Chapter Text
He watched Yor's face as she fell through layers of hell.
Denial. Desperation. Despair. Dread. And finally, horror.
A horror of an almost existential kind, if he was reading her correctly.
He turned away, not only to give her grief privacy, but because a distant part of him couldn’t bear to look. His earlier guess about her was likely an accurate one.
Yor slowly descended back into her window bed, and turned to the window, hiding her face.
Remaining awake, he hoped his earlier response would communicate he was available for support if she required it. Sleep wasn’t likely to come for him quickly anyway, as was usually the case.
Yor was a shockingly quiet crier, he’d later somberly note.
Her body had shook in tears for almost an hour and he hadn’t heard a sound. She’d essentially awakened to a new world, one adjusted to existing without her. Family, friends and communities would’ve mourned and moved on, finding a way to live a life untangled with hers. Re-entering would mean carving a whole new place for herself. She must have been a woman well experienced in battling and concealing suffering if she was this adept at keeping her pain soundless. Her steel lasted into the following morning.
He’d fluttered to consciousness long past dawn at her hushed “good morning” to a newly awakened Anya, face red, but smile sweet.
To his shock, Yor had changed her clothes before he awoke, somehow slipping past without him noticing to go upstairs, based on the direction of her dusty footprints, to retrieve them.
It was an unusual but attractive black dress with an outer corset and layers of slitted skirts of varying lengths. An elegant rose pattern was embroidered in red along lacy sleeves. Based on Yor’s nervous sniffing, it likely smelled stale from its years of unuse. They quietly got set for the day. He asked Yor how she was doing and she responded with a polite dismissal, clearly not ready to address the dragon in the room, so to speak.
After fanning their aged fire’s simmering embers back into a full flame, he pulled a frying pan from his leather travel pack, along with six eggs, a handful of dried meat and some butter.
He cooked silently as Anya hopped around Yor, excitedly introducing her to her “Mr. Chimera” doll. The toy was so at odds with where he’d found her, he couldn’t help but wonder who her parents had been and how their daughter had found herself so far away from home after their deaths. At least she would be given the opportunity to have a more affluent life once again.
He would have warned Anya to give Yor space after her ordeal, but the woman treated the girl with a softness that made him hesitate. And planted a niggling at the back of his mind.
Yor, at first, politely refused breakfast, abashed and melancholic, before finally conceding to a single egg. He gave her three, along with chopped bits of meat as garnish.
He figured a woman who hadn’t eaten in seven years would be starving for a good meal, if not physically, then spiritually. And she’d need sustenance to recover in both those realms.
They settled at the recently cleaned dining table, pulled in from the bloodied living room they refused to let the child see, and covered in one of his blankets to hide the blood stains. Anya still stared at it, wide-eyed, regardless.
The girl ate ravenously, as usual, much to his embarrassment, as did Yor, who expertly devoured a quarter of her large plate whenever he glanced away. He was content that they both enjoyed his food at least.
As he chewed, he strategized.
He needed a wife.
Fundamentally, his goals could not be met without one.
Sneaking into palace grounds to investigate the Royal Facility of Scholars by himself was more appealing, but infinitely more risky. A successful break-in had only been accomplished once, by an assailant who, amazingly, not only managed to enter undetected, but was able to kidnap the then crown princess and escape without notice till the next day. Afterward, security became exponentially more tight, aided by, much to the West’s shock and fear, faerie magic.
Ostania was colluding with the fae, and to what purpose, they did not know, which was the second issue. All of his superiors’ questions pertaining to the possibility of another war could not be derived in one lucky night. He needed to get close to King Donovan and wheedle out as much information as possible.
And Yor, a seemingly single woman, had just (quite literally) magically entered his life.
Based on her earlier statement about working for a noble lady, who she intended to return to, Yor was likely heading to the Royal City as well. Meaning they’d be travelling together, probably in the same caravan, as Yor had no means of transport and he was a gentleman—or at least posing as one. Which was a set-up that’d scare away any prospects he could find on the journey over.
It’d just be all so convenient. For both of them, really.
While Yor had been asleep, Ostania had made drastic changes to its defense and surveillance practices, implementing city border pass and identity checks. Yor, as someone from a time before that, did not have the papers to enter…
Though she would, as Baroness Forger.
Marriage would provide her all the necessary records and documents, forged and real, needed.
It could be fruitful for both of them; a marriage of convenience of a more unique kind.
And observing how Anya beamed at Yor, who smiled and responded to every little thought the girl spoke aloud in her child-like whimsy, he knew his final, more personal requirement could likely be met.
If she wanted it, Yor could be a good mother to Anya.
His daughter’s head jerked towards him, eyes wide, and her grin turned so bright, the cutlery sparkled for a moment.
Confused by her responses yet again, he brought a spoonful of egg to his mouth, smiling politely back at the child.
