino set her down upon her bed and took the candle from her. He brought it over to the main candelabra and took a splint from its side, using that to light more candles, enough to dimly illuminate the room. When that was done, however, to Margot’s surprise, he kneeled at her feet.

“Can I take off your shoe? I want to check your ankle,” Ives smiled up at her. “Don’t worry, I do know what to look for. I had considered becoming a physician before this.”

“Oh, uh…alright then,” Margot held her foot out to him.

The Perlino bent down, gently prying off her slipper and placing it aside. His hands carefully slid up her heel and brushed around the bone of her ankle. With his thumbs, he felt the back of her foot, touching the tendon that connected it to her calf and then around the area of her ankle, feeling the swelling.

Though her ankle still hurt, his touch was soft and so gentle, as if he was handling a baby bird. His cool fingers worked to soothe, distracting her from the ache of her injury. Margot, for a moment, closed her eyes, enjoying the touch. It only lasted a brief second before he pressed too hard. Pain flared in her foot again and Margot sharply drew in a breath.

“Sorry,” Ives murmured. “I’ll be more careful.”

“No, it’s alright. Please continue,” the Stallion woman replied.

“Could you lift up your nightgown? I need to get a better look at the swelling,” he asked, his tone quiet and shy.

She obliged him, pulling up the hem just above her knee. Placing his hand under her heel, Ives lifted her foot and looked at it from all sides. A faint heat prickled at Margot’s cheeks. It was just a medical examination, but she was not used to exposing herself like this, especially to another man.

If he saw her blushing, he did not comment. Eventually, he carefully lowered her foot and took hold of her nightgown, bringing its hem back down again. “It doesn’t look too bad. I wager it’s a minor sprain at most. You should check with a physician tomorrow, just in case I’ve missed something, but I think you should be able to walk by morning. Though you should be careful how much strain you put on it,” the Perlino finally said. He stood up, dusting his trousers off.

After adjusting her nightgown, Margot gazed up at him. “Thank you, Ives. For everything,” she said, smiling at him. “You’re always there for me, it seems.”

“Of course, my lady,” he nodded to her. “Though I noticed you have been avoiding me for the past few days. I hope the last time we saw each other, I wasn’t too…” he swallowed. “Forward?”

She pondered this. “A little, but it’s alright. I didn’t mind.”

“I’m glad. If I did startle you, please accept my apology. I do want to keep seeing you, although maybe not like this,” the Perlino sat down beside her on the bed, only a few inches away. “I must ask; what were you doing wandering the castle in the middle of the night? Did something happen?”

Margot stiffened. “I had…a dream. About my husband.”

“Oh?” the sudden venom in Ives’ voice was unmistakeable. He leaned forward, listening.

“I dreamt that he was with another woman, one completely unlike me. He looked so happy with her, but when I called out to him, he…he told me he did not want me,” she grabbed her shoulders, trying to suppress her shaking. “I had to get out of my room. Get some air. Try to purge the thought of Alain with somebody else.”

A lump formed in her throat and for a moment Margot thought she was about to cry, but Ives’ arms closed in around her. It was not a tight hug, and yet, it was so comforting and kind that she could not stop leaning into it. Before she even knew it, he had embraced her.

“I’m sorry,” the Perlino murmured. “You already know how I feel about him and his treatment of you. But what I hate even more is that I can’t do anything to help you.”

Margot sighed, closing her eyes briefly, allowing her tension and stress to dissipate into the warmth radiating from Ives’ body. “You are already helping me.”

“I just wish there was more. But if this is enough…” he stroked her hair once before letting his arm fall around her shoulders. “I’m happy to keep doing this as long as you need me.”

The Stallion woman nodded. “Thank you. I cannot say how much this means to me.”

“Anything for you,” Ives replied before a single, soft laugh escaped from him. “You know, my lady, sometimes I wonder if you have any Perlino blood in you.”

“I don’t, as far as I know,” she looked up at him, confusion painting a frown across her face. “Why do you think that?”

“Because of the curse,” his expression morphed into one of between a smile and a grimace. “According to legend, a Perlino earl long ago once upset a fairy by refusing her advances. Since then, nobody in our family has ever been able to love happily. We are always dogged by heartbreak.”

“Oh,” Margot gasped. “I am sorry. That…that is hard,” she brought her hand over her heart, clutching at the fabric of her nightgown.

“You would know,” Ives said with a deep sigh. “The worst part is that it is always different and always comes out of the blue. My mother, after marrying my father, was kidnapped by the northern Langean tribes for years before he rescued her. Nairn… prefers the company of men. Lady Alana, my great-aunt, hated her marriage and fell in love with a servant. And I…”

The Perlino met her gaze. In his pupils was her reflection, small and mussed from sleep and her fall. And yet, despite that, pure adoration radiated from his eyes, all fixated on Margot. Where her shoulder touched his chest, she suddenly felt his heart thumping against his ribs, as if begging to get out.

Woo, of course, he loved her. And here he was, in her bedroom, in low light, holding her in his arms. Worst of all, she had allowed this and she was enjoying it.

Her cheeks burned. Her breath quickening, Margot pulled away from Ives’ grasp, inching away from him. “You should go,” she murmured, hanging her head and allowing her hair to fall like a curtain across her face, hopefully obscuring her blushing. “It’s not appropriate for you to be here. What if somebody sees us?”

Ives blinked, surprised. “It’s late at night. Who could possibly see us?”

“What if the nursemaid comes looking for me because Aveline woke up? And…what if my husband wakes and hears us talking?”

This made the Perlino’s lips thin. “Alright. If that is what you fear…” he got up from her bed, giving her a bow. “Maybe someday.”

“Yes…” she nodded weakly. “Maybe.”

