~Part: 11~
The celebratory ball had ended in confusion, a weak and humiliated Marie being rushed out with Willow at her side, Garwin's litter trundling him back to the room, and every shocked guest milling about having no idea how to proceed. The ballroom slowly emptied, and a horrified hush spread over the palace.
In Garwin's chambers, he stared dully ahead while Angel looked at him in concern. Angel had taken great strides in his ability to relate to people, but he couldn't find any words of comfort, and all he could offer was his supportive presence. Both men looked up as they heard women's voices in the hall. After a moment, Thayne entered with a hesitating look on his face.
"Milord," he began, bowing ever so slightly, "Her Royal Highness is here, and so is...her lady, Marie."
Garwin's brow furrowed, but he nodded, indicating that they might enter.
Marie entered first, her head held high and her cheeks streaked with tears. Willow followed, and she shrugged helplessly at Angel's questioning look.
"I would wish to explain," Marie began in a voice tight and high with emotion.
"Pray be seated milady, Your Highness," Garwin answered, his eyes never leaving the older woman's face. She complied with a grace that seemed surprising after her rather traumatic evening.
"I was raised by a farmer," she began to explain, her eyes never meeting with those of her audience. "He was a good man, a wonderful father and he raised me without ever telling me two things that would turn out to be somewhat important. One was that I was not a peasant. I was not told that I was adopted, so I had no way of knowing that my station was a bit higher than that of the common peasant wench. The other," she continued, her voice turning hard, "was that I was pretty. I may look like any woman past the blush of her youth now-- worn out, faded. But when I was young, I now know that I was a beauty. I never understood why the village boys stared so, why women got such strange looks on their faces if I smiled at their husbands. Fortunately, my adoptive father was well-off for a farmer, and he managed to keep me from any unwelcome advances until I was sixteen years of age.
It was one day as I stood beside him in one of our wheatfields that we heard horns and horses. Recognizing the sound of Royal Trumpeters, we both bowed low as the king's convoy approached. Unfortunately, I was curious, and I allowed myself a peek as the king came abreast.
That was when he stopped.
"What is your name, lass?" he asked in an almost friendly voice. I had high minded ideas about kings and how they were supposed to 'protect' their subjects, so I replied without fear. "I am called Marie, Your Majesty," I smiled up at him.
"A lovely name for a lovely girl," he answered. I never thought twice about it, because I assumed it was the sort of politeness they indulged in at court. I didn't notice the looks exchanged between his men, the smiles that were not as kind as an innocent girl would wish them to be." She paused, looking down at her hands sitting limply in her lap. "I have learned to notice more, now." She closed her eyes for a moment, waiting for her voice to regain some of its strength.
"I cannot remember exactly how it happened, but somehow the 'generous' king had offered me the great honor of a position working in his castle. I, of course, was thrilled beyond measure. A simple country girl, leaving the farm, going to the capitol city to live amongst royalty-- it was like a dream. All of my friends were jealous.
I packed up my few belongings and a few days later, was escorted by a royal guard to the palace. It was the first time I had gone more than ten miles from the house I grew up in, and to say I was excited would be a ridiculous understatement.
I won't bore you with descriptions of my first few weeks there- they were a blur to me, and so exciting I thought I would burst. The next important part of the story happened one day as I was dusting in a room that was rarely used. I suddenly heard footsteps, and the next thing I knew, the king and his entourage had entered. When he saw me, a look of recognition crossed his face.
"Marie, isn't it?" he asked. I curtsied shyly. He stared at me for a moment, then smiled. "Forgive us for interrupting your work." I had no idea how to reply, and I began to blush in confusion when he turned and left. Later that evening, as I sat with other girls over our dinner, a page came into the staff kitchen. He asked for me, and told me to follow him. He led me to a room I had never seen before, and there was the king."
Angel winced, for although he had known where the story was headed, to actually arrive there was something else entirely. He had first lived in an age when being lovely, poor, and female was asking for abuse; and he was sorry to discover that droit du seigneur could exist in any universe where men considered women to be for their use and nothing else.
"He flattered me at first, but I was so young, and I did not know what to do or where even to look. I blushed and was silent, because I was not used to handsome words or men. I think it was then that he became impatient, for I did not turn out to be the kind of girl he had anticipated. Most women would have been honored by the idea of a liaison with a king, but I was afraid of him. I was afraid of his strong hands and his rough cheek and his dark eyes. I wished to be back in the kitchen with the soft spoken women who had never thought to explain to me what my real reason for being employed in the palace was, but he held me so tightly..." Marie's eyes were screwed shut, and her breath was coming more quickly. Willow put her hand on her arm, and Marie clutched at it like a lifeline.
