Chapter Text
“You ought to be more careful,” Louisa sighs, wiping a streak of mud off Fernand’s face. Her dark eyes are slightly narrowed in an affectionate exasperation. “Stains aren’t easy to get out of clothes, and a noble must always look their best. You never know when something official will come up.”
“Maybe if you came with me, I wouldn’t get dirty,” Fernand grumbles. Every time he begs his sister to accompany him for some adventure, she turns him down for sewing or some other equally boring activity. “You could stop me.”
“You’re not a small boy any longer, Fernand. Soon Father will start bringing you to dinners, but not if you still need me to tell you to not play in the mud.”
Fernand knows he’s not supposed to. How can he not, with all the times she’s told him off? But when he’s out imagining himself as a Knight of Zofia in the heat of battle, it ruins the illusion to remind himself to avoid mud. What kind of noble would begrudge a knight for dirtying himself in service of his country? Sure, he’s not one yet, but he will be one day.
“If nothing else, wear some of your older clothes when you go out,” Louisa goes on. “You don’t have to wear your finest at all times.”
“But what if something official comes up?” he can’t help but say.
She stares at him, then cracks a smile. “So you do listen to me.”
“Sometimes.”
Louisa ruffles his hair before drawing back. He watches as she walks to his closet and opens it. The streaks of dirt -- close to the shade of her hair, now that he thinks about it -- on his shirt don’t seem terrible to him, but she clearly disagrees. If he has so many clothes, though, he supposes it’s not a waste to change after only a couple of hours. Fernand joins her, ready to pick out one of his more worn outfits, as he can’t rule out another trip outside. Of course, more worn to him is still far finer than the clothes of the commoners on their land. He’s sure their sisters don’t tell them off for a bit of dirt.
Then again, it’s not as if Louisa is entirely his sister. With their mother gone, Louisa has taken over most of the responsibilities -- including scolding Fernand. He’s used to it, especially as their mother had died when he was very young. Well, younger. But he hardly has any memories of her, and without the portraits of her around the manor, he may have forgotten her appearance (pale hair like his, dark eyes like Louisa’s) altogether.
There’s a knock at his door. The two turn to see their father enter. His light brown eyes go to the mud on Fernand’s shirt. With a smile, he shakes his head. At least he understands, because he doesn’t comment. Or -- more likely -- he knows Louisa has already done so.
“I came to tell you that you’ll want to change into your formal wear for tonight, but it looks as if you’re a step ahead,” their father says instead.
“What are we doing tonight?” Fernand asks.
“Clive’s family has invited us for dinner. I think it’s about time you start coming along and seeing what will be expected of you when you’re the head of this family.”
Fernand straightens up. He’s sure he’d gone to dinners as a baby, so his parents could introduce their first son to the nobility, but he doesn’t remember them. To be invited to one now...he really is growing up, isn’t he? He knows he’s still a child, but this is a big step. And for it to be Clive’s family is an added bonus, as there is no one else Fernand’s age that he enjoys time with more.
“I’m sure you’ll have a good time with Clive,” Louisa says. “You won’t even think to ask me to come outside.”
That may be true, but no one -- not even Clive -- can fully replace her. She may be boring, but she’s still his sister.
“The two of you boys are a part of Zofia’s next generation,” their father reminds him. “It’s good for everyone that you’re friends. These dinners are just another opportunity for you to grow closer. After all, one day you both may become Knights.”
Fernand nods. Making friends is one of the lessons his father has always stressed. The political reasons are clear, but Fernand simply enjoys having someone to explore with, joke with, have mock-battles with. Clive is one of few to hold his interest in that regard.
“We’ll leave around four,” his father finishes. “Louisa, you may want to bring that quilt you’ve been working on. I know Genevieve would enjoy discussing it.”
“Of course.”
There’s an awkward beat, as there always is when their mother’s absence is particularly apparent. Their father pats both their cheeks before walking out.
“Well, Fernand,” Louisa says, clearing her throat. “What should you wear to a formal dinner?”
He considers picking something older just to bother her. But if this is truly the beginning of his path to making his family proud, he ought to take the decision seriously. He pulls down a green shirt he’s hardly ever worn.
“There you go. I knew all that mud wouldn’t cloud your judgment.”
“I’m not that dirty.”
With a laugh, she kisses the top of his head. “We both know you’re not the best judge of that.” Before he can counter that she’s as biased in the other direction, she indicates his pants drawer. “Be sure to pick clean pants as well. I’ll see you downstairs.”
She does some minutes later, after Fernand has changed clothes and dropped off his dirty ones with a maid.
“Why can’t we just go now?” he asks, itching to go somewhere. There’s no way she’ll allow him out on his own with this outfit.
“It’s impolite to arrive early,” Louisa says. “Dinners take a lot of preparation when there are guests, and we don’t want to interrupt their work.”
It makes sense, but Fernand frowns anyway. How is he supposed to pass the time? There’s always reading, but his level isn’t advanced enough yet for anything too lengthy. Louisa stares at him, then takes his hand. He stares back. Holding hands isn’t going to make it four o’clock any faster. She leads him down the far hall to the family library.