“Good night for now, my lady,” Ives said quietly. “Remember to rest your ankle and go to the physician tomorrow.”

“I will. Good night, Ives,” Margot smiled at him. “Sweet dreams.”

“You too,” he gave a knowing look. “You need it more than I do.”

With that, he got up and blew out the candles, leaving only the one he walked in with burning. Picking it up, Ives left her alone in the darkness of her room.

Margot sighed, though she was not sure if it was with relief or disappointment. Before she could dwell on it further, she crawled under her blankets, closing her eyes and falling asleep.

Her dreams were full of Ives, of the warmth of his body, the comfort of his presence and the adoration in his eyes. Pleasant as they were, in the morning, when she awoke, Margot dismissed them as only dreams, influenced by the far too intimate previous night. By the time she got up to be inspected by the physician, she was glad to forget them.

Part 9

SPOILER: Click to show

The physician confirmed Ives’ diagnosis: it was a minor sprain. When asked about the pain, he wagered it likely came from the shock of the initial impact rather than any seriousness of the injury. Margot was advised to stay off it for a few days, after which she could resume normal activity, assuming no complications. To provide extra support while healing, her ankle was bound with a thick gauze.

This simple check-up caused her to miss breakfast with the rest of the Stallions, meaning Margot did not have to meet with Alain. That, however, was a mercy. After the dream, and especially the talk between her and Ives, she did not feel like she could be anywhere near his icy gaze. Instead, her food was delivered to her bed on doctor’s orders, along with a very grumpy Aveline who wanted to see her and did not understand or care that her mummy had hurt herself. Even if the physician had told her to not use her foot much, Margot did her best to play with the toddler. However, more rambunctious games had to left to the nursemaid, to Aveline’s annoyance.

It was almost a relief when Alain came to take the girl away, or at least, it would have been if he had not also delivered curt questions about Margot’s condition. She responded with equally curt answers, silently praying to the Woo he would not ask how she had hurt herself.

Her prayers were not heard. Margot was forced quietly murmur a short answer about falling after taking a walk after a bad dream. She looked up at Alain and for a few moments, a tense silence fell over them. Finally, he gave her a single nod. Even that did not feel like acceptance: just that he did not care to press the matter further.

Nevertheless, life went on. As the physician predicted, her ankle was better within a few days, meaning Margot was permitted to walk as normal, as long as she did put too much strain on it. She was once again free to chase after Aveline, much to her daughter’s delight.

However, that was not all that she had to keep her busy. Speaking with Maura one day, the older Stallion woman casually reminded her of the Craftsman’s Banquet. Of course! How could she have forgotten? Even if Maura had recovered sufficiently to take care of most of the work, Margot had laid the groundwork for it during her short tenure as official Lady of Stallion.

With Ives helping her. Perhaps that was why she had forgotten: so much had happened.

Once reminded of the feast, however, Margot did feel quite excited. This was her second time witnessing the banquet, but the novelty had not worn off yet. Websteros had gatherings of commoners but not where they were the guests of honour. It was even rumoured some of the guild members would bring their latest inventions with them to show off! Speculation in the castle about what they were going to bring was rife, and she happily listened to the rumours, wondering that herself.

When the day finally came, on a sweltering June afternoon, several days after the solstice, it did not disappoint. Craftsmen from all of Destrier’s guilds filed into the great hall and the Stallions provided them with a magnificent banquet; not as grandiose as they would throw for fellow nobles but nothing to scoff at either. A roast pig was the centrepiece, accompanied by roast chickens and even a few geese. These were served with hearty vegetable stews cooked in sauces of cream or wine, all gently spiced to bring out their flavour. Still-warm bread was there to help wipe up any remnants of the rich food, or to eat with the selection of cheeses and cured meats from all over Kyth. More exotic fare like olives and fish flavoured with spicy peppers were served too, albeit in more sparing quantities. Topping off this feast were puddings made with honey and dried fruits, all of which were served with rich custards and fresh fruits from orchards owned by the Stallions. All this was, of course, washed down with more than a little wine, and the heads of the guilds were even given some whisky to sample.

What their hosts provided in food, the craftsmen gave back in entertainment. Some had brought blueprints, which they took great pleasure in explaining to their dining companions and even greater pleasure in presenting to the Grand Duke. But the true stars of the show were ones who had brought actual, working prototypes. One man from the guild of carpenters who specialised in bow making brought in a short bow mounted on a plank that he called a “crossbow”. A glassmaker showed off a new device which could be used to polish glass to a sheen unlike a diamond. The biggest hit of the evening was an engineer who brought in a tiny mechanical archer who could fire actual arrows. Though a frivolous toy, it fascinated the other guilds with applications of its mechanism itself.

Though she remained at Alain’s side the whole time, playing the part of dutiful wife, Margot was still able to enjoy herself. The food was wonderful, as to be expected of Stallion’s cooks, and the company of the craftsmen was unexpectedly pleasant. She had gone over to the seamstress’s guild with Aveline to see their work and had wandered around examining what others such as the silversmiths, painters and the blacksmiths had done.

The toddler loved examining all these new things and people. Margot and the girl’s nurses had their hands full trying to keep her out of trouble. Though she did not have much in common with the guild members, not being well-versed in any of their arts herself, she still enjoyed listening to their conversations and expressing her earnest admiration of their work. Their pleasure at that was very clear: compliments from a noble lady were a valuable currency indeed.

Out of the corner of her eye she sometimes glimpsed Ives flitting in and out between the tables, taking care of minor issues that arose. However, to Margot’s relief, he did not approach her.

Eventually, Aveline began to grow tired and the nursemaid took her away to lay her down for a nap, leaving Margot alone. Though the feast was still ongoing, without Aveline’s boundless energy and curiosity, it seemed drabber.