"Yet he let me go that night. I ran back to my room and cried like a child, hot tears of confusion and destroyed illusions soaking my pillow. I decided to leave the next day, but in the morning it seemed like I was overreacting, and I went about my chores.
The daylight convinced me to stay, and it was in the bright light of a huge bay window that he found me that afternoon. That was the day that I discovered 'divine right' isn't always to do with statescraft.
In the weeks that followed, I didn't ever think of going home. After all, there was nothing left to save myself from. At least that's what I thought, until one of the other girls remarked that I was always getting sick before breakfast. I went to a healing woman, and she told me the one thing a woman almost always already knows.
I had no idea what was to be done. I was wondering if it was even worth telling the king, when heralds were sent around the nation to announce the anticipated birth of an heir." Marie looked at Angel, and her eyes were almost tender. "Everyone was so thrilled to discover that you were coming. I figured there was no point in telling the king. My situation was ages old, but a legitimate child is always much more exciting.
That night, tired of silently weeping into my bed, I fled to the castle chapel. It was dark in the middle of the night, but I fell on my knees and let my sobbing echo around me.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I thought it was him and I tore myself away, only to find myself looking into the eyes of the queen. "It was Aylmar that did this, wasn't it?" she asked quietly. I was so tired, and I couldn't keep myself from falling at her feet in hysterics. "Your Majesty, please, I couldn't- I couldn't- oh please, don't send me away. I have nowhere to go. I have no one to help me," I begged.
"Of course I won't send you away. It isn't your fault," she told me. I looked up into her sad and kind eyes, and I tried to let her know how sorry I was. "I don't know how to care for a child," I whispered.
"A child?" her voice was shocked, and I realized that she had imagined nothing worse than yet another affair. Her hand absently passed over her own already swollen stomach, and her chin lifted. "I have never hated the women my husband chose," she said proudly, "because most of them were well able to understand his intentions. How old are you, dear?" she asked. I told her I was sixteen and she winced. "Well, seducing wenches is one thing that I am sad to say I am used to his doing, but deflowering maidens is not and never shall be." She gently lifted me from my place on the floor, putting her arm around my shoulders.
That night, I was placed in the care of the castle nurses, and under the queen's orders, I was to be guarded day and night. She had confronted the king, and told him that as my child was his as well as the one she was carrying, he would have to live with both children. I remember being surprised by the outpouring of sympathy from women in the palace, women who saw themselves in me, women who wished they could have protected me as no one had been able to protect them, whether from the king himself or some other man. A nurse named Agatha was my most constant guardian during those months."
"Aggie," Garwin murmured, a small smile on his face.
"Yes, Aggie. I had been told that she cared for you after- well, I'm getting there. The queen gave birth four months before I did, a beautiful baby boy. The king's advisors came up with lists of valiant names, but when she came to visit me and introduce her son, she always called him 'Angel'.
The day that I reached my ninth month, I received a letter. My father was dead, but he had written me during his illness. In it, he explained that I was not his daughter. A foreign nobleman and his wife had been captured in the course of war. The lady gave birth to a daughter in the barn of a softhearted farmer who had no interest in diplomacy, and she begged him to take the young girl. They would never had been able to escape with an infant, at least not if they wanted her to live. So that girl grew up to become a maid in the castle of the greatest enemy of her true country.
I had a second cousin here. Her name was Neile, and she was-"
"My mother," Willow gasped.
"Yes, your mother, who was by then betrothed to the king. The king who was at war with the father of my child." Marie's eyes flickered towards Garwin for a moment before returning to her lap. "Angel's mother told me that I must try and find my cousin, who would surely welcome me, as she had a reputation of kindness.
Unfortunately, I, as my mother before me, could not travel with a newborn babe, yet it was necessary that I leave as soon as possible. The Queen assured me that once I had discovered whether or not I would find myself in the good graces of my cousin, she would send my son to me.
The day that I arrived at this very palace was the day that the borders were closed. For five years, it was almost certain death to try to cross them, for it was a hideous war. I had no word of my child, and I prayed for his safety every night, fearing the wrath of his father as much as anything else. Eventually, the battles became less frequent and deeper in the countryside, and I finally received word of the queen. Word of the queen and not from the queen, because she was dead.
That was the day that I knew I would never see my son again, because no one else in the kingdom had the power to get him out of the country as long as the king did not wish it. All I could do was love my redheaded niece and dream of a dark haired baby boy with green eyes that run in the family." Marie's voice cracked with exhaustion and emotion. "When the war ended and the marriage was tentatively planned, all I could think of was that I might see him again. I did not even know his name, because I had left so soon after his birth. The queen had promised to choose one for me, but I never found out what it was...
