Chapter Text
“That brings up again the eternal question: is life completely visible to us, or isn't it rather that this side of death we see one hemisphere only? [...] For my own part, I declare I know nothing whatever about it. But to look at the stars always makes me dream, as simply as I dream over the black dots of a map representing towns and villages. Why, I ask myself, should the shining dots of the sky not be as accessible as the black dots on the map of France? If we take the train to get to Tarascon or Rouen, we take death to reach a star. One thing undoubtedly true in this reasoning is this: that while we are alive we cannot get to a star, [...]” Vincent Van Gogh, to Theo Van Gogh, 9/10 July 1888
*~*
"Not just any wish, of course. The one that drives your heart. The one that makes you who you are."
“Wish” ~ Fawn Veerasunthorn & Chris Buck (Asha)
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Unconsciously, Roland turns over in his sleep as his mind slips into a memory against his will.
He has no idea why he has been asked to wait in this room. He only knows Mum said Nigel is coming to talk to them in a while and that she is bringing cocoa soon.
It’s the first memory he has or, rather, it’s the first clear one.
Just months ago, in about late-September, there had been a ball.
Roland had tried his very best to convince Father to let Cedric join Cordelia, Tilly, and himself in the playroom room with the older children instead of being forced to be with the toddlers and babies in the room with the nursemaids. For, without him, Roland had been utterly convinced Cedric would be dreadfully bored.
In the end, everything had ended up worse than simply Cedric being bored for an evening.
Someone had brought some deadly childhood illness into the castle, something the adults are saying only in whispers, and the older three of them had been spared simply by being old enough to avoid the most direct exposure.
Cedric, however, had not been so lucky and, somehow, he had been wise enough to exile himself as soon as he felt unwell. Thus, sparing all of them … again.
Or, at least, that’s what Roland has picked up from the whispers he has heard in his moments eavesdropping on Baileywick and Nigel when Baileywick leaves Cedric’s room to slip missives to the messengers.
They’ve been running letters nonstop for about the last five days.
Honestly, it may even have been a few more than that, Roland thinks he may have lost count by now. However, it doesn’t really matter how many days it has been because it has simply felt endless.
Roland knows the messengers, that feel too numerous to count, have been running Baileywick’s missives on Lady Winifred’s behalf between here and the front lines of the battle between Enchancia and Rudistan.
For there’s a last force of Rudistan rebels, led by a small handful of sorcerers, seeking to hold out from the rule of the Tri-Kingdoms’ alliance.
Roland has heard whispers amongst some of his father’s advisors that Khaldoon had been talking about granting Rudistan a place at peace discussions and allowing them their independence for all their spirit. Yet, Father apparently was not about to stand for it, and he doubled down the efforts along with a large number of Wei Ling’s forces. The two of them citing the idea that if they allowed Rudistan the ability to discuss peace in such a way all the other territories would rise up in the same way, and it couldn’t be tolerated.
Therefore, ever since about a week after the ball, Father and Goodwyn had both been out on the front line of the battle trying to crush the last of the rebellion themselves. The ball that got Roland’s best friend so sick had only one purpose: it was meant to bring the dignitaries here to discuss war. Their wives and children would be sent home the morning after the celebration, and the men would go off into little rooms to discuss battle and strategy.
War would always bring Death.
Death is the greatest Evil, or so father told him.
Yet, Father never minded war, so long as it meant spreading what he believed. Father said if people really wanted to avoid Death, and thus Evil, they would give up. The ones who fought were the wicked ones. But, Roland sometimes wonders if that makes as much sense as Father says it does.
Roland shakes his head against these thoughts.
Tilly is getting to him.
Cedric is getting to him.
If Father heard what he was thinking, he would surely be in trouble because the Enchancian way is the right way.
No. It is the only way.
So, Father has taught him and, even at only five, Roland is starting to wonder if his own thoughts could ever be the right ones.
The truth is:
Death is Evil.
Life is Good.
And, if other people don’t understand, they must meet with Evil.
This is the way of things.
Father and Goodwyn have their sights set on Galdiz within the next year, and Roland’s heart aches for the people there. He has no idea what they’ve done to deserve his Father’s wrath, but, apparently, it must be something horrible enough that Father feels the need to take over their land and teach them the Enchancian ways of doing things.