As the demonstrations ended, she and Alain returned to their seats, where Margot refilled her goblet. She glanced sideways at her husband, but he looked straight ahead over his cup of wine, no doubt examining the great hall. Margot wanted to tear her eyes away but could not. Hypnotised, she gazed at his face, the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the flaxen strands of his hair and above all, those icy-blue all-seeing eyes, piercing and omniscient.

A sudden clap jolted her out of her reverie. She looked up at the source of the sound: Lachlan had stood up.

“Thank you all for coming, and especially for showing off what you have been working on all year. I found this exchange very profitable,” he glanced across at several tables, no doubt where those who had caught his eye sat. “You have done a fine job entertaining us. Now, as your hosts, I feel it is my job to entertain you.”

He gave the cue to the bards who had been sitting on the balcony above the great hall. Catching on, they began to play. The cheery melody soon infected the room, with the craftsmen tapping their feet or clapping their hands in time to the music. Several even pulled their spouses from their seats- or their spouses pulled them from theirs- and they wandered over to the empty space between the guild tables and the high table of the Stallions before beginning to dance.

Lachlan barely had time to sit down before his own wife grabbed his hand and dragged him out to the floor. For a split-second, a look of surprise dissolved his normally stony expression, before a wide grin overtook his face and he took Maura by the waist, leading her into the dance. They were not the fastest- Lachlan was probably careful not to push the limits of his wife’s lungs- but they danced close, their arms around each other and their eyes locked together, with expressions of adoration upon their faces.

Margot watched them from her seat, biting her lip. She glanced sideways at Alain and for a split-second, their eyes met. However, as soon as they did, he slowly and deliberately turned away, picking up his wine and taking a sip from it.

She had no idea why she expected anything less.

Trying not to let her emotions show, Margot looked up at where her in-laws had just returned. Maura looked over to her, and as she did, understanding dawned on her. She glided over to her son and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Are you feeling well?”

Alain looked up. “I am, mother. Why do you ask?”

“Because it is usually considered common courtesy to dance with your wife at least once during events such as this. You were given dance lessons for a reason,” her voice bore a hint of chiding. “She seems willing. Why not indulge her?”

“Very well,” he stood up and held out his hand to Margot. “Do you want to dance?”

She nodded mutely, placing her palm on his. He took it before turning and leading her out. The musicians, seeing the heir of Bern with his wife preparing to dance, quickly began another song. Hearing the melody, Alain took his wife’s hand and swept her out to the empty space between the tables.

He moved with the fluid, precise grace of someone who had trained extensively, not just in dance but swordplay too. No movement was superfluous, and no energy was wasted upon it. Margot was hardly any slouch in dancing either- she had often been forced to train until her feet bled- but she found herself admiring how he moved, her mouth hanging slightly open. He always found some way to be better.

Yet, despite how mesmerised she was by his skill, Margot found no pleasure in the dance. He kept a distance from her which she desperately wished did not exist, and Alain’s expression was cold and impassive, showing not even the smallest hint that he was enjoying this. On the contrary, he looked bored. As though this was simply another ceremonial act he had to do as part of his lordly duties. That Margot knew: to him, she was only a duty. But it was agony be reminded of that so starkly.

She gazed down at her feet for the remainder of the dance, hoping that nobody could see the sadness on her face. It would not do for them to have their good time spoiled by her, or worse, for them to know. Eventually, they broke apart, an awkward silence stewing between them.

Margot did not look up at him. “Did you…at least enjoy that?”

“A little,” he replied impassively. For a split-second, a tiny smile flickered across his face. “Thank you.”

With that, he turned around, going back to their table, leaving Margot alone. She swallowed. What had she even hope to gain by this? By now, she should have realised Alain was never going to express any delight in her company.

She was about to follow him and return to her seat when someone grabbed her hand. Margot turned, only to find herself looking into eyes that were as deep blue and determined as a tidal wave.

Her heart froze. Behind her, Alain cleared his throat. Her stomach dropped out from under her.

“What-” her husband’s tone sounded almost amused. “Do you think you are doing, Ives Perlino?”

The steward turned to glare at him. “What you won’t: giving your wife the proper dance she deserves.”

There was a soft chuckle from Alain. “And what gives you the right?”

“This,” Ives looked her in the eye, his gaze softening. He cupped her hand, holding it up. “Lady Margot, would you do me the honour of a dance?”

Margot stared, gasping for air as her heart raced. She should say no. She had to say no. But looking into his eyes, seeing the love and hope radiating from them, she could not bear to hurt him.

Yet, at the same time, she felt her husband’s presence looming over her like a storm cloud. No doubt he would disapprove, and she could not face that.

She glanced behind her, hoping to catch Alain’s eye. He simply gave a shrug. “Do whatever you wish, Margot,” he said, smirking slightly. “I am quite curious to see.”

Swallowing, she turned back to Ives. If Alain did not mind- at least, he did not seem to mind too much- then it could not be so bad. It was only a dance. Nobles danced with people other than their spouses all the time. Besides, it would be nice to dance with Ives. He was a good friend of hers after all, and no doubt he would be happy, given his feelings for her. It was the least she could do.

Margot nodded. “I’ll dance with you, Ives.”

She did not miss Alain’s smirk widening as he turned away but before she could think about the meaning of it before the musicians began to play again. Margot squeaked as Ives took her hands and swept her out onto the dance floor. Together, they glided over it with graceful steps as the Perlino adopted her pace. They settled into a rhythm, and as Margot found the dancing coming automatically to her, she could now focus on Ives. He was smiling, and his eyes were alight with delight. It was infectious: she found herself smiling too.

