Chapter Text
You slouched unceremoniously in your carriage, a scowl etched onto your face. There was nothing to smile about.
"You give the appearance of a statue."
You looked up at your older brother, Emil, he who had signed your marriage contract. He was responsible.
"Statues are works of art," you said. "Art is beautiful."
He nodded, "art can be beautiful to gaze upon, you are ridiculous to the eye."
You wrinkled your nose, scowl deepening, "Is there a point or are you just insulting me?"
He sighed, "you have not moved an inch in six hours."
"I am wearing Fontainian silk encrusted with Sumerian trishiraite working with an overlay of two-hundred year old lace," you listed, still unmoving, though your legs were more than numb by now, "Apparently too much movement can cause the trishiraite to shred the lace, if that were not enough, the gown sits atop a bespoke underpinning made of boar bone."
"Boar bone?"
"Yes, boar bone, brother," you squinted as you smiled sardonically, holding back an eye roll as your voice began to rise, "the bones of boars. Boars died so I could look like this. All the finest corsets are boar bone you would know this if you knew anything. If you ever paid attention you would also know that the problem with boar bone is that it is rather delicate and also very, very sharp, and, of course, I am in the height of fashion, so this corset is quite snug. So, I give the appearance of a statue. Ridiculous to the eye! But that is because I cannot move. And because I must arrive on display, I am forced into a ludicrous gown, so stylish that if I move too much I might be sliced and stabbed to death my undergarments. Oh, how joyful it is to be a Lady."
Emil opened his mouth, then closed it again. And just when you thought you might get some peace, he decided to speak, "you are upset."
You blinked slowly, for a little bit of emphasis, what an observation.
"'Tis a viable option I have considered," you shrugged, "moving. Choosing to be killed by my undergarments-"
"(name)-"
You did not let him interrupt, "we have, what? An hour to go? I believe if I am diligent with my movements I could most certainly bleed to my death before we reach Zapolyarny."
Emil sighed, "like I said, you are upset. Emotional. I understand-"
"Do you understand? Truly." You scoffed, "this I would love to hear. Because I am not upset nor am I emotional, I am angry and I cannot breathe. And both are thanks to you, brother."
"You were chosen," Emil ignored your critiques, "this is a great honour."
In any other outfit, you might have rubbed your temples or pinched your nose bridge to make a display of your irritation, but you could hardly move your torso, let alone your arms, so you settled for speech, "Ugh, how difficult was it to be chosen? Someone who can make lots of babies, someone who can read, someone with all the social graces, someone with a noble blood-line. That is all they required, it is not an honour. And you could have told them to choose someone else, someone stupid enough to want it!"
"They did not want someone stupid, they wanted you."
"Emil!" You inhaled, it was as though everything you said just went in one ear and straight out the other, "think. Why me? He could have anyone. Anyone. And yet, they came hunting all the way across Snezhnaya for me. There is a reason for that."
"Because you are special," Emil smiled.
"Special," you pitched your voice to mock him, "I am a stranger to them. They are strangers to us. You cannot think me this ignorant. There is reason they wanted me, a stranger. And it cannot be a good reason. I know it cannot be a good reason because you have not looked me in the eye since you told me."
"Just...!" He sighed, folding his hands in his lap and giving you another easy smile, "this is a good thing. You shall be happy."
A silence stretched between you.
You narrowed your eyes, "turn the carriage around, I am not doing this."
"I signed the betrothal contract, you are doing this," despite his attempts to remain calm and pleasant, you could sense your brother's temper rising. But perhaps, if you pushed enough...
"No."
"Yes."
"Brother, turn the carriage around or I will bounce," you gestured to your gown, "I will bounce and I will impale myself on this ridiculous corset and bleed to death!"
"(name)!" He snapped, "I know I should have taken a firmer hand with you when mama and papa died. I allowed you to read too much and I indulged your every whim and frivolity, so I take full responsibility for the fact that you are now exceedingly headstrong and mistakenly think you can make decisions. You cannot! I am in charge. This is happening."
"I do not know why you could not just-"
"Because they are the Fatui!" He boomed, "They carry out the orders of the Tsaritsa! We had no choice! I had no choice."
He ran his hands over his face and exhaled, you didn't respond.
"There is no good reason," he continued, "in fact, the reason might be terrible. But I cannot question, because I cannot make an enemy of the most powerful people in Snezhnaya. It is done. So, shut up. Do your duty to our nation and be happy."