Secretly, Roland wishes for the safety of the people there. He hopes they don’t fight so hard that too many of them die. Yet, he also hopes that they get to keep some of their ways of living. His father can be brutal, and something tells him that this place will be important to him someday.
Still, because of his father’s staunchly held belief that Enchancian ways are the only right ones, Roland knows that means that Cedric is here with only his mother, and he shudders at the thought. As much as his father sets him to his wits end at times, Roland can’t imagine being so sick as Cedric is without him.
“I can almost hear you thinking. But, don’t worry so much. Cedric is crafty, Rollie. Just like all those stories of Merlin. Promise. You two will be just as strong, and just as brave as King Arthur and Merlin when you get big. Even though Cedric is younger than you, and Merlin was, and if it’s to be believed, still is, very old. Maybe even immortal? Cedric’s probably pieced together the truth of it …” Tilly trails off, as she strokes Roland’s hair from his perch in her lap.
Roland looks up to see that Tilly is biting her lip, like she does when she’s nervous, but she's trying to hide it.
Then, she takes a deep breath.
“All the same, I’ll make it such that you both get to grow old together, somehow. You’ll have your very own Lady of the Lake, and you will all be very silly as well as brave together. The four of us … maybe more, as we all pair off and get married, if that’s to be … but the four of us forever, for sure, I promise.” Tilly says, squeezing Roland around his shoulders.
Roland just looks at his hands and blinks at them. Something feels wrong about all three of them being asked by Mum to come into this room, Cordelia’s room, no less, to wait for Nigel to speak with them.
Cordelia keeps pacing with her hands behind her back. Roland wonders if she’ll wear a track in the floor where she has been pacing.
Tilly shares a look with Roland before hopping off the bed. Then, she goes to Cordelia and she guides Cordelia onto the corner of the bed that Roland isn’t occupying before Tilly begins to braid Cordelia’s hair.
“Ah, and where would any of them be without Elaine of Corbenic who cured Lancelot of madness and granted him one of the bravest knights in all the Realm? She was his wife, for a while, and the mother of Gwain.” Tilly grins, brushing her cheek against Cordelia’s.
Roland watches Cordelia give a small, but sad, smile, as she clasps her hand tight around Tilly’s hand.
“And, where does that leave you? Hmmm … is there anyone for you to play?” Cordelia teases.
Yet, Roland can tell that Cordelia’s heart isn’t in the jest as much as it is most days.
Tilly grins anyway, and she snuggles her cheek to Cordelia’s even deeper.
“Oh, I’m Sir Caradoc, clearly, because someone has to keep him in check.” Tilly says, sticking her tongue out at Roland.
Despite the tensions in the room, Tilly does manage to get Roland, at least, to laugh.
Yet, Cordelia doesn’t laugh. She just draws her knees up as Tilly’s hand slips from her hair and the braid falls out.
“Wow. He’s taught you a lot. More than me even, I almost forgot, until you reminded me, that Sir Caradoc was the one who first rebelled against Arthur but later supported his rule.” Cordelia mumbles into her knees.
Tilly puts her arms around Cordelia’s shoulders.
“Well, he’s your brother. You’re far more stressed than I am. You can’t expect yourself to remember everything when you’re stressed, can you? Do you want me to tell the story? It’s a good one, and it will pass the time until Nigel gets here. It’s one of Cedric’s favorites that doesn’t directly involve Merlin. Or, at least it is this month.” Tilly winks at Roland.
Then, she pats a spot next to her on Cordelia’s bed.
Roland wastes no time scrambling over from his spot to the one indicated so he can sit beside Tilly.
Then, Tilly resumes braiding Cordelia’s hair. But, before beginning her story, Tilly looks pointedly at Roland and then to Cordelia’s drawer where she keeps her hairbands.
Roland immediately understands what Tilly is asking of him.
He finds himself, in all his five year old lack of grace, stumbling to the nightstand, grabbing the box of hairbands, and giving them to his sister.
It is only then that she begins to recite her story.
“Now, I’m not near as good at giving the characters voices as Cedric. So, you’ll have to forgive me. But, here goes nothing …” Tilly begins.
Tilly launches into a story about a knight of Uthur Pendragon’s named Caradoc. Shortly after Arthur Pendragon is crowned king, with the assistance of Merlin in the discovery of Excalibur, many of the other kings see having a young king on the throne as a weakness, and they try to exploit it.