And last night, when I heard that Aylmar had beaten a friend of the prince, for a moment I wondered if it might be him, if he was here, still suffering for the foolishness of a girl who didn't know what real life was until too late-" Marie stopped talking as Garwin moved. He crawled out of his bed, and although he couldn't stand upright, he was able to make his way towards her on hands and knees, since it wasn't a very far distance. Pulling himself up into a kneeling position by the arms of Marie's chair, he slowly wound his arms around her waist and buried his face in her lap. Her hands trembling with the separation of too many years, Marie wound her fingers through his dark hair, trying to remember the feeling of holding her son.
*********
Willow and Angel made a mutual attempt to inconspicuously leave. Once they reached the hallway, they each let out a sigh of great relief. They made their way to the palace library and sat down together in front of a roaring fire.
"So," Willow began, "Does this mean we're related?"
Angel looked at her in surprise, then thought about it. "Well, Garwin and I are half brothers, and you and Garwin are...distant cousins? But you two are cousins through Marie, and he and I are brothers through my father, so I don't think so. Furthermore, are our bloodlines contingent upon this world, or the old one?"
"I don't know," Willow answered. "I just- well, in either case, I don't think we're related. Marriage to you is one thing, marriage to cousin you would be another."
"Willow? What exactly is marriage to me?"
She looked at Angel in surprise. "Well, I guess we're going to have to go through with it, unless we get home before then. Is that what you mean?"
"Not exactly. I was thinking more...are you worried about it? Dreading it?"
"Dreading it? Of course not! Granted, I wasn't expecting it, seeing as how I hadn't even declared a major yet back in Sunnydale, but no, I'm not dreading it. I mean, as far as freaky magical escapades go, this is relatively benign."
"Marrying me is benign. Okay, benign is good."
"No, I didn't mean it that way-"
Angel laughed at her embarrassed backpedaling. "Willow, for about two and a half centuries I was one of two things--a vicious monster or a guilt-plagued loner trying to repress a demon that wanted to kill everything in sight. Being called benign has been one of my many unrealized dreams."
Willow smiled, relieved. "So, how about you? What is marriage to me?"
"Well, at least I can keep my eye on you," he grinned.
"Oh, very funny." Willow's smile slowly faded. "I wonder how Marie is doing?"
"I was thinking the same thing about Garwin," Angel admitted. "He hasn't had it easy."
"Oh, but he had a friend like you, which had to have something to do with his turning out so well."
"And in return, I'm sure that you made Marie's difficulties easier to bear."
As Willow yawned slightly, Angel gracefully stood up. "You have had a long day, Princess. Shall I sort you to your chambers."
"La, milord, you are too kind," Willow replied, batting her eyelashes shamelessly. Taking Angel's arm, she giggled coquettishly.
"Should I be concerned that you're so good at that?" he asked mildly.
"Very," she replied in an ominous voice. As they reached the library doors, Angel stopped to face her. "All joking aside, Willow, I want you to know that we'll find a way to make this work. I don't know how long we'll be here, but I promise to do my best to prevent you from hating it here."
"I have no doubt that you will," she answered quietly. Together, they made their way towards the grand staircase.
~Part: 12~
When the palace awoke the next morning, Aylmar was gone.
He and his entire entourage, minus two sons, had somehow managed to slip away in the middle of the night. It had helped that they had been housed in a wing of the palace that was somewhat removed from those who might try to stop them or even alert Willow's father, but the fact that they had disappeared so quickly took the entire court by surprise.
Willow, Angel, Garwin, Marie, and Thayne all shared a stunned brunch after hearing the news. No one said much, until Willow, incapable of restraining herself for a moment longer, made a sound of exasperation in the back of her throat.
"What a...a...oh, I don't know, idiot, for want of a better word. Ugh! First he attacks Garwin, then he attacks Marie, then he leaves! How pathetic and utterly irritating! I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't speak so plainly-"
Angel silenced her by placing his hand on hers and smiling. "Willow, look around you. Do you think that anyone in this room is going to disagree with you when you call my father an idiot?"
She returned his smile with a small one of her own. "I see your point. Still, isn't ignoring huge problems and putting a brave face on things one of royalty's few strengths? He would have been leaving soon anyway."
"Less than a week, yes?" Thayne asked quietly. "The wedding is next Friday. Not a long time to wait."
"No," Willow murmured. "Not a long time." She was getting married.
To Angel.
On Friday.
Hoo, boy.
"What?" she asked Garwin, shaking herself out of her somewhat frightening thoughts.
"I said, do you think he intends to stop the marriage from occurring by his leaving?"