Encouraged by this, the Perlino suddenly threw out his arm, moving away from Margot before pulling her back closer to him. Caught by surprise, the Stallion woman let out a small squeak as she was reeled in, but next time Ives did it, she enthusiastically danced away from him and then back to him again. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. This was wonderful.

Ives lifted her arm and began to twirl her, and Margot gleefully responded, moving her feet to spin faster, her skirts brushing against his legs as they fanned out. When she finally came to a stop, Ives caught her in his arms, taking her by the elbows. Her heart sped up.

“Do you want to keep going?” he asked. Margot nodded. Even if her breath was growing shallower and sweat was prickling at her brow, she was unwilling for this to end.

They continued to pace around the room, much closer to each other than they had started. Out of the corner of her eye, Margot saw the dance floor getting emptier. The back of her neck prickled.

“Ives, people are looking at us,” she murmured.

“Let them.”

“But what if they think-”

“I don’t care, and neither should you,” the Perlino smiled at her. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Yes,” Margot’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“Then it doesn’t matter what others think.”

He turned sharply on his heel and her momentum sent her tumbling into his arms. Ives caught her by the waist, holding her in his arms and leaning forward until his face was just a few inches from hers. Margot gasped and her mouth opened slightly, wanting to tell him to let go of her, but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she found herself lost in the deep blue of Ives’ eyes, full of love and admiration for her. Bordering it were thick, jet-black lashes that made his eyes even more expressive. His hair was equally dark, neatly combed and evenly trimmed, giving it a lustre that broke up its otherwise uniform colour. Two locks fell past his ears, drawing attention to the contour of his face: rounded, with his jaw sloping down very gently to reach the barely perceptible point of his chin.

Woo, he was actually quite attractive.

Her heart pounded against her ribs. A lump of terror formed in her throat. What was she thinking? She already had a husband! How could she think that?!

“Ives, le-”

She was cut off by the sound of Alain clearing his throat. “I think that is quite enough. Both of you.”

Margot did not need any more of an excuse. She pulled herself out of Ives’ grip, backing away from them before bowing her head in front of Alain. The back of her neck prickled with all the eyes upon her. She felt like a condemned man before a courtroom.

“What, your Grace, did we go too far?” Ives’ voice bore no hint of any repentance. Margot’s head shot up and she stared at him as he looked up at Alain, one hand on his hip.

Alain’s icy eyes flashed. “You did, Ives Perlino.”

“I was only giving your wife what you won’t,” a derisive smile appeared on the Perlino’s face. “Are you jealous, your Grace?”

“Hardly,” the Duke snorted before gesturing around the hall. “But how do you think it looks, when you are so intimate with my wife in front of all these people?”

“I think it only exposes your inadequacy as a husband, if a mere steward could do for her what you could not,” Ives replied, still smiling.

The Stallion returned the expression, though his more closely resembled a wolf. “Do you not care about the reputation of your employer, Ives’ Perlino?”

“I care very deeply about House Stallion’s honour, your Grace. But yours, on the other hand, I could not give two hoots about.”

Alain’s glare became steely. Even if it was not directed at her, Margot flinched as he spoke. “I could order you flogged right here, right now for your insubordination, steward.”

“You could,” Ives nodded, seemingly unintimidated. “But you and I both know that one only uses their power when they have no other reply to an argument.”

The Stallion gave out a single, humourless laugh. “Clever. I can see why you’ve managed to lure Margot in.”

Her stomach fell through. Did Alain really think he had fallen for Ives, that she would betray him? Her treasonous thought during the dance aside, Margot would never do such a thing.

She clasped her hands and was about to open her mouth, to object, when a weight landed heavily on her shoulder. The Stallion woman looked behind her, right into the eyes of her mother-in-law, whose expression betrayed her concern.

“Don’t get involved with this,” Maura stated. “Come with me. Let’s talk.”

Margot did not need to be told twice. Hanging her head, she followed the older woman from the great hall and into an antechamber. Once there, Maura turned to her, her brows furrowed. In anger? No, Margot realised as she took a second look: it was confusion.

“What happened back there?” her mother-in-law exclaimed. “What were you thinking?”

“I…I only wanted a pleasant dance. Nobles dance with those who aren’t their spouses all the time,” Margot’s voice quivered. “I thought it wouldn’t mean anything.”

“It wouldn’t, if it wasn’t so intimate,” Maura sighed. “Look me in the eye, Margot, and be honest: are you having an affair with Ives Perlino?”

“No!” the younger woman cried out, her hand flying over her mouth at the mere suggestion. “I never would, Maura! I love Alain, and I am duty-bound by him no matter what.”

Maura narrowed her eyes, examining her carefully. Margot shivered. Maybe that’s where Alain got it from.

“It seems you are telling the truth,” she finally said. “But then why would Ives Perlino act so brazen towards you?”

“He…he has feelings for me. He has told me that much.”

“And what did you tell him?”

Margot swallowed nervously. “That I can never return them because of my duty and my love.”

“But do you love him?”

She thought about this. The strange moment of attraction at the dance was no illusion. Yet when she thought about the power her husband wielded over her, the way he could steal her breath away with just a look, the way she could drink in his features forever...it was not the same. Confidently, she shook Margot head. “No. But he was my dear friend so I wanted to let him down gently. So I told him I felt some affection for him.”

“Oh Woo…” Maura pressed her palm against her forehead. “And because of that, he probably thinks his feelings are mutual. That’s why he has been so forward: because he thinks you want this, and he is saving you from your unhappy marriage.”

The younger woman’s eyes widened. “No…no…” she lowered her head. “I’m sorry, Maura. I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

“There, there, it’s okay,” her mother-in-law patted her arm. “You are lonely and did not want to lose someone who was your friend. It’s understandable. But if he is willing to get into open conflict with Alain over you, it has gone too far.”