“Pick a book, and I’ll read it to you,” she says. “As long as you promise to not fall asleep.”
He scoffs. As if he’d fall asleep knowing he has an important evening ahead. And Louisa reading means his selection isn’t limited. He heads for the fiction section, ready for an adventure greater than any of the ones he’s read himself. Though he can’t reach the top shelves, he’s sure he’ll still find a good one.
At the first sight of a title mentioning knights, he pulls it off the shelf. Louisa studies it -- probably to ensure it’s appropriate -- before settling into a comfortable chair. Fernand considers where to sit. The floor? The chair next to hers? But with a surge of appreciation for her offer, he squeezes into the chair with her.
“Thank you,” he says.
“Of course.”
She opens the cover and begins to read, the story and her soothing voice capturing his attention immediately. So much so that when their father finds them to tell them it’s time to leave, Fernand is almost reluctant.
That reluctance doesn’t last long. Climbing into the family wagon always piques his excitement, and remembering he’s just minutes away from Clive and something new adds to it. It’s not a long ride. The manor is nearly identical to Fernand’s own, albeit with more colorful plants out front and the windows not in the arrangement he sees every day.
He jumps down from the wagon before his father or Louisa have a chance to offer to help him. He’s old enough for dinners now, so he’s old enough to get himself to the ground. She straightens his collar once she steps down. There’s more to being clean than simply not being dirty, as he’s come to learn.
Their father leads them to the front door, though lifts Fernand so he can use the knocker. He stands proudly once back on the ground. Being the one to announce his family’s arrival feels like quite the honor. A maid answers the door, but it’s a well-dressed blonde woman that welcomes them.
“We’re so pleased you were able to come,” Genevieve -- Clive’s mother -- says.
“Thank you for the invitation,” Fernand’s father says, politely kissing her hand. “My apologies for allowing it to go this long.”
She waves away the apology. “It hasn’t been long at all. I’m sure you’ve been busy.”
Fernand can’t help but stare at her, even though he’s seen her before. Sometimes he forgets that it’s more common to have a mother than not. Clive has never thought it strange that Fernand doesn’t, but that doesn’t stop him from occasionally worrying about it.
“You’ve grown quite a bit, Fernand,” she says.
“Yes, milady,” he says, breaking from his thoughts.
“And just as polite as I remember.” She beams. “And Louisa, you’re looking as beautiful as ever.”
Fernand knows he’s supposed to listen to the conversation, but he tunes it out. He studies the entrance hall, wondering where Clive is. Just as his gaze goes to a family portrait, a man and a boy walk down the main staircase. Clive and his father, both in blue. Fernand gives a small wave, which Clive returns.
“Clive, why don’t you show Fernand around the manor before dinner?” Clive’s father suggests, once he’s done greeting Fernand’s family. “I don’t think he’s had a full tour before.”
“Okay,” Clive says.
The boys linger in the entrance hall as the adults retreat to another room. Fernand is curious as to what more similarities to his home he can find in the interior of Clive’s, but he knows tours can be boring. He doesn’t want to be bored.
“Want to climb a tree?” Clive suggests.
Fernand hesitates. Louisa won’t be pleased if he dirties these clothes. Yet going outside does sound much better than starting off the dinner with a potentially dull exploration.
“It’ll be fun,” Clive promises. “Besides, there’s never anyone here for me to do it with.”
The wistfulness in Clive’s voice is clear. Fernand has never been able to say no to Clive, especially not when their interests align so neatly.
“Okay,” he says, without another thought.
Clive grins. Fernand returns the expression, and they hurry outside before anyone can stop them.
After a long day of training at the castle, Fernand is ready for a quiet evening. He passes his horse off to one of the stablehands. He’s arrived just in time for dinner, unless Louisa and their father have suddenly changed their routine. He pokes his head into the dining room and confirms the meal hasn’t yet begun -- and there are four places set, so Adeline must be joining them.
She’s a kind woman, but Fernand isn’t sure what to make of her increased presence. His father clearly cares for her. Fernand can’t remember his father with his mother, but he can only assume he’d looked at her something like how he looks at Adeline. And his father certainly seems happier when she’s around. There’s really only one conclusion to be drawn, yet where does it lead?
“Fernand, you’re home just in time.”
He turns to see his father, Louisa just behind. There’s something in their father’s voice that makes it sound like he’s talking about something other than just dinner. Fernand glances at Louisa. She shakes her head, clearly no more in the loop than he is.
“Before Adeline arrives, there’s something important I’d like to speak with you two about,” their father says. “Why don’t we sit at the table?”
“I’ll be in once I wash up,” Fernand says.
As he does so, his mind spins. What does his father have to say? He hadn’t seemed upset, so despite Fernand’s anxieties, it has to be something positive. And, judging by the timing, it relates to Adeline.
Fresher -- although now slightly on guard -- Fernand returns to the dining room. He takes his usual seat across from Louisa and to their father’s right. Their father doesn't speak initially. His eyes linger on the soon-to-be-occupied chair, then go between his children.