"I don't think so," Marie answered thoughtfully. "The one constant about Aylmar is that he will generally use the simplest means to get what he wants." Her voice was tinged with distaste and regret, but she continued. "This vanishing act would be accompanied by a demand that the wedding be halted, or something else equally ridiculous. The fact that he left with absolutely no word, to me says that he is turning his back on all of it. Angel, the marriage, his imagined hold on Garwin."
"Let's hope he's not also turning his back on the treaty," Angel added, his eyes worried.
"Indeed," a voice came from the doorway. Looking round, Willow saw her father. Thayne jumped up from his place at the table, realizing just how inappropriate it was that he should be eating with royalty. Garwin unwillingly pulled his hand out of Marie's grasp as she curtsied with her eyes fixed firmly on the floor.
The king laughed, a rich resonating laugh that extended to dark corners of the room. "You all look at me as if I would order your executions in a fit of temper. Marie, you need never fear to meet my gaze, for you are of my wife's blood, and I cherish you as my own kin." His words, though said cheerfully, did much to dispel her horror and shame left over from the night before. "Garwin, though I have not known you long, let me assure you that I am filled with joy that you know your mother at last. And you, young sir," here he turned to Thayne, whose knuckles were white with gripping his pike. "You are, I assume, invited by their highnesses to break your fast with them, and I firmly believe that friendship is sometimes more important that decorum." He clapped Thayne on the shoulder, and the soldier almost fell over, a combination of shock and the strength of the king's gesture.
"I, for one, see no reason to postpone the wedding. If it is Aylmar's wish, then all the more reason not to fulfill it, for he has made it quite plain that he is no fan of many of our decisions here. Furthermore, the entire country is waiting in anticipation for the joining of our two lands. To back out now would merely spread the seeds of doubt that are already rife in a land that has long been at war. I need not say that many of our citizens feel this union will be the end of terror, the beginning of a time when they need not fear sending their sons off to die.
Then again, there is the fact that many in this land are quite smitten with our handsome Prince Alaric." He smiled broadly, and the group laughed quietly.
"Well, if all of you agree with me, I will inform my councilmen that we shall proceed as originally planned. Forgive me for interrupting your meal." With a bow so courtly it would have flattered an emperor, he left the room.
There was a momentary pause which Angel then interrupted with a plaintive, "See, I could never do that!"
"Do what?" Willow asked with a smile.
"That whole...king...thing. He comes into a room and everyone just snaps to attention, hanging onto every well chosen word that he says. He's got such presence. He's swimming in presence."
"He's also about twice your age," Willow pointed out. With an odd look that only Angel understood, she shrugged at the recently incorrect statement. "Besides which, there have been a few instances when I've noticed people stare at you after one of your entrances, or I've noticed people hanging onto your every word. Remember the days when Cordelia didn't realize what you were?"
Angel laughed in remembrance, but Marie looked at Willow in confusion. "Is there a lady at court named Cordelia? The name is unfamiliar to me."
Willow winced, trying to backpedal. "Um, I don't think you ever met her. I'm actually quite sure you didn't. So, would it be awfully rude if Alaric and I were to take Thayne and go look at the rooms full of gifts downstairs? Would you two be alright alone together?"
Marie's eyes were enigmatic as she replied. "We'll be fine."
Willow took Angel's offered arm, and with Thayne leading the way, they left.
Silence reigned in the room before Garwin sighed, closing his tellingly green eyes. "I used to dream about you," he began. "They never told me anything about you, but I tried to figure out what you had been like. I wanted to know how tall you were, whether you were fat or skinny. I wanted to know how smooth your skin was, and I wanted to measure your fingers against my own hand as I sometimes saw Angel do with his mother.
I wanted to know what you smelled like. Even as a child, I knew that every woman has her own unique smell, and I wanted to memorize yours. I thought if they could just give me one piece of clothing that you had worn, then I would be able to learn it so well that I would be able to find you by your smell alone. I could have been a boy shaped bloodhound, sniffing out the mother I had never seen." In a convulsive gesture, his hand shot out and his finger quickly laced with hers.
"I think that most of all, I wanted to hear your voice. You didn't even have to talk to me, I just wanted to hear you speak." He stopped, shaking his head helplessly.
"What do you want me to say?" Marie asked, and he smiled slightly. "Would you like to hear about the way I fell asleep every night thinking of you and woke up every morning wondering where you were? I wanted to hear you cry and put up with your colic. I wanted to watch your first tooth come in, to watch your little bald head grow hair.
The years passed, and I knew I was missing you learning to speak and walk and even love. I knew that I was having no say in what you believed or who you trusted or what you thought of yourself. I didn't get to tell you bedtime stories. I never got to hear you snore.