“I agree. I don’t want Ives fighting Alain, especially not over me,” Margot said before a frown crossed her face. “But I don’t understand.”

“What?” Maura asked, her voice piquing.

“Alain could have asked me to stop seeing Ives at any time. He knows I would have obeyed without hesitation, and he was aware of the relationship between me and Ives, but he didn’t do anything except tell me to let my actions speak for myself,” she blinked, a thought striking her. “Woo, was he testing me?”

Maura’s lips thinned, and her eyes briefly slipped downwards, but it was enough for Margot to notice. “Maura, was he really?”

“Most likely,” came the heavy reply. “Remember our first real conversation, in the sauna? I spoke to him after that, about you. He told me, among other things, he thought you were only infatuated with him. That soon enough, you would turn your desire for a fairy tale romance towards somebody else.”

Margot felt a noose tightening around her throat. Instinctively, she brought a hand to her neck. “I never...never would do that,” she managed to choke out. “Even now, two years on, I still love him. It’s not gone away, no matter how badly he treats me. I can’t bear it, but I would never cheat on him.”

“I believe that,” Maura said quietly, bowing her head. A smile appeared on her face. “Mind you, he was not convinced you would make a good mother either. Now look at you: Aveline is a happy, healthy toddler, and you are a warm, loving mother to her, Margot,” her smile turned into a wry grin. “Alain might be good at judging people, but he is not above being proven wrong, or admitting when he is wrong.”

The younger woman nodded, unsure of what else to say. A pregnant pause descended over them both. The gears in Margot’s head turned, processing all this information. Alain could be wrong. No, I know he is wrong. I will prove it to him through my actions. Just like he wanted.

“So,” Maura’s voice finally cut through the air, “What are you going to do about the current situation? It needs to be addressed.”

Margot bowed her head again, puzzling through this. However, only one solution presented itself. “I must end my acquaintance with Ives, completely and utterly.”

“That’s…” her mother-in-law trailed off. “Extreme. Can’t you remain friends?” she leaned closer. “For all his feelings, you have seemed happier and less alone with him around.”

“That is true,” the younger woman’s hands clenched around the folds of her dress. “But I have learned that you cannot change another person’s feelings. I don’t want him to suffer, Maura,” she sighed deeply. “If he continues to love me, it will hurt less for both of us if I do not interact with him.”

The older woman gazed at her, admiration and sadness playing in equal measure on her face. Finally, a small smile settled on her lips. “Alain really was wrong about you,” she remarked. “You are remarkable, Margot. My son might not appreciate you like he should, but he is still lucky to have you by his side.”

Margot looked up at her, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly open. She tried to summon something eloquent to express her gratitude, but nothing could sum up how awestruck she felt by those words. All she managed was a deep bow and a murmured “Thank you.”

“It’s quite alright, I mean it,” Maura laughed slightly before taking her hand. “Now, let’s go and re-join the feast. Hopefully Lachlan has stopped Alain and the steward from declaring a duel, or something foolish like that.”

Woo, a duel. Margot could feel her stomach falling to her feet in fear as she imagined it, but quickly shooed the thought from her head. She trusted the Grand Duke to defuse the situation, and if Maura believed in him, he would.

Lachlan did not disappoint. By the time the two women entered the Great Hall again, the musicians were still playing a lively tune and people were still dancing. Alain was sitting calmly in his seat, watching the proceedings, while Ives was nowhere to be found. Maura caught her husband’s eye, and he gave her a smile and a nod, indicating all was well. Satisfied, the woman hovered over to her son, tapping him on the shoulder and saying a few words, which judging from her frown were stern ones. He gave the tiniest nod of acknowledgment before taking a sip from his cup.

Despite that, however, Margot did her best to slip into her seat as quietly as possible, not wanting to attract Alain’s attention. His eyes briefly flickered her way, making her freeze in place, but he quickly looked back out to the Great Hall, barely acknowledging her. Margot’s shoulders drooped, and she lowered her gaze, though a part of her was grateful that Alain had decided to not say anything further.

She sighed, closing her eyes and thinking about what she had to do. Tomorrow, she would speak with Ives, and tell him her intentions. Woo willing, he would take it well.

[Celestial]

The Stag and the Stallion continued

Part 10

SPOILER: Click to show

After the banquet drew to a close, Margot left to check to Aveline. The girl was fast asleep, and the Stallion lady decided it was best to follow her example. After all, tomorrow was going to be a hard, decisive day.

She awoke to birdsong and warm sunlight streaming through her window. It was completely at odds with how she felt: heavy and leaden. Nevertheless, Margot forced herself out of bed and got dressed, though she asked to take breakfast in her rooms. If she was going to face the other Stallions, she wanted to do it with a clear conscience.

Once she had eaten, the woman took a piece of parchment and wrote a short note. I must urgently speak with you. Meet me in the solar. Folding it over, she sealed it and addressed it to Ives before handing it to a servant. Once they had disappeared, Margot picked herself up and headed up to the solar, trying to keep her breathing steady and her heart from pounding.

At the solar, she waited by the window, focusing on the world beyond to try not to think about what she was going to say. Even when she heard the door open, Margot did not look away. She knew who it was anyway.

“Hello, my lady,” Ives’ lilting voice called out to her. His footsteps told her he was coming closer. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes,” the Stallion woman murmured.

“Is this about the banquet?”

She nodded.

The Perlino sighed. “I am sorry for picking a fight with your husband. I hated how miserable you looked and how he was behaving towards you, but I know you get upset when I speak badly of him. And I wish it did not have to be so embarrassingly public for you. I should have thought about what I was doing more.”

“Thank you for that apology, but…” Margot bit her lip. “There’s more.”

“Oh?” Ives’ voice piqued. “What else is there?”