You knit your brows together, rolling your head to the side and focusing your attention on the snowy plains rolling past through the carriage window. Eventually, Emil moved forwards, he took your hands and squeezed, even though comfort would not rectify anything.
"I am sorry," he said. "But there are worse fates than marrying a Fatui Harbinger."
"Sit back," you allowed your expression to soften, but didn't acknowledge his apology. "You are endangering my gown."
༄.°
It took, as you had predicted, just over another hour to reach Zapolyarny Palace. It had been decided that your wedding would take place in the structure itself, and the Tsaritsa had demanded a personal meeting as soon as you arrived. This was enough to send your already high levels of discomfort right up into the heavens. You would surely accidentally entice the death penalty instead of the favour of the Archon. You also had questions as to why she had to be involved at all in the proceedings of a Harbinger's wedding. Was it treason to think so? Could she hear your thoughts? You tried to focus on the beauty of the interior of the palace instead.
"Please be your most agreeable," Emil whispered anxiously as you were both escorted to the throne room. You hoped the shake in your movements would be attributed to the cold.
The Tsaritsa in human form was truly the pinnacle of beauty. Even sat upon the gaudy chair in the middle of the room, she was the tallest thing present, her white hair just as, the longest you had ever seen. It draped itself over the armrests and her shoulders, as though it had its own mind. Of course, Gods do not age, and her skin, despite seeing centuries, was as smooth as porcelain. Despite this ethereal, gorgeous, appearance. There was something so incredibly artificial about her looks. Her iris' were soulless barrels of blue, no pupils, and for a moment you wondered if she could see anything at all.
You bowed alongside your brother, and rose slowly, unsure how long you were meant to hold it for. But before you could utter a proper greeting...
"Teeth." The Archon said.
You blinked in alarm, looking at your brother. He gestured to his mouth, smiling, trying to silently guide your actions.
"Teeth," she repeated impatiently.
You jumped, then nodded, allowing your lips to split into a toothy smile.
"Mhm," The Tsaritsa hummed in what... might have been approval. "Hands."
You stretched your arms forward, trying to ignore the painful tug of your corset at the movement, you held your hands face up for a few moments, then flipped them face down, giving the Archon a full inspection.
"Mhm," she hummed again, then tilted her head to the side as she stood up from the throne, walking over to stand in front of you, "you have good hips. You will make lots of babies. That is good. That is your job. As many as possible, there are many titles and inheritances to go around."
"Yes... Your Highness," you tried not to make it sound like a question, though really, you were unsure on how to address her, "will I be introduced to the Second Harbinger soon, or..."
You didn't finish that sentence, because the Archon put her cold thumb to your face and rubbed at a freckle on your cheek, looking again as though it might have come off. You tried not to look completely bewildered.
"Brodny," she addressed a shorter soldier, a member of the group who had escorted you, "take her to the seamstress so we can have her gown fitted."
"Oh, no need. I bought my wedding gown," You forgot yourself for a moment entirely, and way too soon, you spoke without even thinking, worse, without even asking, "it is quite a perfect fit."
The Tsaritsa's blank eyes seemed to widen, she spoke slowly, "we have provided a gown for you."
"My gown was designed just for the wedding," you smiled. "In Fontaine, the lace is handmade by nuns, the modiste called it alençon."
Emil visibly paled slightly.
"Our gown is traditional. Simple. It will be better," The Tsaritsa said with a tight-lipped smile, but you did not catch on to what was more of a command than a suggestion.
"Better?" You repeated.
The Archon inhaled sharply, did she even need to breathe at all? You wondered.
"I have not seen this other wedding dress you speak of," she acknowledged, "but a traditional, Snezhnayan gown, will not carry all of the fuss and the frills that, for instance, the gown you currently have on, does. The traditional gown will be better. I chose it."
"Oh," you whispered, realising you might have just questioned the Cryo Archon's judgement a little too openly. You tried to amend it with a bow, even if you shook, "of course."
One more icy glance over and then she turned away, a silent dismissal, your brother seemed to take it as such too, as he instantly took advantage of the moment to leave.
"I will see you at the ceremony," he hissed, running a hand through his hair in dismay.
It was an awkward journey to your dress fitting, the man who had been assigned to escort you was never actually in front or beside you, just behind. Looming. Not that he was particularly intimidating in appearance, it was just awfully off-putting. You gestured for him to walk next to you with a tilt of your head, but he either ignored it or simply did not understand.
Eventually, the silence (which was only broken by heels clacking against the palace floors) got to you. You halted abruptly, he stumbled as you spun around to face him.