A huge rebellion breaks out amongst the kings as they try to challenge King Arthur Pendragon’s claim as the ruler over all of the kings united, and Caradoc sets himself amongst them, despite having pledged his service to Arthur’s father.
Yet, after a battle, King Arthur manages to quell the rebellion, and the kings pledge their allegiance to King Arthur as the rightful ruler over them. For, truly, Arthur has proven, beyond any shadow of doubt, that he can command all of them against any threat.
Shortly after the rebellion, Sir Caradoc finds Arthur and begs his forgiveness, which, in his wisdom, King Arthur grants.
Over the years of quests sought, won, and lost, King Arthur finds that Sir Caradoc is a worthy friend and advisor, despite his rebellion against him. Sir Caradoc assists in the seeking of the quest for the grail.
Sir Caradoc, the Elder, is put under a spell by an evil wizard, and mistakenly takes someone else for his beautiful wife, whom he loves. The evil wizard has a child, who Sir Caradoc raises and names after himself. This child, Sir Caradoc the Younger, also becomes a knight in King Arthur’s court. The young knight takes up a challenge against the evil wizard and wins, but it’s not before his adopted father’s arm is damaged irreparably.
After this, in his final stand, Sir Caradoc the Elder has the wisdom and strength to lead a group of Ulsterian mercenaries to defeat one of the wicked Sir Mordred’s generals in battle. Though, tragically, the fight between Sir Caradoc and the general leaves both the villain and Sir Caradoc fatally wounded.
“And, thus, ends the tale of Sir Caradoc the Elder, chief of the elders of King Arthur’s hold, Celliwig, at Cornwall.” Tilly finishes, as she ties off the final touches of Cordelia’s braid.
Roland leans into his sister’s side. These are the stories they tell each other only when the four of them are alone. They are the ones they steal from the dark corners of the attic that have been buried in dust because they are “too bloody.”
Roland longs for Lady Winifred’s stories about the world in balance where being “good” doesn’t seem like such a chore because it doesn’t seem like such a requirement. People are allowed to be bad and still get what they want, and people are good and still lose.
Somehow, those stories feel oddly comforting right now?
It stops him from trying to tick off on his finger every naughty thing he has done that may have caused this to happen because Roland has been taught by his father, over and over, that if he loses he must have done something wrong. Yet, if Roland wins, that means he must have done something to earn it.
However, in Lady Winifred’s Corinthian stories, sometimes, things just happen. Fate just decides that good and bad things must happen, for some greater purpose or another, and there doesn’t seem to be much control over when, or how, or why.
Even now, at five, Roland supposes there’s a balance. Some things are choices. Some things are fate.
Yet, he wonders if he will ever learn which ones are which because Father doesn’t seem keen to let him question what is inside or outside of his control any time soon.
The door opens more suddenly than any of the three of them expect.
Mum and Nigel are both standing there, and Mum hands them each a cup of cocoa.
She kisses each of the three of them on the forehead before looking each of them in the eyes.
“You may ask Mr. Nigel, anything. Anything at all. No question is silly. No question is wrong. He’s under strict instructions from me not to tell your fathers anything. Though, depending upon what you say or ask, he may tell me so I might talk to you more over more cocoa tonight. Nigel will come get me when you’re done asking him your questions, and we will all … we will sit together and … well … whatever happens after, happens.” Mum says, keeping her face as poised as she can.
Yet, it’s one of the sparse few times in his memory that Roland can recall his mother not being perfectly put together and going against Father’s wishes. The only other times he remembers Mum acting outside of perfect poise is when she tells the story of The Fifth Spirit and her sister Queen Anna of Arendelle, which is the story of her home kingdom’s history.
Suddenly, Roland knows.
He knows something happened.
It’s then that Roland knows his eyes must be wide and his face must have lost its color because he knows.
So, as soon as Mum leaves, Roland asks with only the force of a five year old who has been denied information for too long can: “What happened to him?!”
The silence in the room is deafening. It stretches for what feels, to Roland at least, like years as Baileywick’s older brother, Nigel, kneels down to look him in the eyes.
“Wiser people would put this to you with more fluff. My brother is far better at talking to children than I am. However, I do not know any other way to say this except to tell you, as I would say to anyone, that I’m sorry …” Nigel stops to breathe.
Roland stiffens to brace himself when Nigel puts both his hands on Roland’s shoulders.