“I’m sure it’s no secret to you that I take pleasure and comfort in the company of Adeline,” he says finally. “And I hope you’ve enjoyed your time around her as well.”
Fernand’s thoughts flash between the few moments he’s spent with her, mostly at family dinners, since the majority of his time is spent at Zofia Castle. But there have been a handful of occasions when it’s just been the two of them.
Once, not long after they’d met, she’d greeted him at the stables upon his return. He hadn’t been able to remember the last time someone had done so. Louisa and their father were usually too busy, especially as his return times were inconsistent. Yet there stood Adeline, long brown hair and hazel eyes, like she’d known him all his life.
“Good evening,” he’d said, formally, because she was still very much still a stranger.
“Good evening.” Her voice was gentle and polite. “I was hoping we could take a walk around the grounds before we have dinner. We haven’t had much of a chance to talk alone, Fernand. I’d like to get to know you.”
It would have been rude to refuse, so he’d agreed. He hadn’t known what to think about her desire to learn about him, as it implied she’d expected to stick around. His initial responses had been stiff. By the time they’d finished their walk, he’d loosened up a touch. There was no denying she was a kind and genuine woman, and she then made a habit of meeting him at the stables when their schedules permitted.
“Tonight, given you have no strong objections, I intend to ask her to marry me.”
His father’s words break through Fernand’s memories. Marriage? Adeline hasn’t even been in their lives for a full year. Aren’t they moving a little fast? And despite his mother being gone for nearly twelve years, it still feels too soon to replace her. He’s not sure it’ll ever be the right time, and he’d hardly known her.
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Louisa says, with her small yet radiant smile. “I’ve always wanted you to find someone else. I’m sure Mother would say the same.”
“Thank you.” Their father rests his hand on hers. “And I’m sure you’re right.”
They both look at Fernand, and he is suddenly aware that he’s supposed to say something. He supposes if his father must remarry, there likely aren’t any better women than Adeline. All the same, it’s odd to be asked. It’s his father’s decision, after all, and Fernand doubts he’ll change his mind if he questions it. He’s still a teenager, for the gods’ sake.
“It seems sudden,” he says, not wanting to cause a scene, but not wanting to pretend like he’s in love with the idea.
“It does,” his father agrees, “but I married your mother after just six months of knowing her. Sometimes you just know.”
He’ll have to take his father’s word on that second point, having no experience himself. But just because marrying his mother quickly worked out well doesn’t mean this will, Adeline’s character notwithstanding. And even if she’s a good woman, Fernand can’t understand what the rush is. She’s not going anywhere, is she? Why can’t they continue on with this little routine of theirs, with him and Louisa having a new filter to view and study Adeline?
“Fernand, if you have an issue with her --”
“I don’t,” he interrupts, sharper than he’d intended. “It just doesn’t make sense to me.” He pauses, takes a breath, then continues. “Well, I’m not you, so I can’t understand how you’re feeling. She seems to be a good woman and clearly makes you happy. I suppose that’s all that matters.”
The corners of his father’s mouth turn up slightly, almost in relief. “Thank you. I hope in time you’ll fully approve of my decision.”
Fernand does as well, though it’s not as if he spends as much time in the manor as he once did. If he never does accept Adeline as a stepmother, there won’t be many moments of awkwardness.
“It will be nice to have a family of four again,” Louisa says.
“Perhaps one day, there’ll be more.”
Fernand blinks. It’s never occurred to him that he still has the chance to be an older sibling to someone with his own blood, unlike Clair. The idea is strange, yet almost...exhilarating.
“I will wait for her at the front door,” their father says, standing, “and propose before we return. I don’t want you spoiling the surprise, Louisa.”
“I would never,” she protests.
Despite his misgivings, Fernand laughs. “Not on purpose, but you’ve never been skilled at keeping a straight face.”
“As if you’re any better.”
It’s their father’s turn to laugh. The sound is more joyful than usual, leaving no doubt to how much he believes in his choice. Fernand swallows back his planned retort to Louisa, too caught up in how different their father seems now. A light, almost boyish expression has taken over his face as he leaves.
“Well, I think it’s long overdue,” Louisa says, “though I suppose he didn’t have much control over when they met.”
“Is there some required time for when a widower is supposed to have remarried?” he asks skeptically.
“Of course not, but it has been twelve years.” She studies him. “I know you don’t care for change, but this is a good one.”
Is that what his apprehension is about? It’s as good an explanation as any. “I hope you’re right,” he says.
The warmth and joy radiating from Adeline and their father when they return is more evidence to support his sister’s belief.
“Congratulations,” Fernand says at the same time as Louisa, and his isn’t quite as forced as he’d expected.
Adeline smiles. “Thank you both. With or without me, I know you have a good family here. I’m honored and lucky to be asked to join it.”
Fernand’s father leads her to her usual seat at the table, the one he’s sure his mother once sat in. Adeline has taken that seat at numerous dinners, but this time feels different. He considers it. Different, but...not terrible. Perhaps his father is right that he just needs time to adjust to the idea.