"My Lady," he nodded.
"Walk with me," you smiled, "I have questions."
"That is not how it is done, My Lady."
"What do you mean?" You quirked a brow.
"Well, you walk there, and I walk back here, My Lady," he gestured to your respective spaces.
"You cannot walk with me?"
"I am always with you, My Lady," he smiled. Then added, "five paces behind."
You squinted, "five paces behind?"
"Five paces behind."
"Always?"
"Always, My Lady."
"You are always there?" You liked to consider yourself rather intelligent, but this sounded like it would become a rather irritating practice, you wanted to truly understand it, "Behind me? Just... all the time?"
He nodded, "Whenever you need me, My Lady."
"What is your name?" You asked.
"Brodny, My Lady."
"Brodny," you repeated in a mutter, "tell me about Il Dottore."
"He is the Second Harbinger, My Lady," Brodny said.
"Yes," you obviously knew that, "And?"
"He is the second highest-ranking member of the Fatui, My Lady."
"Yes..." you nodded for him to go on.
Brodny cleared his throat, "he acquired this title five years ago-"
You interrupted, raising your hand, "Brodny, these three things are all the same things... Are they not?"
"These are all facts, My Lady," Brodny's smile was almost sardonic, then, he moved back five steps, gesturing for you to continue onwards. You could not help but roll your eyes, making a show of your indignation. The fact that no one would say a thing about your husband-to-be only added to your long list of concerns.
You continued your questioning with the maids and the seamstress as they fitted your dress. Brodny stood by the doorway, he seemed to be someone rather duty-bound, perhaps the women would be more inclined to whisper and gossip about the Second Harbinger.
"Is he handsome?" You asked. Only to be met with silence, you listed a few instead, hoping at least one of them was appropriate enough to receive an answer, "Is he kind? Is he funny? Is he warm? Well-read? Artistic? Athletic-"
"Why don't we discuss the order of the matrimonial ceremony?" Brodny interrupted from the doorway.
You didn't take it well.
"Is he ugly? Perhaps, deformed, in some way? Because beauty is inside," you clicked your tongue and shook your head, "well... it is certainly not inside. But, I am a good person, and shall overcome."
Brodny cleared his throat, "The officiant sent over some verses for you, My Lady, if you-"
"Is he dull? Not very smart, mentally slow? I can work on those," you looked around at all in the room, exasperated, "You can tell me!"
A maid that made eye contact averted almost immediately back to her work, stitching away as if nothing had been said.
"Is he cruel?" You leaned closer to her.
She exhaled, and smiled, "You're going to have wonderful children together, My Lady."
Bells were ringing and they certainly weren't the wedding kind.
"You said you were going to always be with me," you turned to Brodny.
"Yes, My Lady," he nodded, "You need never worry, I shall be here."
"Mm..." you folded your hands in front of you, "I need to use the chamber pot. Are you with me for that too?"
Brodny cleared his throat, "withdraw! The Lady requires privacy."
You sighed in relief as they all filed out. It actually felt good to be alone.
Now you just had to find a way out.
༄.°
It was not long before Brodny realised that the bride-to-be was not using the chamber pot.
But he had definitely realised too late.
He hurried to the ballroom within Zapolyarny Palace, where most of the occasion would be held, taking his place beside another male servant with urgency.
"There is a problem," he whispered.
The other man, only slightly taller, with neat blond hair that had a sort of dirty shade to it, sighed, as if this was expected, "What have you done now, Brodny?"
"The bride is missing," he hissed. But perhaps, not quiet enough. For a certain pair of red eyes flick towards them.
༄.°
You tiptoed carefully down the concrete stairs into the palace gardens. Perhaps the traditional gown was better, you'd managed to blend in enough to sneak past the venue. It definitely helped that you were a stranger to most, you doubted anyone had bothered to take on the tedious task of digging up your old portraits and giving a visual reference to all who attended.
No one was outside, all in and waiting for the ceremony to begin. If you had your way, it wouldn't begin at all. You stopped at a wall, the vines which covered it would provide stable footing for a climb (even if they were a little bit snow-coated and wet). You repressed your shiver as you hiked up your skirts, clinging to a thicker vine and attempting to haul yourself up, foot on a misplaced brick.
"Ah, hello, My Lady," Someone cleared their throat, "are you in need of assistance of some kind?"
"UHH, I am quite fine, thank you! You can go back inside and wait with all the other gawkers," you almost slipped in shock, but quickly regained footing (barely), hands shaking a bit as you clung on. It was cold.