“My brother informed me to prepare all of you because we have reason to believe that Cedric won’t last through tomorrow night, and we thou …”
Whatever else Nigel was going to say is cut off by Cordelia screaming that he’s “lying” and that she “hates him.”
Tilly tries to hush Cordelia and to hold her tight, but Cordelia won’t listen before flopping on her bed in tears.
Roland blinks several times.
For some reason, the only thing he can think about is the law that would prevent people from being able to “worship pantheons that are not Enchancia’s in ways that are not Enchancian.” Roland thinks that means that Cedric might not get to be buried with the blanket that his mother made for him because it depicts one of Lady Winifred’s Corinthian goddesses and a story from her home kingdom.
He wants to ask about it.
Mum did tell Roland he could ask anything.
He doesn’t remember Nigel’s answer anymore.
The only thing he remembers is that, when he does finally gather the courage to ask his question about the blanket, Cordelia springs off the bed and punches her wall hard enough to break the ring finger of her left hand.
Nigel sets it, but Cordelia doesn’t even flinch when he does. For a long time, she just sits in Nigel’s lap studying her hand in silence.
“I just want my father, Nigel. I’ll accept that Ceddy needs Mummy. I don’t even want her. But, I want Daddy.” Cordelia sobs into Nigel’s chest.
It’s at that moment that Roland learns to fear Goodwyn because who in the Realm could be this heartless?
He also looks up at the Stars, and he feels something forming within him.
He knows somewhere, somehow, he will never, if he can help it, be the cause of the Death of someone he loves or abandon them when they leave this Realm.
Roland once more subconsciously turns in his sleep as another memory surfaces.
The feast had been almost a week ago.
Father had drunk some kind of wine and had immediately taken ill upon the first sip.
Forces were sent to Ulster instantly to round up their head rebels. Yet, it was ascertained that it couldn’t have been any one of their rebel leaders.
Ulsterians don’t kill.
Freeze?
Only long enough to make a point or impactful disturbance, but they always let their political victims go once they’re far enough away to have fled.
Injure?
Perhaps. Yet, even then, they usually heal them, and the injury is usually done with the intent of self-defence.
However, Ulsterians never kill or keep their victims frozen into perpetuity.
Scáthach’s Sleeping Stones were, to Roland’s understanding, invented purely for self-defence that would allow their sorcerers to run without ever having to actually harm someone. If the sorcerer in question was being attacked, they could slip a stone on their wands, “attack,” and break the stone after they’d fled a significant enough distance without ever having to think of a spell.
As such, Ulsterians would only “freeze” those pursuing them long enough to get away. Then, they broke the stones when they had fled far enough that no one would ever know where they’d gone.
It was a genius defensive battle strategy, really, when Roland thought about it. Truly, who could be cross with people who didn’t aim to kill and fought defensively?
Yet, as far as Roland knew, there weren’t any of Scáthach’s Sleeping Stones left. The First Stone, the one they said Scáthach herself had used to put Cuchulain to sleep, was apparently used to create the others, and it was, reportedly, gone. As such, the rebels couldn’t use the strategy anymore.
The rumors that their First Stone had been stolen began when Roland was about fifteen.
No one knows who took it, or where it ended up.
Still, even after they could no longer use this strategy, Roland had heard so many military officials argue that the threat of Ulsterian rebels keeping people under the control of Scáthach’s Sleeping Stones was just cause to try to destroy the Ulsterians completely.
Yet, privately?
Roland had always thought that was a bit much of an overreaction.
Yes, the Ulsterians were a powerful and deeply magical people. In fact, if things were to be believed, many of their population were sorcerers, or in some way magical, by birth and, as such, magical education was integrated even into their village life. However, the minimal amount Roland was coming to understand about the Ulsterian people seemed very positive. In fact, almost all of them were healers or incorporated the healing arts into their studies of magic.
The worst thing to come from the Isle of Ulster seemed to be Wee Sprites?
Which, even Wee Sprites, so long as you didn’t let them into buildings, are harmless, and even actively beneficial to people’s gardens!
Thus, once Ulster had been ruled out as the source of poisoning his father, Roland knew there could only be two sources left.
Rudistan or Trufflandia.
There were still plenty of rebel pockets in both places.
Goodwyn was trying to suss out the source of who had done the poisoning in hopes of getting revenge for Father’s death.