You'll have to forgive me if I sometimes forget that you are grown, if I sometimes cradle you like a newborn, if I sometimes tell you how much I love you in front of other people."
"If it comes to that, I think you'll find that I can be surprisingly magnanimous." She laughed, bending forward to kiss his head for the forty-third time that day.
***********
Leaving Thayne outside, Willow gasped as she and Angel entered the room filled with gifts. "There are perks to being royalty," she finally managed.
"Yeah, but I bet there aren't any blenders," Angel replied, smiling ruefully as he picked up a jeweled scepter.
"Probably not. I don't think we'll find a fondue pot, either." Willow opened a small chest, her eyes widening at the amount of gold it contained. "Wow."
"That'll teach us not to register." He slid his arms into a heavy velvet robe.
"Of course, I don't think they have department stores here," Willow answered. "Ooh, look at this," she whispered, holding up yards and yards of the most beautiful lace she had ever seen.
He slid a huge ring on his finger as she put a medallion around her neck, the lace still wrapped around her shoulders. "Do you think we could get in trouble for touching this stuff?"
"Willow, first of all, we are the authority around here, remember? Furthermore, these are our gifts. We're allowed to touch them."
"Ours. Hmmmm."
"That was somewhat ponderous. Incredibly huge ruby for your thoughts?" he asked, holding out the fire-red precious stone the size of his fist.
"Fair trade. I was just wondering...are we who we are?"
"Once more, in English."
"Oh, you know what I meant!" she laughed. "I mean, here we are, called different names, living different lives, but even those closest to us haven't yet figured out that anything is different. It just seems unlikely that we fit in so perfectly."
"I know what you mean," Angel mused. "Still, I think we're definitely adapting, don't you? I still remember our world, with the vamps and the demons and everything else equally enjoyable. But sometimes, when I'm not paying attention, I think I can almost remember the life the other me had here. Did that make sense? Like I can feel and see memories that belong to Alaric."
"I actually understood that, oddly enough," Willow admitted. "I'd say it was just me trying to imagine what 'Princess Aurelia's' life might have been like, except that I somehow know details that I shouldn't be able to."
"Maybe it's just one of the quirks of travelling through mysterious portals."
"Undoubtedly," Willow replied with a smirk. She trailed along a huge table covered in an intricately worked silver and gold service, eventually coming to another door. "Oh, Angel, more presents! Let's look!"
He followed her as she passed through the doorway.
"I wonder what all this is- oh. Oh my," he heard her say. Coming into the room, he couldn't help but second the sentiment contained in that quiet 'oh my'.
In the very center of the room sat the largest and most elaborate bassinet that either of them had ever seen. The draping gauzy material covering it traveled up to the ceiling, where it hung like a gently swaying cloud. The rest of the room was filled with similarly themed items. There was a very impressive crib, carved out of mahogany. The bars contained images of unicorns and griffins, dwarves and elves all together in a massive forests, all the same color and smelling slightly of wax.
There was a christening outfit so lovely that it seemed a pity its wearer would never remember the occasion for which it would be worn. There were caps and tiny shoes, all elegant and perfect and made on a very tiny scale. There were toys as well, rocking horses that looked so real they might whicker and shy at any moment, dolls more beautiful than most real babies. There were bright shiny balls begging to be thrown and bounced, there were spinning tops and gliders and music boxes.
But all Willow could see was that bassinet.
"They're very...goal-oriented, here," she finally managed. Taking her by the elbow, Angel gently guided her back into the first room. She pulled off the necklace and the lace, and he silently slipped out of the ring and robe.
"I'm eighteen, Angel. I know that on their scale, I'm practically past my prime, but I'm only eighteen. Teen. I'm a teenager." He could hear a hint of panic in her quiet voice.
"I know, Willow. I sometimes forget, because you act so sure and confident and intelligent, but I do know that you are still young. I also know that you're not ready to get married, especially not to someone you know as little as me-"
"I wouldn't say I know you 'little'. All I'm saying is that I hadn't anticipated starting a family before I could legally drink back home."
"Don't worry, Willow. I keep saying that, and it doesn't stop the impending wedding, but I hope you know that however I may care about fulfilling my duties as a prince, making sure you are okay is my number one priority. You can ask anything of me, and if it's in my power, I'll do it. I swear."
She looked into his eyes, and was slightly overwhelmed by the reassurance she found there. She gave him a small smile. "And you say you don't have presence."
The door opened, and Thayne peeked in hesitantly. "Forgive me, Princess, but there is a woman here looking for you. She says it's urgent. Something about 'gown fittings'?" Willow sighed dramatically. "A princess must face certain things, and being poked full of holes by malicious pins is one of them. My prince, I shall see you later." With the majority of her apprehension left behind, she followed Thayne out the door leaving Angel in a state that couldn't be described as anything but bemused.