“Something I realised after speaking with Maura,” the Stallion woman swallowed. “This has gone too far, Ives. Our friendship, how much time we spend together, your feelings for me, all of it. It has to end.”

He blinked, his face awash with confusion. “What do you mean?” he gasped. “My lady, what do you mean?!”

She braced herself, so her voice would not waver. “We should not see each other anymore.”

The Perlino opened his mouth and closed it again. A choking sound emerged from his throat. Margot swallowed, gripping her skirt as if trying to hold on to her determination.

“I don’t understand,” Ives finally said hollowly. “I thought…” he trailed off.

She continued to explain in a hushed tone. “You’re too close to me, Ives, and I am too close to you. People are getting the wrong idea about us, and I am worried about what it will do to the House, my husband, my daughter and myself.”

A snarl appeared on his face. “Did he tell you to do this?”

“No,” Margot shook her head. “This was my decision and my decision alone.”

His rage immediately transformed into sadness. With shaking hands, Ives reached out towards her. “You don’t want to see me again, Margot, ever?”

The woman’s breath quickened. “It’s best if we do not,” she glanced up at him. Woo, in this pose, he looked like a beggar pleading for scraps.

“But…I love you,” his voice was barely above a whisper. “And I thought you loved me. You told me.”

“You misunderstood me back then,” she forced herself to look him in the eye. “I care about you very much, Ives. You have been a good friend to me ever since you came here,” Margot clasped her hands in front of her. “But I am devoted to my husband. I love him. I cannot and do not love you.”

Ives looked like he had been struck. “Don’t you…” his voice broke.

“You have such a big heart, Lady Margot. Don’t you have room in it for two?”

Again, the woman shook her head, this time with more conviction. “No. I love my husband too much. And even if I did not, he is still my husband. I will not betray him, ever.”

The Perlino stared at her, his dark blue eyes wide and damp. Margot involuntary shuddered at the sight of so much hurt and pain. She knew all too well how he must be feeling right now.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her own eyes beginning to sting.

“I have enjoyed our acquaintance more than words can describe, my lady. I rejoiced when I was with you, and even seeing you in the distance was enough to lift my spirits,” a tear rolled down Ives’ cheek. “Can we not even see each other as friends?”

“No,” Margot replied, using the opportunity to look away from him. “It will not quash the rumours unless we completely cut off all contact.”

“Then…can I at least kiss you?” he begged with the voice of a broken man. “Quickly, for the briefest moment. Only so I can live the rest of my life knowing what it is like.”

She bit her lip and shook her head again, her blonde hair stirred up by the motion. “No. I would not be comfortable even with that,” her shoulders sagged. “Please leave now, Ives.”

The Pelino obliged. He took several steps away, not taking his eyes off her. “Then I suppose…this is goodbye?”

“Farewell,” Margot folded her hands in front of her skirt and bowed. “I hope you will think well of me.”

“I shall. And I pray for the same,” he bowed, stiffly and formally, before turning on his heel and walking out as quickly as politeness would allow him.

Margot watched him leave, holding herself together until the moment the door closed. As soon as he was gone, she collapsed against the wall, pushing her nails into the palms of her hands and clenching her eyes shut. She so badly wanted to let out a wail, to express all the pent-up emotions within her, but her throat remained closed, the tight grip of decorum unwilling to loosen even now.

The door creaked open and heavy footsteps walked in. The Stallion woman leapt to attention, meeting the cool gaze of her husband. Her stomach fell and her heart pounded against her ribcage like a prisoner on the bars of their cell. No. Not him. Anybody but him! Please, Woo, not now!

“I got curious when a servant told me about the message you sent to Ives Perlino,” he remarked, his voice betraying nothing. “I heard everything,”

Margot hung her head. “Forgive me. P-please, forgive m-me,” her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Forgive you?” Alain raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For letting things get so out of control with Ives. I never intended to lead him on, or to cheat on you with him,” she clasped her hands together, looking up at him with damp eyes. “I have a duty to you. To House Stallion. To Aveline. I could never abandon that.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Not even to pursue your own happiness?”

“Never,” she gasped. “My happiness means nothing compared to those things.”

A small smile flickered across Alain’s face before it was replaced by his usual icy demeanour “However, you cannot deny, he loves you. I do not. He could have given you what I could not.”

Margot drew in shaky breaths. Even if she knew it in her heart, hearing Alain state his lack of feelings for her was still agony. “He…he could not have,” she murmured. “What I felt for him was…nothing, compared to what I feel for you,” she lifted her head up slowly to him, letting him see the tears in her eyes. “You know this, Alain. I’m sure you do.”

“I do,” he replied. “So, for all of that, you would break a young man’s heart?”

The Stallion woman nodded.

“Even though you know all too well how agonising it is, to be told that somebody does not love you?”

She nodded again, though this time she could not suppress the shaking of her body. Her nails dug into her hands to distract herself and she bit her tongue to stop the tears flowing from her eyes. She could not doubt her actions. She could not!

Soft fingertips touched her chin. Margot’s eyes widened, and her breath caught in her throat as her head was gently pushed up until she was looking directly at Alain.

He was smiling. Oh Woo, he was genuinely smiling! Margot’s legs went numb, even as her cheeks grew hot. She had seen him smile, but this was the first time he had ever smiled at her! And his eyes…they still retained their icy colour- and why would they not, she chided herself- but for the first time that she could remember, they were not steely-edged but warm.

“That was a very brave thing you did,” he told her. Was that a hint of affection in his tone? And a compliment?

Margot opened her mouth and closed it again like a beached fish, at a loss for words, only able to stare at her husband. His mouth tweaked upwards, seeming slightly amused by her awkwardness before returning to a more neutral, but still warm, expression.