"I will, first, I am curious- what are you doing?"
You hoped your tone was convincing, "Nothing!"
It was not, "you are doing something..."
"I am not."
"You are."
"I am not."
"You are!" They said, rather definitively.
You huffed, sliding back down the wall, the damned skinny vines had defeated you, "If you must know, I am trying to ascertain the best way to climb over the garden wall." You saw no reason to continue lying.
"Climb..." They seemed puzzled, "whatever for?"
You sighed, "because I think he may be a beast."
"A beast?"
"Or a troll."
"Who are we discussing?"
You scoffed, turning to face them with crossed arms, "Well, that is impertinent! None of your business!"
You did not recognise the man before you. He tall, but not overly so, and quite lean. But his build was not so intriguing, his eyes were red and his hair a very pale, muted, almost, blue. His features were not unhandsome, but they were a little bit crooked, evident in his nose bridge, and when he smiled, a gesture for you to continue speaking, you could see how his teeth were a little bit crowded. However, you had bigger fish to fry at the moment, and, for whatever reason, you gave in rather quickly.
"The Second Harbinger," you sighed, "no one will speak of him. No one. He is clearly a beast or a troll."
"Understood," he nodded.
"You know if I grab there?" You pointed at a slightly eroded brick, "Yes! Perhaps, you could assist me by lifting me up there?"
"Uhm, one question," he raised an eyebrow. "You do not like beasts or trolls? What he looks like matters?"
"I do not care what he looks like, what I not like is not knowing. Now, here!" You beckoned him over, "Just take hold of my waist. I believe, with a lift, I... I believe I can make it over the garden wall."
He didn't move, "You want me to lift you over the wall so you may escape...?"
You rolled your eyes, "that is what I said. Yes."
"People will notice you are missing, will they not?"
"I shall worry about that later, now, if you'd please!" You sighed, "I just need a little help. Come. Make haste."
"I have absolutely no intention of helping you."
You paused, narrowed your eyes. "I am a Lady in distress," you said, putting your hands on your hips, "you refuse to help a Lady in distress?"
He hummed, "I refuse when that Lady in distress is trying to go over a wall so she does not have to marry me."
You paled a little. Mortified. That was the feeling. You opened your mouth, closed it. Panicked.
"Hello, (name)," he took a few steps towards you, "I am Il Dottore."
"I am deeply s..." you stopped yourself, there was no saving this, you stooped into a bow, "My Lord-"
He caught your hand before you could fully dip, "Not your Lord. Dottore. I mean, yes, a Lord, but you do not have to refer to me as such. I know it is just as strange to refer to someone as 'Doctor' but my old name does not mean much to me. Just Dottore is fine," he mused.
You didn't ponder on what that really meant, just tried not to sputter, "I am... Please, accept my apology. If I had known that you were... you-"
"You would have what?" Dottore raised an eyebrow, "not told me that you were trying to escape?"
"Well, yes. I mean..."
He chuckled.
"I do apologise, My Lord," you frowned.
"Dottore," he corrected again, fortunately, he did not seem too offended, "the title situation towers over us. Accident on my part. But I thought, maybe, perhaps, as my wife, you could ignore it and I could be just Dottore to you. That was, of course, before I found out that you do not want to be married to me."
"I did not say that."
"Oh, you did." He looked up at the wall.
"I did not," you shook your head.
He tilted his head with a lopsided smile, "you did!"
"Ah... hm..." You grumbled, "I do not know you."
"I do not know you either," Dottore shrugged. "Except that you are terrible at climbing a wall."
You scoffed, "You try climbing a wall in all of these garments!" You fussed with your wedding dress, wrinkling your nose a little.
He did not protest, or respond at all, actually. He just stood there, with an absent sort of stare.
You took a step back, looking around before your gaze landed back on him, you huffed out an awkward laugh, "What?"
"You are incomparable," he said. "No one told me you would be this beautiful. You may be too beautiful to marry me. People will talk. Given I am a troll."
"My Lord-"
"Dottore."
You chortled, correcting yourself, "Dottore."
"What do you want to know?" He asked.
"What...?"
"You do not know me," he said. "What do you want to know about me?"
"Well, that is quite, uh..." all the questions you had before seemed to simply vanish from your mind "...uhm, I do not... Everything."
Dottore paused, but he clasped his hands together and nodded, "All right... Everything. Well, I was born prematurely, and everyone thought I was going to die but I did not. I am a fair fencer, an even better shot. My favourite food is mutton. I will not eat fish, it is horrible. I like books, and art, and good conversation. Most of all, I like science."