Regardless, if the marriage brings some completeness and comfort to their family, that’s all Fernand cares about.
Fernand is in the midst of a mission for the Knights of Zofia when the news arrives. The parchment is filled with Louisa’s neat handwriting, dated a couple of days ago.
Fernand,
Adeline went into labor last night, and early this morning gave birth to a healthy boy. She and Father decided to name him Kaius. Both he and Adeline are doing well, though tired. We’re all looking forward to your return so you can meet him. Congratulations -- you’re an older brother now!
Love,
Louisa
“What is it?” Clive asks. “Is something wrong?”
It’s only then Fernand realizes he’s been staring at the note without a word. “Not at all,” he says. “I have a baby brother now.” Those aren’t words he’d ever expected to say before Adeline, and suddenly he’s anxious. He looks to Clive. “I have no idea how to be an older brother.”
Clive laughs. “What do you think you’ve been like to Clair all these years?”
“It’s not the same.”
“Of course it is.” Clive rests a hand on Fernand’s shoulder and holds his gaze. “You’re going to be a great older brother, Fernand. Trust me. Which one of us has the most experience?”
Fernand can’t argue with that or the confidence in his friend’s voice. He gives a small nod, swallowing his nerves. It’s been so long since Clair was a baby that he hardly remembers how to treat a child, let alone a sibling. But she doesn’t hate him, so he must have done something right. He’ll find his way.
His way begins with asking for temporary leave. It’s not a vital mission -- and he hardly ever requests leave -- so his commander grants the request. On his ride home, Fernand wonders what Kaius will look like. He knows he’ll not look much like anyone, being a baby, but when he’s older? Fernand and Louisa are a blend of their father’s looks and their mother’s. Kaius will be the first look at the combination of their father’s and Adeline’s.
More than that, what will he be like? Will he dream of becoming a knight, or favor a more scholarly life? Will he be quiet or strong or impulsive or studious? A combination? These questions won’t have immediate answers any more than his looks, but Fernand’s curiosity bubbles for the entire ride.
The manor is the same as ever. Only the stablehand’s congratulations as Fernand passes off his horse indicates that something is different. He’s halfway to the home when the front door opens. Louisa strides out to meet him with a smile and a hug.
“I didn’t expect you so soon,” she says.
“I asked for leave. I didn’t want to wait any longer than necessary. Are they --”
“They’re both still doing well. Kaius is asleep, but Adeline was awake when I came out. You timed your arrival well.”
Fernand follows Louisa into the house. Kaius is presumably in their parents’ room, but when he’s old enough, there’s an open bedroom for him. On their way up the stairs, Fernand and Louisa pass their father. There are dark circles beneath his brown eyes, yet his smile is bright. He takes a light hold of Fernand’s arm.
“Are you ready to meet your little brother?” he asks, even though there’s only one answer to the question.
“Of course.”
For all his certainty, some of Fernand’s nerves return. When his father takes them up the stairs and opens the bedroom door, he hesitates. Adeline sits in a padded chair, a bundle in her arms. At the sound, she looks up. A soft, tired smile comes to her face as her eyes meet Fernand’s. She gestures for him to approach. He can’t refuse.
His boots tap against the floor, even as he tries to remain quiet. Thankfully, his little brother doesn't stir. Fernand doesn’t know what he’ll do if his first meeting with him starts with him screaming or crying. His worries melt away at the first glance of his face. As expected, there’s no family resemblance to be seen -- especially with the boy’s eyes closed -- but it’s as if he knows him.
“Would you like to hold him?” Adeline whispers.
Yes -- but also...no. Holding a baby had not been a part of his knightly training. What if he drops him? What if --
“It’s simple,” Adeline assures. “You just have to be careful. I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t know you’d do well.”
Fernand studies the way she’s holding the bundle. One arm firmly underneath for support, the other tucked nearby. He can do this. Kneeling next to the chair, he holds out his arms. Slowly, Adeline passes over Kaius. All at once, he’s aware of just how delicate his brother is. He cradles him, doing his best to mimic Adeline’s positioning. Despite the movement, Kaius remains asleep.
There are no words. This moment feels separate from the rest of the world, quiet and peaceful. Kaius’ nose twitches, once again reminding Fernand of his fragility. How much protection he needs to grow, how much love he needs to become whoever he’s meant to be.
“Hello, Kaius,” he murmurs. “I’m Fernand, your older brother.” At his voice, Kaius’ hands move, but he still rests. “I look forward to learning about you. Right now, all you need to know about me is that I’ll always keep you safe.”
Fernand’s family is growing once again, but this time he’s home for his sibling’s birth. He’s standing outside the door, as if guarding it. He doesn’t want to intrude, and it’s not as if he’d be much use inside. All the same, it’s odd hearing Adeline’s screams and having to remind himself that all is well.
Somewhere downstairs, Louisa is attending to Kaius. Fernand wishes his brother was old enough to see the newest family member and truly understand what it means. But as with their marriage, his father and Adeline had wasted no time in having a second child. Fernand is still growing used to Kaius, nearly a year later, and here comes another sibling.