“When we first married, I thought you were a silly, naïve girl, one who followed her heart rather than her head. One who would live in a fantasy regardless of the world around her. But I was wrong, For this, I apologise,” his smile grew a fraction larger. “You are far more sensible, brave and devoted than I ever expected. You would sacrifice your happiness for the greater good in a heartbeat. Not to mention you are an excellent mother to Aveline.”

“T-thank you,” she managed to stammer out. By now, it felt like her entire face was on fire.

Alain continued to smile. His fingers traced the line of her jaw before coming to rest on her cheek. “I think, Margot, you deserve this.”

Before she could even react, he leaned forward and touched his lips to hers. The kiss was light and brief, and she only just felt his breath tickle her skin, but it was enough for Margot to close her eyes, drunk off the sensation. Even after Alain had pulled away, her eyes remained shut, and it took a few seconds for her to breathe again.

Woo, he had not kissed her since their wedding, and this was the first kiss he had ever given her willingly. Her entire body was swept up by lightness, as if she could simply take off and fly.

When she finally recovered enough presence of mind, Margot looked back at him. He met her gaze, giving her a smile.

Her stomach churned. Her entire body burned, and it felt as though her heart was about to explode from her chest. Could it be possible that, after all this time, he finally-

“Alain…do you…” her words died in her throat

He shook his head with a slight tinge of sadness. “I cannot force myself to love you, Margot.”

“Oh…” the woman’s shoulders fell, and her head drooped. “No, of course not. I’m sorry.”

“However,” the emphasis on this word made her head shoot up, rapt with attention. Alain met her gaze, his eyes glinting. “I think it is high time that I treated you like my wife, not some inconvenience. More than that, I should start to give you something you more than deserve: respect.”

“Respect…” the word rolled over her tongue as the thought settled in her mind. Slowly, the tiniest smile crept up her lips. “Thank you.”

Alain bowed his head, though she could still see the glimmer in his eyes. “You are welcome.”

They remained in that same position for a short while. Margot was unwilling to break the spell, as if the slightest movement would expose this moment was for the dream it was. It was Alain who broke away, taking a step backwards.

“I’m going to see what Aveline is doing,” he explained, before beginning to head out of the door. “Goodbye for now, Margot.”

The woman nodded, swapping, before shaking her head and reaching out. “Wait.”

Alain stopped, turning around and raising an eyebrow. She stepped forward. “I want to come with you. She is my daughter too.”

He smiled. “Of course,” taking a step to the side, he gestured towards the door. “After you.”

Margot nodded and walked past. Her husband fell into step beside her and together, they made their way towards Aveline’s nursery. The little girl looked up from where she had been playing under the nurse’s watchful eye as the door opened and gave a delighted grin when she saw who it was.

“Mama! Papa!” she cried, and before her nurse could stop her, Aveline leapt up and ran towards her parents. Margot kneeled to receive her into a hug, but the girl, in her desperation to get to them, lost her footing and fell onto the hard floor with a smack. For a few seconds, she was silent with shock before letting out a piercing cry.

Margot gasped and rushed to her aid, but Alain was quicker. He strode forward and scooped Aveline up in his arms, rocking her.

“Hush, hush, it’s fine,” he murmured to her. The toddler, however, continued to whine. “Do you want a song? You can sing along with me.”

Before she could respond, Alain began to sing. Aveline blinked, distracted from her fall by the sound of his voice. A tiny smile appeared on her face, and she began to hum along.

Margot, however, stared at them both, caught off-guard by her husband’s hitherto-unknown ability. The melody was a simple one, one she recognised as a common Bernian folk song, but Alain’s deep, rich voice lent it an air of serene sombreness, as if it was sung in a cathedral. To her surprise, his Bernian accent- barely present in his speaking voice- was much more prominent when he sang, giving it a pleasant lilt. Her husband’s voice was already beautiful, but when he sang, she found herself hypnotised.

Finally, he stopped. Aveline was grinning, happily cuddled against his chest. “’gain!” she cried.

“In a moment,” Alain looked up, meeting Margot’s wide eyes. “Your mummy wants something.”

She squeaked. “I- I didn’t know you could sing.”

A smile curled the corners of his mouth. “I learned from my mother. She used to sing to me when I was a child.”

“It’s…really good. Your voice is beautiful,” Margot murmured. Her cheeks began to feel warm again. “Could I…listen to you too? If you’re happy for me to.”

He chuckled. “Of course. Hold out your arms.”

She did, and Alain placed Aveline into them. The toddler blinked up at her mother before snuggling against her. Margot hugged her tightly, happy to be reunited with her daughter again, before reminding herself not to keep her husband waiting. She sat down in the nearest chair and gazed up, a captive audience. Aveline, anticipating what was going to happen, spun on her mother’s knees, turning to face her father.

Alain sat down opposite them, giving his daughter a smile before looking up at Margot. She hung on the edge of her seat, her breath trapped in her lungs as the anticipating built. Seeing this, he looked away before opening his mouth and starting to sing.

Epilogue

SPOILER: Click to show

Not long after, Ives abruptly resigned from Stallion service. Only Margot received an explanation in the form of a letter:

My dearest Margot,

I cannot stay here. My feelings are too overwhelming for me to remain in Stallion service with the constant reminder of what has happened. Do not blame yourself. The fault is mine for loving someone I could never be with. I hope you find happiness with your husband. I will never forget you, and pray you will never forget me, though I know this is unlikely.

Yours, forever,
Ives

She threw the letter into the fire as soon as she read it. No, she would never forget Ives, but she did not want to linger on what had happened. The past was behind her. She had her duty as Alain’s wife, and the mother of his child to focus on. Or rather, children. After all, what she and her husband had agreed upon, even back when she knew Ives, is that it was time for another child.