~Part: 13~
Well.
It was Friday.
**********
The day began with the pealing of the bells. They could be heard for miles and miles, celebrating peace and matrimony and the happiness of a well loved princess. The joyful cacophony rang through the entire palace, waking everyone to greet the marvelous dawn.
Almost everyone. A certain red headed princess hadn't slept a wink all night, her stomach tied in knots. It was ridiculous when she really thought about it. She had dreaded being married to a complete stranger, and instead, she was getting Angel. She knew Angel, she trusted Angel, and everyone was jealous of her good fortune.
Willow winced at the thought. Despite the fact that she was in an alternate reality, she still had the irrational fear that Buffy would show up and find out. It was probably just left over from her excursion into infidelity with Xander, but it didn't make the sick feeling in her chest go away.
Sitting up, she looked out her window. It was a beautiful day, and she was getting married to Angel. Throwing the blankets back, she threw on her dressing gown and walked over to the mirror. She had dark circles under her eyes and she was getting married to Angel. Running her hand through her hair, she flopped down into a chair. Her head hurt and she was getting married to Angel.
"Get a grip, Willow."
She was talking to herself and she was getting married to Angel...
*********
Angel had been in the ramparts since half an hour before dawn, watching the sun rise yet again. He wasn't sure when he would be able to see it next, since it would definitely be remarked upon if he left the honeymoon suite in the wee hours every day.
He wasn't sure what the day would hold for him and his bride. Well, other than the wedding. That part would be hard to ignore. He was more worried about the evening, worried about what he would say to her, what she would be thinking, where he was going to sleep.
It was certainly going to be a unique sort of wedding night.
*********
Willow had been hustled around the palace all day as preparations to make her the most beautiful bride in the country's history exhausted her even further. Her hair had been coifed to perfection, her skin's natural luminosity seemed to glow, her wide green eyes were expertly emphasized by an attendant who had a way with a brush and some shadow. Finally, she was dressed. And wearing that dress, she began to think that maybe getting married had some definite perks.
She would actually have been hard pressed to describe it, it was so dazzling. She could feel the incredible softness of the silk kirtle that was against her skin, but it could hardly be seen. The overdress was a phenomenal concoction of swaths of fairy-fine lace and brocade so lush it looked like it had been carved out of marble. Sewn into the gown was an impressive amount of iridescent seed pearls. The pearls, however, were overshadowed by the diamonds.
To merely cover a dress in oversized diamonds would be impressive, but ostentation of that sort would be inappropriate for a wedding. Instead, the diamonds were so small they could really only be seen by the light bouncing off of them. They were somehow woven into the cloth, and the slightest movement Willow made sent up another shower of sparkles.
A veil so light it looked more like mist than cloth was billowing out from underneath a circlet of beaten gold that almost seemed part of her shining hair. She was undeniably and completely lovely.
Turning in front of the mirror, she was almost as entranced as Angel had been the first time he saw his own reflection. It was the inexplicable stirring of her veil that gave her pause. She thought she could feel a breath of wind on her cheek, but that should be impossible as the room had no windows and the door was closed...
Willow almost fell over when she saw it. Well, more like the lack of 'it' or anything, because the wall was gone. In it's place was the same nothingness that had sucked her in all those weeks ago as she tried to help Angel on his mission.
She almost dove headfirst into it, thinking of home and habits and the familiarity of her old life, when another thought stopped her.
Angel.
On one hand, he loved the new world and would probably be quite content to spend the rest of his days there. But she didn't have it in her to just leave him alone. To leave would be a mutual decision, as would staying. She had to find him.
**********
Marie looked up in surprise as Willow burst out of her dressing room. "Marie-" she began breathlessly.
"Oh, Willow, Your Highness, never has a girl been lovelier."
"Marie, you have to listen to me now. You have to go get Angel."
"What?"
"Prince Alaric, whatever, His Royal Highness, my fiance, my betrothed, my intended, that tall dark haired guy with brown eyes and sometimes a crown, I need you to find him and bring him here." There was panic in her voice. Out of the corner of her eye, she could still see the portal. Was it just her imagination, or had it gotten smaller?
"Don't be ridiculous, dearest. You can't see him before the wedding."
"Marie, please!" There were tears now, threatening to make desperate tracks on her carefully tended face.
"Willow, what's gotten into you? Besides, I couldn't bring him here even if I thought there was any reason to. He's busy getting ready to get married, just like you-"
"Marie," Willow interrupted, grabbing the older woman's arm. "I can't explain, you wouldn't believe me if I tried to, but you must find a way. There has to be a way. I need him here, now." It was definitely shrinking as the seconds ticked past.