One more cry echoes from the room, then there’s quiet. He doesn’t burst in, but he readies himself to enter. A different cry then rings out: that of a baby. Fernand smiles to himself. They sound energetic already. Are they another little brother, or does he now have a younger sister to keep safe?
The door opens behind him. Fernand turns. His father stands there, a weary smile on his face.
“You have a baby sister.”
A sister. Will she be like Louisa, gentle and caring and skilled in the stereotypically feminine? Or will she take after Clair, full of fire and trouble? Perhaps even a mix of both? From the knowledge of her existence alone, he knows he’ll love and protect her regardless -- though it will be far less stressful if she follows Louisa’s path.
“What’s her name?” Fernand asks.
“Charlotte,” his father says, “though Adeline thinks ‘Lottie’ is a nickname to consider.”
Fernand has enough C-names in his life, so he won’t mind if the nickname becomes the standard. But what she’s called hardly matters, does it? It’s who she’ll be, how she’ll change all of their lives.
“May I see her?” he asks.
In response, his father steps aside. Fernand enters the bedroom, less concerned about his footsteps as Charlotte -- Lottie -- is clearly awake. Seeing the exhaustion in Adeline’s face gives him new respect for what she goes through. He hadn’t seen it with Kaius, arriving days after his birth. Adeline has Lottie close to her chest, making soothing noises as the baby still lets out intermittent cries.
“How are you feeling?” Fernand says.
Adeline looks up. “Better now,” she says, with a tired laugh. “She was a bit more trouble than your brother.”
Perhaps an early indication of being of Clair’s mold? “I’m glad to see you’re both well.”
“Thank you. It’s a comfort to know that she will have you and Louisa to look up to, just like Kaius.”
There’s something intimate about the way she’s cradling Lottie, so Fernand doesn’t ask to hold her. There will be plenty of time for that later. For now, he’s more than content with simply looking at her. He can’t tell much about the hair yet, but his sister’s eyes are open. They’re the same as his, just like their father’s. Lottie stares at him, and he stares back, wondering what she sees in him.
“Hello, Lottie,” he says softly. He remembers his words to Kaius. “I’m your brother, Fernand. And I’m always going to protect you.”
The party at Zofia Castle has been scheduled for weeks, so Fernand’s family knows to expect his return from the missions he’s been on of late. Sure enough, he can’t even make it up the manor’s walkway before Lottie and Kaius charge out of the house. They throw themselves at him, each grabbing a leg.
“I can’t come into the house if you hold me down,” he points out.
Lottie pouts. “But we miss you.”
“Did you beat bad guys?” Kaius asks.
“I missed you too,” Fernand says, patting her head before ruffling Kaius’ hair. “And we did drive off some bandits.”
Kaius jumps up and down, somehow managing to still keep hold of Fernand’s leg. “Tell me tell me tell me!”
“I will, but only if you both let go so I can go inside and see everyone else.”
After considering the offer with an amusingly serious expression for a five-year-old, Kaius pulls Lottie away. Together, they rush back into the manor. Fernand watches them fondly. Hopefully they never take for granted the fact they’re so close in age. What might his relationship with Louisa have been like if they’d been only a year apart?
He enters the manor, its usual comfort greeting him. No matter how many missions he goes on for the Knights, he’ll always feel that rush of homeliness upon his return. It’s only become more apparent with the two new little troublemakers -- their exploits make up most of the letters he receives. Kaius is often occupied with dirtying his clothes and pretending to be a knight with sticks, and Lottie is never far behind.
“I’m glad to see they let you come inside,” Adeline says, standing at the base of the staircase, her children making faces at each other around her skirts.
“It took some convincing,” Fernand says, “but there are worse things to be held back by.”
“It’s impossible for them to focus on anything when they know you’re coming by. We can all relate to that.”
Now that she’s been a part of the family for years and brought so much joy to the manor, Fernand’s initial skepticism of her has faded. Careful of his siblings, he walks to her and presses a kiss to her cheek. She pats his in return.
“Story time?” Kaius asks.
“Fernand has been riding all morning,” Adeline reminds him. “He must be tired. I’m sure he wants to settle in and see Louisa and your father first.”
“But --”
“Kaius.”
There’s a beat. Adeline is right -- Fernand does indeed want to finish his reunions, and sitting in a padded armchair for a bit sounds like an excellent idea. Yet Fernand has never been good at ignoring a request from his younger siblings. Not with those faces.
“I know where Louisa and Father are,” Lottie declares, grabbing Fernand’s hand. “Let’s go!”
With a good-natured, helpless glance at Adeline, Fernand allows Lottie to pull him deeper into the house. Kaius pushes him from behind for good measure. They take him to the kitchen. Louisa is making tea, while their father snacks on crackers at the table.
“Fernand won’t tell us a story until he sees you,” Kaius says, almost accusingly.
Louisa turns, giggling at the grip the two have on him. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”
Extracting himself from Lottie and Kaius, Fernand goes to her. They embrace briefly, Louisa checking the length of his hair before saying it needs a trim. He touches it, surprised to find she’s right. The Knights have been so busy putting out the metaphorical (and sometimes literal) fires in Zofia that he’s lost track of time.