Anya turned to Yor once more, with one of her smug, scheming faces on. Should I be worried? He side-eyed her.
“Thorn Lady, do you have any family?”
He almost choked and his eyes whipped towards Yor, braced for her reaction. It was a foolish oversight not to coach Anya on what topics were okay to bring up around the woman.
A haunted look had darkened her face.
Anya sank into her chair guiltily, and he was about to sputter out an apology when Yor spoke.
“I…do. I have a little brother.” She gave Anya a sad smile. “He was just like you when he was your age,” she laughed ruefully, poking the girl’s fork, stacked only with meat bits. “He loved his bacon the most too.”
The girl giggled, and Yor receding back into her chair, a kind smile masking her face. He had enough experience with it himself to know turmoil still lingered.
He should have been more focused on the present woman and how she’d emotionally and physically deal with her situation rather than planning out hypothetical futures based on incomplete information. He’d yet to answer other pressing, possibly safety related, questions such as how it was possible for him to have broken the curse to begin with.
Most curses had a rule or two baked in to act as lock and key for the magic. The more complicatedly powerful the spell, the more specific the rule. Yor had said the curse was aimed for her mistress, which begged the question: how did a key tailored to a noblewoman’s circumstances work between two commoner strangers?
It was a concern, because faeries could be unpredictable and incorporate deals and secondary curses into their primary curses. Like specifying that a deceitful man could break the curse, but doing so would prevent him from ever verbally lying again.
He’d tested that scary thought already to fortunate results.
And while he could just ask Yor what cantation she heard before being damned, it was the type of sensitive and odd inquiry that needed to be built up to. Luckily, he was skilled at that sort of thing.
They finished their meal in silence and cleared the table. Sticking their dishes out the window, they let the still bawling storm rinse them off before placing them by the fire to dry.
He let Anya play by the window bed, which she’d hopped onto with Bond, after he’d tutted at her to ask Yor for permission. Yor had been agreeable, saying it hadn’t been hers to begin with. Despite his cautioning, Anya played with the few remaining brambles, plucking petals from drying rosettes, before getting distracted by the storm outside.
While Anya yelled about how their tower now had a moat, Yor took him aside. Without the child watching, a grim face was now revealed. “Mr. Forger, can we please talk?”
They moved out of hearing distance of Anya, now leaning against the tower’s center wall.
“Firstly, I want to thank you for generously allowing me to stay here with you and your daughter, and including me in breakfast.” He raised his brows. The tower had been her residence first. “I was hoping you’d be able to catch me up on all the major changes that have happened while I was cursed.”
He took a moment to think. “Well, as you know the war ended seven years ago, likely just before you were put under.” She nodded. “You’ll be happy to hear that we’re still at peace with Westalis.” A peace held together by lies, charades and cheap rope, but a peace nonetheless. “And…Queen Melinda got married to Minister Desmond. He is now king.”
Yor grimaced at that, a fiery anger swirling alive in her kind eyes, along with a king of dread he could not place, clearly not a fan of that political move. It had had some controversy back in her time, but through the King’s crackdown on dissenters, public opinion was now positive in more of a “held at sword-point” or “deceived & brainwashed” sort of way. And some fully agreed or simply did not care. “I can see you’re not a fan…”
She shook her head fervently. “I need to get back. Back to the Royal City. My mistress, my brother…” She sucked in a breath, trying to reign in her emotion. But a thick grief bubbled to the surface nonetheless. “My brother was just a boy when I—when I left,” she choked out.
His heart clenched for her. Her loved one was now a stranger in more ways than one. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how hard this has all been on you,” he said gently.
Yor nodded, hiccupping. “He was just about to start at an academy when it happened. I don’t think I could bear it if he had to drop out because of me…or worse.” Her voice broke, before finding its strength once more. “I have to go back, now .”
He nodded, admittedly influenced by her passion. “My daughter and I are also relocating there, actually. I’d be happy to escort you, or find you travelling accommodations.”
Her eyes grew wide and misty. “Truly? No—” She shook herself. “I can’t ask that much of you!” Looking away, a confused contemplation entered her eyes, one he could not read. She bit her lip, clearly conflicted despite her vehement refusal.
He let out a congenial sigh. “Truly, Yor. I’d be glad to help.” Laughing lightly, he scratched his neck. “And, honestly, I’d enjoy the company. Anya is a joy, but also a handful. Having an adult travel companion would be a relief.”
Red eyes bloomed with flitting emotion. “Okay… Okay! Thank you, Mr. Forger!”
Laughing, he added, “Considering our circumstances I believe it’s only appropriate for you to call me by my given name. And I hope that extends to me as well…?”
A light blush graced her cheeks as she nodded.
His plan was going smoothly, it seemed, but he couldn't account for the slight twist it left in his gut.