For, it seemed, his father’s death is going to be imminent any day, or even hour, now.
Roland will be twenty-three this summer, and all he can think about is that Fathers death, and thus Roland’s own kingship, which was supposed to be a much longer way off, is coming too soon.
Tilly is downstairs with Mum because Father has asked for only Roland. He will not ask for Tilly, and Tilly will not come until Father asks for her.
As King Regent, Roland has called Baileywick home from whatever spy duties Baileywick had been placed on by his father and Roland now has Baileywick managing the family affairs.
Cordelia has been in contact with Roland via letters, and she has sent him her condolences.
Yet, Roland can’t help but feel like there’s something, or rather someone, missing. But, he is away at his studies still, for now, and will be until his winter break in December.
However, those thoughts are short lived because Roland hears Father rasping out his name.
“Yes, Father?” Roland asks.
There’s a silence as Father breathes.
“You have always been naive, Roland. Thinking our ways have to change. … Thinking … Thinking you can be soft. Yet, I trust you can let that go?” Father asks.
Roland bows his head and closes his eyes.
“Yes, Father.” He nods, slowly.
Father hums and, despite the rasp, he still sounds dismissive.
“You must be strong, Roland, I mean this, no more weakness. I trust that you will be a good king, Roland.” Father instructs him.
Roland immediately straightens.
He is starting to understand what’s happening.
Father is going to die.
“I will, Father. I will be good.” Roland promises.
This is bittersweet.
In some ways, Roland is finally going to be free to be his own man outside of his father’s control and manipulation.
Yet, at the same time, this is his father who is going to die.
Roland will not forget the vow he made to himself when he was just five. As such, he will do anything in his power to assure his father that, no matter what, Enchancia will be provided for, their people will be safe, and everything will be fine.
Roland supposes it doesn’t matter much if their definitions of those words vary a little … or a lot.
Still, there is the matter of Goodwyn.
Goodwyn whose gruffness and one-track mindedness has terrified Roland since his childhood.
Roland is kind of ashamed to admit that he is still absolutely terrified of Goodwyn even at almost twenty-three, and while outranking him.
Goodwyn’s oath may be to Roland, especially as soon as Roland ascends the throne and takes his vows to the people of Enchancia as their king.
However, somehow, Roland knows he’s going to have trouble standing up to Goodwyn, even if he asks for something Roland thinks is unreasonable.
To Roland, Goodwyn is an extension of Father.
When Father walked the halls, Roland would bow to him. He would look at his shoes until Father lifted his chin and then, and only then, would Roland see Goodwyn standing right beside his father.
It has suddenly occurred to Roland that he knows nothing of the world except what his father has told him of it, and the precious few thoughts he has managed to keep for himself.
He still loves Cedric’s style of painting.
He believes that the Ulsterians are likely innocent.
He hopes to marry for love someday.
And, in the most private place in his heart, he wants to let his children speak their mind fully and freely so that, when they have to confront this moment, when they confront his impending death, they don’t feel like they have anything to hold back.
When his father dies the following evening, the first thing Roland is confronted with is a signed letter of resignation from Goodwyn the Great, a note that the suspect was from Trufflandia, and as such the head assistant seamstress, Mlle Colette, as well as all staff from Trufflandia, has been posed to be sacked.
Roland takes all of two minutes to plant his face into the wall of his fa- his study before going to clean up the first of many messes he is sure he has inherited.
Roland rubs his face this time in his sleep as his subconscious recalls what an absolute headache those next several days had been.
Roland has been pacing a hole in the floor outside the door for the last, what feels like, several days.
Baileywick is sitting watching him, but he says nothing. He simply looks at his watch every few minutes.
No one will let Roland in the room!
Yet, the physician and Cedric are allowed in?
That seems woefully unfair.
Oh, sure, one has a medical degree and Cedric is trained in Restoration sorcery, but … he’s king! He’s her husband! The child being born will be his child!
Why is it “women only” unless you “have a degree?”
It doesn’t matter that the physician did try to argue for Roland to be able to be in the room, allegedly, on both his and Cedric’s recommendations.
However, again allegedly, the midwives would not budge because it was bad enough form to let both of the other men in there, never mind that they were professionals.
However, the birth is happening almost a month early, and they’ve conceded that having the Royal Physician and a Restoration sorcerer in the room could be beneficial.
The door opens, and the physician beckons him in.