"You'll have him for the rest of your life, dear. Now let go of my arm. You're squeezing a bit tight. I could maybe take a message for someone to give to him, if that would help. What do you want to tell him- Willow, what's wrong?"
Willow sank to the ground, her dress of diamond billowing out around her. The portal was only a handsbreadth now, and she watched in despair as it winked out of existence all together. A hoarse sob ripped from her throat.
Her way back home was gone.
And she was getting married to Angel.
********
Angel had to squint as Willow came up the aisle, and he smiled at the gasps of delight from the guests. He held out his arm for her to take, and it was the trembling of her white hand that first told him something was wrong.
Looking at her face, he swore to himself, because she looked to be on the verge of tears.
'Well, big surprise there, Angel,' he thought angrily. 'You think an eighteen year old girl likes the idea of giving up the rest of her life and most of her freedom for the privilege of being your wife?' He sighed, knowing he couldn't have done anything to prevent it, wishing that he could have.
Willow barely heard the priest, and she didn't notice the worried glances Angel kept throwing in her direction. There were phrases floating about, words of commitment and forever and love. She remembered to say "I do", but her fingers were ice cold as she and her husband exchanged rings. He pulled the veil away from her face, stroking her cheek gently, trying to silently ask what was wrong. She apologized with her eyes, and he leaned over to kiss her softly. He tasted the salt of quiet tears and hated himself for making her unhappy.
Both did their best to smile as they retraced their path between the cheering guests.
***********
Angel thanked his occasionally operative good fortune when he and Willow actually had a moment alone together after leaving the sanctuary.
"Willow, I'm so sorry. I guess I had underestimated how much you didn't want to reach this point-"
She cut him off by bursting into tears. "No, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, it's just that it came and they wouldn't get you and I meant to be happy today and I'm so so so sorry..." she lost the ability to speak as she gasped for air, Angel all the while rubbing her back to help her calm down.
"What came?" he asked as she finally regained some small amount of composure.
"I was looking in the mirror, and I was liking the dress and the veil and thinking that maybe it would turn out to be a pretty great day after all, and then I felt this breeze, and in the room, on the wall, it was there. It was just like the first time, all swirly yet empty and black and nothingness and it was on the wall but I couldn't go without you and they told me that you couldn't come. I could see it shrinking and then it disappeared and it was time to get married and I ruined our wedding because I was so upset and I'm sorry, because I feel selfish but it was our chance and I couldn't go alone." She took a deep breath, trying to clear away the frustration and the choking sadness. Angel just stood looking stunned.
"You mean you finally found a way back home, and you didn't take it? Why?"
"I told you. I couldn't go without you," she responded, looking slightly irritated. "You wouldn't have left without me. You don't really think I would just jump back into our own reality without a backward glance, did you?"
"No, I just-"
"I mean, do I seem like the sort of person who would just abandon a good friend to fend for himself in a strange world? That I would be so excited about going home I would forget the fact that we're here together? Well, I feel so flattered. I just got married to a man who thinks I'm a self centered fair weather friend with no thought in my head for anyone but myself. This bodes well for wedded bliss, I would say. I can see it now. "My name is Prince Alaric, meet my wife. No need to tell her who you are, she won't remember, because she's too self-involved to notice that other people exist." We'll have a great and glorious reign, King Alaric the Valiant and Queen Aurelia the Selfish. I'm so very-"
She stopped speaking as she heard Angel laugh. She glared at him, all her earlier listlessness melted away in the heat of her anger. "What are you laughing at?"
"Oh, Willow," he sighed. "I'm so relieved. I'm not used to seeing you sad. I knew the real you had to resurface soon. I'm also slightly relieved to discover that your sorrow wasn't about getting married to me."
"Stop being ridiculous. Okay, the thought of marriage itself was daunting, but you? Let's end this conversation. Can we just throw ourselves into the roles of a happily married couple?"
Her tears had mostly dried, and the only ones remaining made her eyes sparkle more than usual. Her cheeks were rosy, courtesy of her pique, and her usual expression of irrepressible optimism had resumed it's proper place. "Come, my prince, let us depart for the banquet. I feel that some refreshment is in order."
Halting her for a moment, Angel looked closely into her face. "I know how much you miss home, Willow. The fact that you stayed means a lot."
She gave him a smile. "So do you. Mean a lot, I mean."
Their first domestic quarrel ended, the newlyweds walked down the hall together.
~Part: 14~
Three weeks after the wedding, Willow and Marie were strolling through the palace gardens after luncheon. Willow spotted Angel up on the balcony of the library and waved. He waved back, and she could see him smiling.