"Science?"
"Chemistry, physics, and botany. Astronomy; stars and the heavens. I am quite the farmer! Probably would be a farmer if I were not..." he gestured to himself, "...well, occupied. I have a scar on my chest from falling off my horse, scar on my wrist from just being incredibly clumsy with a perry knife. And, I am very nervous about marrying a girl I am only just meeting minutes before our wedding, but I cannot show it and climb over a wall because I am a Fatui Harbinger and that would cause a scandal, but, I promise you, I am neither a troll nor a beast. Just a man."
You did feel your features soften into a smile over time, and as you were about to respond, your brother's voice came from around the corner.
"We have been looking everywhere for you! What are you-" Emil cut himself off, in fact, he stopped entirely, when he spotted Dottore. You felt your expression curdle again, so, he knew what he looked like! Everyone except you, apparently. He bowed, "My Lord."
Dottore smiled, shaking hands with him, "you must be the man responsible for my possible future happiness."
"Uhm, yes? I mean, no- yes-"
"Well!" Dottore patted the man on the book, "You have arrived at a most opportune moment, she was just deciding whether or not she wanted to marry me."
Emil was shaking, "oh, uh, she is overjoyed-"
"No, she is still deciding," Dottore shook his head, and that distant stare returned to his eyes, "she might go over the wall instead. Either way, the choice is entirely up to her."
Emil gave you an appalled look, you just shrugged, as if you did not know what he was talking about.
"Now, I should suspect that by now there are some very anxious guards who think I am kidnapped," Dottore walked back over to you, taking your hand and pressing your knuckle to his lips, it was less of a kiss and more of a reassuring touch, "I hope I see you in there. And if so, I shall be the one standing next to the officiant, small man, quite old."
And with that last jest he was off, Emil bowed as he passed, then rushed over to you with an anxious expression, "do not tell me you are still hesitating?"
The ceremony did take place that day.
For you it went by in a blur. It was over just as soon as it had started. Your brother walked you down the aisle, you somehow remembered your vows, Dottore slipped the ring on your finger and took your lips in his and it was done. Sealed. And you could not help but feel content, almost. You did not love him, but he did not seem so horrid. Your brother had been right, there were worse fates. And as you danced with your new husband and conversed with the wedding guests, you had actually begun to enjoy yourself. The smile on your face was genuine, right up until the end of the night.
When everyone began to file out of Zapolyarny, yourself and Dottore included as you were now to be moved into his estate, you bid goodbye to your brother, though it lacked the dramatic flair of a usual sibling's goodbye. And then another young woman approached you.
She was very doll-like, in her appearance and movements, perfectly poised and yet a catty smile, "My Lady, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Sandrone."
You smiled and nodded.
"The Seventh Harbinger," she added.
"Oh," you bowed, "I am sorry. It is an honour to meet you, ma'am."
"Don't worry, I am sure we will be great friends," she shook her head with a laugh, then, a neutral expression took her face and she leaned in to whisper in your ear, "be careful. And know if you send for me I shall come."
You nodded, but the hum of acknowledgment that left your lips was more of a whimper. She frowned.
"Make haste, Sandrone!"
She looked in the direction of the voice, and then waved goodbye to you. You barely had time to process it, Dottore took your hand.
"I have a surprise for you," he smiled.
"A surprise?" You raised a brow.
"A present, really," he said. "You shall need your cloak."
And just like that you were disarmed. You pestered and prodded the whole carriage ride, all you knew was that it was a place. You were far too easily excited and the slight buzz of even the little amount of wine you had kept you chatty.
The carriage stopped in front of a beautiful structure, it was much larger than your ancestral home, and so very intricate, bright and new.
Dottore helped you out, "what do you think?" He asked.
"It is beautiful," you breathed, "who lives here?"
"I had it re-designed just for you," he said.
"This is our house?" You gaped.
Dottore stopped at the entry-way, he shook his head, "It is your house."
"It is my house?" You laughed, then raised an eyebrow, "What do you mean?"
"It is where you shall live, I had all of your things moved here during the ceremony."
You walked up to him, "I'm not sure I understand. If this is my house, is it not also our house?"
Dottore gave you a tight-lipped smile and chuckled, "I suppose, officially, my house is your house, but this is where you shall stay."
You were now boggled. My house, our house, your house, too many houses.
And he was also being... a little irritating.
You gestured for him to continue, "and you shall stay..."