It was inevitable then, that as summer wore on and the blusters of autumn began to creep in, what she was hoping for came true: Margot discovered she was pregnant. She was delighted, and spared no time letting everyone know, and when she was not talking, she entertained daydreams about her baby in her mind. It would be a boy, a sweet, kind, adventurous one, with wavy hair and Alain’s blue eyes. That she was sure of.

However, her hope and joy were short-lived. One night, Margot awoke in excruciating pain. The midwife was called but there was nothing she could do. By the time the pain was gone, so was the baby.

At first, Margot could not believe her. Her mind and body all felt numb, unable to process that the life growing inside her was gone. She shook her head. “No,” she murmured, as if that simple prayer would bring her baby back.

“I know this is hard to accept,” Maura squeezed her hand. “But you must, Margot. Trust me. I’ve lost children, I know how hard this is. The first step to healing is accepting that your child is gone.”

Gone. Margot’s hand rested on her stomach, and even though it felt no different from before, she knew it was empty. Her pregnancy was over before it barely begun, and all her hopes and dreams for the child died when it did.

Tears welled in her eyes as sobs racked her body. Margot threw her arms around Maura and slumped onto her shoulder, allowing all her grief to spill out. Her mother-in-law hugged her back and stroked her hair, even though she knew nothing could really comfort the younger woman now.

“What am I going to tell Alain?” Margot choked out in between sobs.

“Don’t worry about that now. I’ll let him know,” Maura replied. “You need to focus on yourself.”

The younger woman wanted to protest, to say it was her duty to tell him, but could not summon the energy to do so. In a way, she was glad. She had lost Alain’s child; she could not bear to face him now.

Both the midwife and Maura encouraged her to get as much sleep as possible, with a promise from her mother-in-law that she would get some breakfast set aside for her. Though she did not say it, Margot picked up on the meaning: rest however much you need. After they left, however, sleep did not come easily. For a long time, she stared at the gradually lightening wall, guilt and loneliness gnawing at her along with the residual pain in her belly.

Eventually, however, the young woman fell into a fitful sleep. When she awoke, her body was heavy, her head pounding and her eyelids raw. At her bedside, there was some buttered bread along with fruit and cheese. Forcing herself out from beneath her blankets, Margot nibbled at it, slowly, to not provoke the queasiness in her stomach.

Outside, the sun shone, and the birds sang. There was a shout from down in the courtyard; no doubt the knights training. The world went on, but that did not make her feel any less miserable or numb.

Margot put aside her half-finished meal and sat on the edge of her bed, clutching her head in her hands when a knock sounded on her door. The woman looked up, blinking.

“Come in?” she called out, trying not to let her voice waver.

The door opened, revealing Alain. There was not even a hint of a smile on his face. He knew.

Margot’s face paled, and her heart sped up as though she was chased by a wolf.

“Alain, I’m sorry,” she leapt to her feet, clutching her hands in front of her. “Please forgive me, I-”

“It’s not your fault,” he said softly. “I don’t blame you.”

He approached her, stopping just a few feet in front of her. Margot bit her lip, looking up. As she did, she briefly caught sight of his eyes. Immediately, she looked away, but not before she registered the look in them: concern.

“Mother told me,” Alain continued. “I came to see how you were doing. I know you must be devastated by this.”

Her shoulders fell, trying to process this. “Did Maura send you?”

His head moved side to side once.

“Oh. Well…you did not have to worry about me,” she did her best to smile at him. “But it’s still very kind of you.”

“I knew you would probably take this badly,” he stated.

Margot swallowed, only managing a stiff nod. He was perceptive as always.

Alain gestured to her bed. “Shall we sit down?”

She wordlessly wandered over to it, limply perching on the edge. The bed shifted as her husband sat beside her. Silence descended over the pair.

“This is not the end,” Alain finally spoke up, his voice impassive. “We will have other children, when you are ready.”

“I know,” Margot uttered, hugging herself. “But I had hoped…in those brief two weeks of knowing, I had imagined so much. I wanted a boy, an heir for you and a friend for Aveline. And now it’s all just…” the sob escaped her before she could catch it. “Gone.”

“Yes, it is,” his tone was flat, without a single waver.

Blinking back tears, she looked up at her husband. Instead of facing her, he was looking straight ahead, his eyes dull and glassy with a look in them she did not recognise. Cautiously, Margot peered closer, and it hit her like a rock.

He was grieving too.

Alain turned to her and she recoiled, lowering her head. “I’m sorry.”

“Like I said, it’s not your fault.”

“I know but…seeing you sad, it makes me want that this child should have lived even more,” she could no longer hold back her crying. “You shouldn’t be grieving, especially not because of something like this. I should have able to- to…”

Her words were lost in the sobs that followed. Margot bent over double, unable to hold back her anguish. She covered her face with her hands, her hair falling over her shoulders like a drape, hiding her expression from her husband.

A weight rested on her, causing her to freeze in surprise. Glancing sideways, she realised Alain had put his hand on her shoulder.

“I…I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I should not weep in front of you.”

“No, it’s alright,” he shot her a sad smile. “Cry all you want. It will help, and not just you.”

Gratitude welled up inside her and more tears streamed out, uncontrolled. Tentatively, her hand hovered over his, allowing their fingertips to touch. When he did not pull away, she rested it on top of fingers and clutched them for comfort. He squeezed harder, and she could fell his strength channelling into her, working to heal the wound that had formed.

“Thank you,” she murmured in sobs. “You didn’t have to.”

“You are my wife. No matter how I feel about you, this is the least any decent person would do.”

“I’m still grateful,” Margot replied, closing her eyes and simply relishing his presence beside her. It was too soon to say when and even if she would recover. Nevertheless, she was grateful to have Alain beside her, for the first time, helping her.