“I can cut it once you return home from the party,” she says.
“Thank you.”
With a nod and smile, she turns back to the tea. Fernand moves to the table. His father stands and claps him on the shoulder.
“How is everything out there?”
“About the same,” Fernand says, keeping his voice pleasant for the benefit of his younger siblings. “But that’s to be expected.”
“Indeed.” His father sits back down. “We’ll have to catch up later.”
“Can we go to the party?” Lottie asks suddenly, as if she’s been waiting for some time to do so.
“I’m afraid not,” Fernand says. At her crestfallen face, he adds, “But there will always be parties. You’ll go to one soon enough.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“What’s this story your brother promised you?” their father asks.
“Fernand beat bad guys,” Kaius says.
“Oh? This sounds like an exciting story. I wouldn’t mind hearing it myself. Louisa?”
“It’s always nice to hear a new story,” she agrees.
Fernand sits at the table across from their father. Lottie and Kaius pull their chairs close to his and scramble up. He picks some crackers from the dish, giving himself time to make the story more child-appropriate. And, remembering the times of Louisa reading to him, he begins.
“It started in the woods not far from Zofia Castle…”
His younger siblings stare attentively, more quiet than he’s sure they’ve been all day. It’s difficult for him to keep back a smile, but he does for the sake of building the story’s tension. His fellow knights -- save Clive and Clair, of course, and perhaps Mathilda -- will never believe him if he says his side job is a storyteller.
Or that he enjoys it.
The drought’s effects are reaching up to the nobility as well. Though still far grander than anything the commoners ever have or will see, the food isn’t quite as impressive as previous celebrations. Many of the Knights of Zofia -- Fernand included -- do their best to remember the circumstances, how their people are suffering. If only they could bring leftovers to their lands. But whatever little would be left, when split between so many mouths, would be negligible. No, what they need -- and have for some time -- is the Earth Mother to breathe life into the land once more.
“It truly doesn’t bother them, does it,” Fernand says quietly, standing off to the side with Clive, Clair, and Mathilda.
They follow his gaze. King Lima and Desaix sit in one of the larger groups, all seemingly having an excellent time gorging themselves and not thinking of their country.
“The drought is only worsening, but instead of putting resources into helping the masses, they’re throwing more parties than ever.”
“Perhaps they just want to have a night to forget Zofia’s troubles,” Clair suggests, too generously in Fernand’s opinion. The king has done very little during his reign other than ignoring Zofia’s troubles. “We can hardly help the people on our lands if we’re all moping about.”
“It’s our duty to help no matter our mood,” Fernand reminds her.
“You both have points,” Mathilda cuts in, before he can truly lecture Clair (again) about her vows. “The amount of parties does border on the excessive, but they’re important for the morale of those with the power.”
“Come, Fernand, surely one night of enjoying yourself won’t do you in,” Clair teases.
He’s not a Knight of Zofia to have fun . But it’s not as if he can go out and solve the country’s problems on his own. The party will go on with or without him, so he may as well take advantage of the opportunity to spend time with his friends.
“Very well.” The corner of his mouth turns up. “But I expect you all will be wracked with guilt for the rest of your lives should you be wrong.”
Clive chuckles. “I hope you’d remove yourself from the party before that happens.”
“Please.” Mathilda rolls her eyes. “You and Clair would be dragging him out of the castle at the first sight of anything wrong.”
Fernand laughs. “What a sight that would be.” And true -- not only do Clive and Clair know him well enough to notice before anyone else, but they’re far more likely to force him to rest than he is. “Though I fear that would leave you alone, Lady Mathilda. That’s hardly the way to spend the evening.”
“That’s true. So for all our sakes, do try to not prove Clair wrong.”
“There will be no dragging anyone out of the castle tonight,” he promises. “That is, unless Clair embarrasses herself or Clive while mingling with the other attendees.”
Clair’s cheeks pinken. “I’ll have you know that I can socialize perfectly well, thank you. And you’re in no position to lecture me on it, since all you ever do is stand around with Clive.”
“Touché.” There’s no heat in his voice, not like when she’d thrown Clive’s words about his preference in women back at him. Fernand’s lack of interest in pointless small talk is something he owns, not keeps quiet. “And yet, here you are, standing with us.”
With a huff, Clair spins around and joins another section of the party. Fernand smirks. Growing up, he’d always wondered what it would be like to have younger siblings. He’d seen it in Clive, and the more Clair butted into their business, Fernand had a taste of it himself. Now he has his own by blood, but they’re both too young and adorable for even him to have the heart to tease them often. Clair, on the other hand...well, she makes it easy. She and Clive are similar in that respect.
“Well, I’m sure that’s the last we’ll be seeing of her tonight,” Clive sighs.
“It’s only a matter of time before the two of you make your exit to dance,” Fernand points out. “I’m surprised you haven’t already. Don’t hold back on my account.”