“She’s asking for you. There seem to be two children, not just one. It makes sense as to why the birth was early. But, I’ve been told you ought to come in anyway.” The Physician says, his hair mussed.
Roland spares no time rushing inside leaving Baileywick alone.
The room is chaos.
Yet, all he sees is Lorelei.
Lorelei in a halo of golden light from a source Roland cannot find.
She looks at him.
“You’ll all have to look after each other while I’m gone. Just know that I was happy. I’ll be happy getting to see them for however brief a time. Can you be happy too? Let them make you happy, and when you see them, let them remind you of me? Just a little, but not so much that you hold on too tight?” Lorelei smiles, as she brushes his cheek.
Roland tries to make sense of her words.
And, there is a moment. There’s a moment of happiness where she’s lit up like a star in golden light. She looks at her children, and she smiles.
Then, she looks at Roland, and she strokes his cheek again.
“I have to go now … can you look at me, and not look away? I want to be seen … you told me a story about looking and not looking away? Can you start telling it? Tell me a story just like you used to.” She whispers.
The midwives take the two little bundles, Roland’s children. Yet, he can’t quite focus there right now.
His eyes are on his wife.
“Once upon a time, in a land far away, there was a young and foolish boy, a son of a muse, and his name was …” Roland’s voice breaks.
“Orpheus …” Lorelei supplies, her fingers closing around his.
“That’s right and he fell in love with a beautiful woman. He wrote her songs. He thought she was as radiant as every beam of the sun. So, he continued to write her …” Roland clears his throat.
“Terrible poetry.” Lorelia whispers, her voice fading.
Roland laughs, squeezing her hand.
“Well, even the demigod sons of muses have their off days, don’t they?” He offers.
She smiles, but says nothing.
Roland keeps telling the story. He embellishes it. He adds a whole arc about the wedding of Orpheus and Eurydice that is, most definitely, based on their wedding. He talks about the snake in the garden appearing next to a …
The image he’s expecting, the one of a twenty-six year old Cedric telling him with a perfectly straight back and eyes that are soft, but in an almost uncanny way, that he’s sorry his wife is dead, is replaced by one that is much older, nearly twelve years older.
This one is lying prostrate before him begging him for forgiveness at the foot of his throne.
It’s the one from just this evening.
“And, I am so very, very, very, very, very sorry …”
Roland bolts upright, running a hand through his hair as he places the other on his chest.
He breathes deeply after a few moments.
It was a terrible nightmare, nothing more than a terrible nightmare.
Still, Roland gets up and walks to the seat by his window and presses his face to the glass. He takes another breath to steady himself.
“Why did it happen like this? Four forever? Why make promises you couldn’t keep, Tilly? You had no idea what he would become …” Roland whispers, in near silence, still pressing his face to the glass.
You know I was right, Roland. I only ever said what I said to protect you …
Roland straightens and looks around the room, but he sees nothing. He returns to staring out the window as the strange whispers in his father’s voice continue.
I simply wanted you to be strong. You know where he went. You know with whom he studied. This is what we always feared, my son. This is why I did what must be done. As beautiful as some of the things Cedric made were, his art and desires for healing were perversions of the stories of Royals. You know this.
How could someone who did what he has just done be in any way connected to the spirit of The Lost Princess? For, I know well what was said about his pictures that you once loved so much.
Yet, you?
Though me, you are a descendant of the Flower itself, Roland.
So, what more proof do you need for why I did what I did for you, Roland? Don’t you see how I was trying to protect you?
Look at what he did to his sister, what he caused to happen to your first wife, what he has done to you …
“Roland? Is everything alright? I didn’t notice you’d gotten up until now.” Miranda asks with a yawn as she places a hand on Roland’s shoulder.
Roland almost jumps as the sound of Miranda’s voice as the touch of her hand pulls him out of his thoughts.
“I made a mistake. I should have banished him, if not ensured he never harmed anyone again. Everyone has always been right about him. He can’t be trusted.” Roland replies, looking out the window stone faced.
Miranda comes to sit next to Roland in the window. Roland is puzzled by the look of concern and shock on her face.
“Look at me. This is nothing at all like what I saw in your face today. So, talk me through your choice. Where, at first, did your desire to spare him and grant him mercy come from, Roland? Maybe, if you answer that, everything will make sense once more?” Miranda suggests, turning his face towards her.