"In my house."
"Where?"
"My estate, it's closer to Zapolyarny Palace."
You frowned, "So, you shall live there?"
"Yes."
"And I shall live here?"
"Yes!" He clasped his hands together, gesturing for you to go inside.
"It is our wedding night!" You protested.
"And it is late," he pouted teasingly. "And you have been travelling, and I shall let you get inside, you will need to meet your staff and you will want to get some sleep."
You were oh-so not in the mood.
"No, Dottore. It is our wedding night. We are supposed..."
Dottore raised a brow.
"We are married," you reiterated, "are we not supposed to do what married people do?"
"Are you demanding I perform my marital duty to you?" He asked.
You sputtered, "I-I am not demanding, I... I'm not even sure what our marital duty is I just know... Do we not spend this night together? My Lady's Maid said that is what happens on a wedding night."
Dottore looked almost agitated, "fine, I shall stay," he walked inside with quick steps you could not keep up with.
"Dottore-"
"I said I shall stay, are you coming?" He scoffed.
You fumbled, then, pulled up your a bit so it was easier to hurry after him. The servants applauded as you entered, you smiled, a little out of breath.
"Dottore!"
He did not stop."
You huffed, "I cannot keep up, slow down!"
"I thought you wanted me in the bedroom, is that not where I should be?" He retorted.
You knit your brows together, "No...?"
"No?!"
"I don't know!" You shrugged, "not if you're going to behave-"
You realised the servants were still present.
You cleared your throat and your frown deepened, "you are angry. What is wrong? What have I done? Whatever it is, I am sorry..."
Dottore blinked, "you've done nothing to be sorry for, I just- I... I want to go home."
"So let us go home."
"No, I-"
"You do not want me to go back with you?" You raised a brow.
He smiled, sighed, "this is your home."
"And that is yours?"
"Yes," he nodded.
You hummed, "I see..."
"You do? Good," he slouched a bit, as if this conversation had eaten up all of his energy, "so, you are all right."
You opened your mouth but he was already making haste for the door.
"I shall see you later."
"I am not all right," you said, "This is how it is to be? This is our marriage? You there and me here?
"Yes," he stood there, rocking back and forth on his heels like a child, so eager to leave, as if he had not a single clue as to why you were upset. And he was not so charming anymore.
"Why?"
"Well, I thought..." Dottore's left eye twitched, "...it is easier."
He was not telling you something, just as no one else had earlier, you hated not knowing. You huffed, "for whom?"
His breathing became slightly rushed, eyes wide like a bird's, "What?"
"Easier for whom?" You rolled your eyes, "you or me?"
"I am not going to debate this with you-"
"I merely want to understand, you need to at least tell me-"
Dottore's voice raised up into a yell, "I do not need to tell you anything! I decide! I have the authority and I have decided! You are to listen to me!" He boomed.
You blinked, and yes, your lip may have trembled but slightly before you just managed to mould it into an overly polite smile.
"My mistake, My Lord," you folded your hands behind your back, then bowed, "forgive me."
"(name)..."
"May I withdraw, My Lord? Or do you want to say anything else to me?"
He twitched, he seemed so anxious, for how composed he had been the last several hours, he opened his mouth a few times, for a moment, you wondered if he'd end up saying anything at all.
"I... th... This is for the best," he went with eventually.
"Of course, My Lord," you shrugged, "whatever you wish."
Dottore retreated quickly, he didn't say sorry, not even goodbye, just straight out.
You sniffed, then made your way upstairs. You heard the dreaded pattern of footsteps behind you.
"Brodny," you sighed.
"Yes, My Lady."
"You are here too?"
"I am wherever you are, My Lady."
"I am fine," you grumbled.
"Yes, My Lady."
"You may not follow me..."
"But I shall, My Lady."
"Please stop calling me 'My Lady'..." You ran your hands over your face with a grimace.
Brodny's sass was not well-hidden, "that is your title, My Lady, I cannot call you anything else-"
"Well, then stop following me!"
"I cannot do that, My Lady."
You halted and spun around to face him, jabbing your finger at him a bit petulantly, "I order you to stop following me!"
Brodny sighed, "it is my sworn duty to take care of you, My Lady, at all times..."
"I do not want you here!"
He frowned, "I hope, in time, you will become used to me, My Lady."
You just stomped your foot, scoffing as you walked away, "wonderful, we can spend the rest of our lives together."
Brodny didn't respond, just silently trailed after you.
"Should've gone over that wall..." You muttered.