Clive and Mathilda exchange the same look -- soft, as if they’re reading each other’s minds -- Fernand has grown accustomed to. The slight tug of jealousy is equally as familiar. Is it for Clive? For Mathilda? He’s not sure. Perhaps it’s even both. Regardless, her addition to their little group has undoubtedly shifted the dynamic.
She’s formidable in battle, a good role model for Clair now that she’s in the Knights, and seemingly a perfect match for Clive. And despite the occasional moments when she apparently forgets Fernand is his own person, he enjoys spending time with her. But there’s always a piece of him that misses the days when it had just been him and Clive -- and Clair -- against the world.
“You said yourself that being alone is no way to spend the evening,” Mathilda says.
“I don’t mind. And I’m sure the moment she notices, Clair will come back to pester me.”
“The two of you argue far more than we do,” Clive says. “Are you sure you’re not the siblings?”
“You’re too soft on her. Someone must pick up the slack.”
“And that you do.” Clive shakes his head, smiling. Then he turns to Mathilda with an outstretched hand. “Shall we?”
Mathilda’s gaze lingers on Fernand just enough to see the honesty in his claim of not minding. She’s still learning to read him. With her answer, she rests her hand on Clive’s.
“Of course,” she says.
The two walk off to a relatively open spot on the floor. Just as the musicians begin a new song, they take up the traditional dancing position. Their movements are just in sync as they are on the battlefield. Fernand watches for a moment, their faces glowing with smiles, then scans the room for something else to focus on.
His eyes pass over the king and chancellor and their allies. Looking at them will only irritate him. There’s Clair, chatting with a couple of other Knights around her age. She’s doing most of the talking, and her companions don’t seem to mind. Her priorities still need work, but Fernand must admit she’s fitting in well. When she’s properly focused, she can do as much damage as any of them in a fight.
Clair glances over, perhaps for Clive, as she never seems to like having him out of sight. Instead, she only sees Fernand. She smirks. He stares back. His choice to remain in place is not an indicator of his socializing abilities. In fact, someone approaches in his peripheral vision. If he’s truly so hopeless, will he not simply leave?
“Sir Fernand.”
He turns away from Clair quickly. Using the title, the voice is likely to belong to a simple soldier or castle staff. Why do they sound so distressed about whatever they have to say? A man -- shorter but older than Fernand -- dressed in a basic soldier’s uniform looks at him with something like shock.
“Yes?” Fernand says, unsure of what to expect.
“There’s -- there’s just been news. Your family manor…”
His heart twists. “Out with it,” he snaps.
“There’s been some sort of attack. It’s on fire and --”
Fernand doesn’t linger to hear the rest. He leaves his glass on the nearest table and takes off for the stables. Murmurs of confusion follow. Someone calls after him. He ignores it all. If anything happens to his family... gods , he’s been wasting his time at a party while they’ve apparently been in danger. What kind of eldest son is he? What kind of older brother?
Sensing his desperation, his horse scrapes a hoof against the ground once he reaches the stall. There’s no time to worry about the usual routine. Fernand opens the door and leads his horse outside. He’s just swung himself into the saddle when someone calls his name. Clive rushes into view.
“What is going on?” he asks, panting.
“My family,” Fernand says simply. He can’t elaborate without risking a tremble in his voice.
Having Clive at his side will help. But every second he waits, Fernand’s mind paints increasingly horrid images. He nudges his horse’s flank and holds steady as they gallop away. Clive will surely follow.
The Zofian countryside blurs around him. With the moon passing in and out of clouds, it will be near impossible for him to pick out landmarks even if he wants to. Instead, he’s too busy trying to comprehend how this could have happened. For someone to have been able to set the manor on fire...it can’t be just one person. And surely the outside of his home won’t catch, so they must have made their way inside. The thought of his youngest siblings staring down such danger makes his blood pump harder. But who would want to attack his family? And why?
He can’t follow those thoughts any further, because his horse has reached the top of a hill and in the distance he sees a building burning as brightly as a torch.
If anyone is still inside...no, they surely had fled some time ago. Fernand doesn’t consider the alternative. His horse neighs, perhaps confused by the sudden stop. He blinks hard to refocus. Then he urges his horse forward with more intensity than before. Now that he can see what he’s dealing with, now that the smell of smoke burns his nose, he’s acutely aware of how much each second matters.
As he draws nearer, he takes in each area of his land like a painting. Servants and local soldiers desperately fling buckets of water on the flames. Others hunch over, coughing, presumably having just escaped. Rations are scattered on the ground, illuminated by the fire.
A distinct lack of his family.
Swearing, Fernand slides off his horse’s back. The creature is on its own. He can hardly take the time to properly secure it. Ignoring the pounding hooves behind him -- Clive, certainly -- Fernand runs to the nearest of the maids.
“What the hell happened?” he demands, already looking for a route to find his father, his stepmother, his siblings.
“Sir Fernand,” the woman gasps. “Thank the Mother you’re here --”
“What happened.”
“I don’t know who they were, my lord, but they broke down the front door while I was cleaning the floor,” she stammers. “They had lanterns and pitchforks and the like and demanded to know where the lord was hiding all the food.”
