Work Text:
The devastation of Fourchenault's abrupt abandonment of his children was quite visible; the way Alisaie's eyes, wet and angry, wandered about, lips trembling as she grasped for the answer to such flippant cruelty. Beetle could see the that's not fair rising and dying in her throat, as it had so many times before. Beetle knew that look all too well. She was a similar sort when she was her age, after all. Injustice of any kind was positively incomprehensible to the both of them. While Beetle had long made peace with the fact that life was, and will always often be, decidedly unfair, Alisaie still had years to get to that point.
And poor, sweet Alphinaud, trying so hard to stay strong. Ever the diplomat. Ever the calm and collected leader, despite being barely a man.
Beetle burned with fury at the man claiming to be their father. How could he?
But upon the end of the miserably failed attempt at gaining help from Sharlayan, Beetle could not bring herself to think about it any further.
"Alisaie, Alphinaud, come," she said, gently taking each of their arms, "Let's get you something to eat."
Alphinaud's voice cracked as he replied, "But we already--"
"Ah! Come on now, you need to eat. There's a little bakery a ways away. Surely you have room for a pastry, yes?"
She would not take no for an answer.
The twins were visibly relieved, though not a word of the encounter was spoken of. There was nothing to say, nothing to do. Absolutely nothing but a pleasant distraction was in order.
"It's good," Alisaie finally said, quietly, after several bites, "Thank you, Beetle."
"Yes, thank you very much," Alphinaud said, perking up temporarily to mind his manners, "I have always enjoyed faerie apple turnovers…"
He trailed off, looking away as he ate.
"Me too, lad," Beetle said, "Apples are my favorite."
The rest of the visit was quiet, and by the time Beetle had escorted them to the Stones, their moods, though still melancholic, had lifted considerably.
Urianger seemed to notice something, but ultimately assumed they were disappointed in the unsuccessful petition to Sharlayan.
Beetle did not explain in full until he had returned home, and they had sat down for dinner.
"Urianger," she said, "How well do you know Fourchenault?"
He sighed as he took another bite.
"I hath known him for as long as I hath known the twins," he said, "He is rigid, obstinate, arrogant, and prideful. While I harbor no doubts that he cares deeply for his nation, his wife and his children--”
He stopped, noticing how Beetle winced.
“Is aught amiss, wife of mine?” he said, gently.
Beetle chewed thoughtfully as he waited.
“Ah… well,” she began, “I asked about Fourchenalt because… well today, at the Lotus Stand, he did not only send Sharlayan’s regards… he… well.”
She swallowed, the motion hurting the lump forming in her throat. It was terrible enough to hear it, but to say it? She could scarcely bring herself to.
“Well, he told the twins to come home, and when they refused… he told them… that they were no longer Leveilleurs anymore. He… he disowned them.”
Urianger’s eyes shot up to hers, lips parted as he glared intently. His hand, now forming into a fist, stayed still, lifted as if he were about to speak, but no words would find purchase. A long pause passed before he took in a sharp breath.
“I beggeth thy pardon?”
His words were quiet as death, his voice low and dripping with a palpable disgust she hadn’t ever heard before - in fact, if she did not know him so intimately, she might have been inclined to be frightened. Instead, she nodded, her eyes solemn.
“Yes,” she said, “I took them to the bakery to take their minds off it as soon as we left the Stand. Poor things barely spoke, but it seemed to help a bit.”
The fist Urianger had been forming suddenly slammed onto the table, and he pushed off it to stand up, nearly sending his chair flinging backwards.
“Ur-Urianger?”
She had never seen him react in such a way.
“Unconscionable,” he growled, pacing.
“Urianger--”
“Unconscionable!” he hissed, “What wouldst possess him to--”
“That’s why I asked you, Urianger. Does he seem like the kind of man to just suddenly do this? Had this been a long time coming? What kind of man is Fourchenault?”
Beetle hoped that by keeping him on the subject, he would calm down, but he threw his hands in the air, grunting with anger.