Roland leans into her hand, the voice of his father suddenly goes quiet as she cups his cheek.
Yet, he can’t shake Father’s words that have made him forget … something … something that was everything.
It’s as though something in his father’s ghostly words feels so true he can’t untangle himself from his father’s words and, as such, he has been made to forget something impossibly important.
There is something … the place where his nightmare began … what happened there … he can’t place it anymore.
Tilly desired something for them …
Then, there was something else. Something … Something happened … Something bad … Something scary happened … someone almost died …
Miranda must read something in Roland’s gaze because she changes her question.
“Why the change of heart then? Perhaps, we can work backwards from your change of heart to why you made your first choice?” She asks, taking Roland’s hands.
Roland simply squeezes Miranda’s hands tightly in his own before taking a deep breath and releasing it. He isn’t sure how to describe what happened just now and, besides that, he’s not sure he wants to get into it.
Therefore, he settles on a partial truth.
It’s a truth that’s sure to pacify Miranda until morning when they will both be better rested and can discuss things further. But, even then, it may not be the whole truth. He cannot bear to tell her that he heard his father’s voice so strongly and with such clarity that, for a moment, Roland was almost sure his father was still living. For, at this moment, it’s as though Roland now doubts everything he has ever thought.
Thus, with his mind made up, Roland squeezes Miranda’s hands tight in his own again before standing and guiding her back towards the bed, but he stops just short of it.
“It was a nightmare. Nothing more. Something I remembered in my dreams made me question if I made the right choice. But, I suppose, what’s done is done, and I shall now have to trust fate’s providence to see if I was wise in my choices or if I will, likely, be betrayed again.” Roland says, trying to keep the edge off his voice.
Miranda rests her forehead on Roland’s back, before turning her head slightly so her cheek comes to rest against him instead as she embraces him. Roland can feel her breath on his neck as she holds him softly but steadily in her arms.
“And, what does your heart tell you?” Miranda asks softly.
Roland freezes for a moment as he closes his eyes.
Something tugs at the corner of his mind, but he cannot hear it. It’s like something stops it from entering, even if he can feel the desire to know what it says gnawing at him.
But, his desire to remain in Miranda’s embrace far outweighs the call of the nagging pull at his mind.
I’m just tired. That’s all it is. Truly. I’m just tired. Roland assures himself.
Roland finds her arms around his waist and wraps his arms over hers before leaning into her embrace a little.
“That I want to believe I’ve made the right choice, but I’m afraid of my own decisions. I’m afraid of being wrong.” Roland confesses, with more honesty than he intended.
Miranda unwraps her arms from around him and comes to face him. She kisses his cheek before taking his face in her hands.
“Don’t doubt yourself. Something in your heart told you it was the right one to make. Something told you Cedric deserved another chance. Something drew you towards sparing his life and his reputation. Make good on your promises, Roland. Encourage him. Help him. Perhaps, his bitterness was born out of missing you without being able to find the words. Like a child, perhaps, a concentrated moment of negative attention was better than nothing? Perhaps, for a moment, his mind lapsed in judgement? Perhaps, we will never know.” Miranda suggests, still cupping Roland’s cheek.
Roland considers that for a moment, but the nagging feeling of his father’s voice still grips him. Something has tucked inside him so deep it's almost as though it’s trying to pull him away from something in his dream. Something important that he forgot.
“But, I know you. I know that look. It will take time to trust you made the right choice. And, I know you’re likely quite angry. I won’t say that’s the wrong feeling. Feelings aren’t. It’s how we act on them that can be.” Miranda says, gently looking him in the eyes.
Roland pulls away from her. There’s still a part of him questioning what she knows, even if, in his heart he knows she’s right.
It’s his mind that won’t stay quiet or settled. His heart is made up, but his mind is rebelling.
“I myself am … angry is definitely the wrong word to describe it … confused?, concerned? … upset? … disquieted. Disquieted, that's the word I’m looking for. And … hehe … when I first met Jade’s uncle I was also … disquieted by him too. But, that was on me. He’s just … a little touched. But, he’s a good man, with a lovely heart, who has skills that can rival Mme Colette’s. I learned shoes from my Trade’s Master. Needlework? I learned from him. Though … err … Cedric isn’t exactly the first person I’ve helped someone barter out of prison?” Miranda says, awkwardly rubbing the back of her head.