Hiding the food? They aren’t hiding any food. Fernand knows he and his family are more well-fed than the commoners on the land, but hardly so. They’re certainly not hoarding supplies.
“They all looked so angry, so I pointed to the kitchen and --”
The details can wait for later. “Where’s my family?”
“I -- I’m not sure,” she says, eyes wide. “Your father came down the stairs and tried to talk with them, but that just made them more mad, and he told me to run.”
“The others?”
She only shakes her head. It’s well past Kaius and Lottie’s bedtime -- they must be in their rooms. If the intruders had been focused on food, they likely never would have crossed paths with his younger siblings. That fact doesn’t protect them from the raging fire.
“Are any of the attackers still inside?”
“I can’t say for sure, but I don’t think so. They all came running out before the fire started.”
That will have to do. Fernand can waste no more time picking the perfect path. He’ll go in and head whatever directions he can until he finds his family. He’s taken one step towards the front door when someone grabs his arm. He glares over his shoulder. There stands Clive, slowing him down instead of helping him.
“If you go in there, you’ll die,” Clive says.
“If I do nothing to try to save them, I might as well be,” Fernand snarls, jerking his arm away.
“My lady!” the maid cries, breaking Fernand’s attention from his argument.
He spins around. A figure stumbles from the house. Brown hair, well past the shoulders. Fernand reaches his sister just as she collapses into his arms. He pulls her further from the house and then kneels so she can lay down. Her skin is stained with burns and blood. Louisa, who’s always been so clean and proper.
“Fernand,” she rasps. “You...you’re…”
“Hush. save your breath.”
Pushing down his fear at her rattling breaths, he scans her injuries. The burns make sense. But the blood? He moves his hand from her side only to realize how wet it is. A quick glance shows his skin red.
“Louisa, what did you do?”
“After Father fell --”
Fernand’s stomach lurches.
“I was...the only one that could…” She breaks off into a coughing fit. Someone brings her water, but she waves it away. He’s about to force it down her throat when she continues. “The kids were...already in bed. Adeline was reading in her and Father’s room. Someone had to -- had to protect them.”
Her eyes close. Fernand shakes her. It surely hurts her, but if she awakens from the surge of pain, he’ll ask for forgiveness later. With a wheeze, her eyes open. Barely. She’s slipping away in his arms, and he can’t do a damned thing about it.
“Kaius? Lottie? Adeline?” she whispers, and he doesn’t want to think about what it means, that she doesn’t ask after their father.
“They’re not here,” Fernand says, a new wave of horror cresting. “Didn’t you --”
“I’m not...the knight in the family, Fernand. The --” A couple of more coughs -- “The attackers...bested me before I could…” Her shaking arm reaches up. She brushes her fingers over his cheek. “I’m...sorry…”
Her arm drops as her eyes close again. He barely hears her murmur of love, too busy begging her to open her eyes, to keep fighting, to not leave him alone because every word has crushed his already low hopes that he can salvage this. That he can salvage his family. It takes him several ragged breaths of his own to realize his sister has no more to take.
Everything fades around him. Clive’s voice comes like he’s underwater, the crackling of the fire as if from afar. It’s just him and Louisa, the sister who’d been half a mother, and for all his complaints growing up about how boring she was, someone he loved. And here she’s the one with a knight’s death when it’s his life’s path.
Fernand stands without thinking. His mind can’t -- won’t -- understand what’s happening. Instinct is all he has, and it urges him to rush into the manor. For all he knows, his stepmother had guided his younger siblings to relative safety, but became trapped. And if his father is...gone like Louisa had indicated, Fernand can’t leave him.
But this time, it isn’t Clive’s grasp that keeps him back.
It’s the cracking and crashing as the roof of the manor caves in, as the second floor crumbles into the first. He sinks to the ground. In moments, all that’s left of his once-proud home is rubble.
The scream that tears from his throat burns his chest more than the smoke.
Fernand stares at the five fresh graves. They feel no more real now when they’re filled in than they’d been before. The service has ended, but he feels no urge to leave. He feels very little at all. Despite Clive’s steady presence at his side, Fernand is alone. He’d thought he’d grown up in an empty house with the absence of his mother. Now look at him.
“You know you’re my brother,” Clive says, breaking the quiet.
Fernand swallows down the retort burning in his throat. It’s easy for Clive to say, seeing as he still has his blood sibling. But snapping will only make Clive stay and pity him, and more pity is the last thing Fernand needs. So he merely nods. Hopes that after all their years together, Clive realizes he wants to be left alone.
After a beat of silence, Clive rests his hand on Fernand’s shoulder. If only that contact made him feel something, anything , other than the emptiness that’s gripped him since the bodies of his family had been brought out one by one. Clive finally walks off. Fernand remains, still staring at the ground. This is where his family is supposed to be buried, but not all at once. Oh, how much easier it would be for him to be in the ground along with them.
No matter how many times Clive claims that they’re like brothers, that he still has family, the hole in Fernand’s chest gapes as large as ever. His family is dead, and he will never get them back.