“What shall he do? Clear out their bedrooms, dispose of their books and their play-things? Remove all that might even give the impression that they once lived? Oh, Louisoix surely rolleth over in his very grave-- ”
“My love, please--”
“And what of Ameliance? Knoweth she of this outrage? Shall she stand idly by as her beloved children are abandoned thusly?”
“Urianger, she very well may not even know yet--”
He wrung his hands together, almost ignoring his wife completely as he practically tore a trail into the rug.
“Oh, how I wish Moenbryda were still about, if she knew of this, why the very foundations of Sharlyan wouldst tremble--”
“Urianger.”
Beetle now stood on her chair, her arms crossed. Urianger shook with rage, but he took in a deep breath, calming for the moment.
“I know you’re angry, Urianger - shite, I’ve been feckin’ furious all day - but I am trying to talk to you about it. Something’s been bothering me about it. I don’t even know the man and I suspect something’s not right about it all. Tsk, not like there’s ever anything right about abandoning your children…”
She sighed.
“But I’m asking you. Does this sound like him? Does this seem like something he would do?”
Urianger exhaled, composing himself to take a seat at the couch. He hung his head in his hands, thinking.
“I… I cannot rightly say. For while I hath known Fourchenalt for many years, I fear I know very little of the man inside.”
“You mean, besides the fact that he’s ‘rigid, obstinate, arrogant, and prideful’?”
The slight humor eased his spirits, if only slightly.
“That is his behavior,” he said, “Whether that doth reflect the man inside, or is simply an affect of a man is such a position, however… I know not.”
He gave a frustrated sigh.
“I doth not wish to believe that he couldst be capable of such… such a vile thing… there lies within me a part that is… well… that is not in the least bit taken by surprise.”
Beetle frowned, sitting next to him.
“So you do think he truly has abandoned them.”
“Beetle, I understand not thy questioning,” he admitted, “Pray, why do you ask such a thing?”
Beetle shook her head.
“I’m telling you, something’s not right. I don’t know what it is, but it’s just… it’s not right. Why would he come all this way, in person, to deliver a big fat ‘no’? As if we expected any less? No, no. I think he knew exactly what he was going to say to them before he even got here. But why? Why. I don’t understand it. I don’t understand it but I know something just isn’t right.”
He looked at her.
“Thy reasoning… is not entirely unsound,” he said, “Hmm. Perhaps something is amiss.”
Beetle looked down at her feet.
“Doesn’t matter right now, of course… all that matters is the twins. Poor things. Perhaps we should let them stay here if they want to. I certainly don’t mind. Or we could take them to do something fun sometime. I don’t know. I just want them to feel better. Or at least be given something else to think about.”
Urianger slung his arm over her.
“Thy kindness knows no bounds, my love,” he said.
“Nonsense, nonsense,” she replied, “What kind of person would I be if I didn’t want to put a smile on those poor kids’ faces?”
He smiled, though it faded quickly.
“Poor Alisaie,” he said, “I suspect she hath taken it harder than her brother. Do not speak of that to her, though - I am certain she would deny it. But… when it came to praise, Fourchenalt often had much to give to Alphinaud. But to miss Alisaie? He oft times failed to recognize her brilliance. She was equally as academically successful as her brother, however, her focuses were upon practical matters, as opposed to philosophical. She did not prefer to make her appeals in the form of debate or discourse, but rather in direct action. Fourchenalt did not disapprove out right, but…”
Beetle nodded.
“Sometimes you don’t have to say it out loud to say it,” she said, “A lack of approval would send the message enough. Gah, poor lass. Both of them. Poor kids. I don’t know what to do. Besides maybe smack their father’s face clean off… but I suppose that wouldn’t be very helpful, would it?”
Urianger sighed, his chin resting in his hand.
“Nay,” he said, “But I certainly would not be inclined to stop thee.”
They both gave a quiet chuckle, which was, frankly, all the laughter they could possibly manage.