Roland raises an eyebrow at her, and Miranda simply shrugs.
“I told you, Rollie, we’re not soft in the village. Catherine’s brother is a good man, but his mind is just … a little unstable. She took care of him. He took care of her. They loved each other right up until the moment of her passing. I’ll never understand Philip the way Cat did. But, I love him, dearly.” Miranda says, and the earnestness in her voice is unmistakable.
Roland cocks his head to the side in confusion.
“Though, Philip takes a lot of looking after to stay even somewhat stable. Once a year, though it is actually becoming less frequent, Padrig and Helen have to go out to Somerset and peel him off the floor of his apartment and make sure he eats and doesn’t go to prison over something stupid, in no small part because he has breaks in his memory, and people don’t know how to, and sometimes don’t want to, help him. But, I’ve offered to look after Ruby and Jade now during those times, and we … how does Baileywick put it? … we make it work.” Miranda says with another small shrug.
Roland once again just blinks slowly at her in shock. He can’t say he had no idea that this was a part of her past because she did tell him that her bonds to Jade’s and Ruby’s families were incredibly close.
He just didn’t realize quite how close.
“So, when they come for sleepovers that usually means …” He prompts.
Miranda nods, looking at her feet, before looking back up at him.
“I try to make it fun for Jade because I think she’s is starting to figure out what they mean. A sleepover with Sofia means Phillip is sick, ‘bad sick.’ I think Mme Colette has taken a shine to her though, which is sweet, her rivalry with Philip was always a healthy one.” Miranda says, smiling tightly.
Roland worries the inside of his cheek softly with his teeth.
“Why bring this up?” He asks.
Miranda looks at Roland carefully.
“I meant what I said when I told you I thought Cedric could use more encouragement. I just don’t think it was the kind of encouragement anyone thought of when I said it at first. I’m just … I think it’s possible that maybe Cedric is … like Philip. Ruby, Jade, and Sofia all grew up knowing him and being taught to sew by him. Sofia would have … She would have known enough. Because, all Philip really needs to thrive is some looking after. A good foundation. Stability. You know? That sort of thing so that he can stay stable. With that in place? For Cedric, I mean. We all might be surprised at what he’s actually capable of.” Miranda offers.
Roland looks at Miranda carefully.
“I understand. It makes me feel … better … about what I chose to do. But … I can’t … I still can’t see him. I still don’t know how close he should be to other people on the staff lest he spread lies. Contact must be limited, on all fronts. But … But especially with me.” Roland explains, turning away from her.
Miranda puts a hand on his shoulder, and she guides him to sit next to her on their bed.
“I want to know your story. All of it. You’ve told me about the Wish you made all those years ago. But, there’s likely more to that story you haven’t told me. Perhaps, leaving distance is the right move. However, I’d ask you to consider why you’re asking everyone else to leave distance too. Is it because you’re actually afraid of what he’ll tell them and what that will do? Or, are you afraid you’ll discover this was actually just … just a lapse in judgement gone horribly, horribly wrong?” Miranda asks, tucking her cheek onto his shoulder and curling into him.
Roland pulls her in close. He sits in silence with her for a long time just listening to her breathe before deciding on his answer.
“I don’t know. I really … I don’t know.” Roland whispers.
Miranda kisses his cheek before rolling back to her side of the bed.
“I do want to know all of your story. I want to know everything. It seems, based on Cedric’s words today, at one point in time, you two were close? I’d love to know more about that. I know so much about what all you tried to repair in the wake of what disasters your father left behind. I know about Lorelei, Stars Rest Her. But, I want to know more. I will always want to know more because I chose you. I want to know you.” Miranda murmurs, as he lies down to face her.
He smiles at her as she plays with his hair. His eyes begin to close as she strokes it back with her fingers.
“Go to sleep. Things will look better in the morning. Besides, we get to have fun tomorrow. When was the last time you actually let yourself be entertained by the things we coordinate? I for one am looking forward to watching Sofia work, to seeing what she’s learned, to watching James laugh at … at whatever outcome occurs. But, they work so well together. I want to see both of them in their element. So, rest. Then, we’ll have fun.” Miranda encourages.
He can hear the smile in her voice as he drifts off.
For now, Roland finds he’s at peace. Yet, he knows he won’t be for long. This storm is far from over, and he isn’t sure what to do about it yet no matter how good he finds his wife’s advice.