Marie looked at her oddly for a moment, then put a hand on Willow's arm. "Dear, can I ask you question?"
"Of course," she answered blithely.
"Why haven't you and Alaric yet consummated your marriage?"
Willow's mouth opened and shut a few times, with no sound save a small squeak coming out. Her eyes were wide and more than a little panicked. "How did you-" she finally managed.
Steering the dumbfounded princess towards an ornamental bench, Marie sat down next to her and sighed. She didn't say anything, she merely looked at Willow, waiting for her to regain her composure.
"Angel told me this would happen eventually. I was just sort of hoping it would go away..."
"Willow, I thought you liked Alaric, and I was beginning to think that you maybe even loved him. So it leaves me somewhat confused as to why you should be waiting. The two of you sleep in the same bed every night, and yet...well, I'm guessing we won't see an heir anytime soon if you keep up this insistent celibacy."
Willow was thinking back to the night of their marriage, when Angel had told her that the servants would know because of certain...physical aspects that would be, well, missing. It had been an uncomfortable yet reassuring conversation, but he had warned her that it was only a temporary solution. Eventually, word would get beyond the servants quarters, and neither one of them wanted the king to give them a lecture regarding the duties of royal marriages. Still, it had been a fine arrangement as long as it had lasted...
"What are you waiting for, dear?" Marie asked gently.
"I don't know. It's just- we had only known each other three weeks ('or three years', she thought) before the wedding, and I would really like to get to know him better before we, well, consummated anything."
"At the risk of sounding crass, wouldn't that be one way to get to know him better?"
"Marie!"
"Don't look at me with that shocked expression, Willow! Part of marriage is a certain amount of intimacy. You promised that to him and to your country when you took your vows. You are supposed to become one with him, one mind, one flesh, one spirit. That is what marriage is supposed to be. I know that some young ladies might say that it forces to give you to give up some degree of freedom, but what you would get in return is so much greater."
Willow rubbed her temples slowly, having no idea what to do. Suddenly, she looked at Marie in fear. "You aren't going to tell my father, are you?"
Marie almost laughed out loud at Willow's expression of wide eyed fear. "Funny you should put it like that. When most girls ask that question, they mean the opposite. No, I'm not going to tell your father. Yet, Willow. But you can only take so long to get acclimated to marriage before the king finds out. I'd rather he never had to- I'd much rather you and Alaric figure this out before your father feels the need to get involved."
Willow's eyes were full of conflict as she leaned against her waiting woman.
"Talk to him about it," Marie suggested. "I mean, you are his beautiful, intelligent and utterly charming wife. I'm sure he wouldn't mind...anything, actually."
"Oh, Marie! For heaven's sake!" Willow rolled her eyes.
Marie laughed again, giving Willow a squeeze before making her stand up and directing her towards the library.
**********
Angel smiled as Willow came in, but he became somewhat curious as she looked around carefully before shutting and locking the door behind her.
"Secret conference?" he joked.
"You better believe it, mister. Can we sit down? We are alone here, right?"
Sitting down next to him on one of the leather sofas, she leaned in close so that she could speak in a low voice. "Marie talked to me today." With that ominous statement, she sat back, awaiting his reaction.
"Doesn't Marie talk to you everyday?" he asked.
"No, Angel! She didn't talk to me! She TALKED to me! About...things. Like sheets and observant servants and royal duties."
"Oh." He sat silent for a moment, when a look of panic crossed his face. "She isn't going to tell your father, is she?"
Willow managed to smile. "That's what I said. Then Marie pointed out that it's usually the opposite problem that leads to that question. No, she's not going to tell him, but she said yet. He's going to know eventually. The whole laundry already does, I'm sure, which means all the maids, most of the kitchen staff, and the footmen are next. Once the footmen know, the underbutlers are only a matter of time, then the valets, and once the valets get hold of gossip, well, I'm sure you can imagine how long they'll be able to keep it..."
Angel smiled at Willow's delineation of the discovery of their secret. Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment and the vigor of her thought processes. She was wearing a simple overdress of pale blue over a lavender kirtle, and the pastels of her attire merely made her hair seem to flame brighter. Every day was revealing more and more of her princess within. She spoke with perfect aplomb to everyone but him, and she was unleashing an enormous amount of grace that might have seemed too formal in their old world.
Angel loved attending royal functions with her. She would link her arm with his for the whole night, and beamed up at him as was fitting for a new bride. The whole court had applauded in delight when she had kissed him at dinner one night. When she spoke, she would touch him occasionally, soft momentary touches that made sure he was paying attention. Even when she no longer had to pretend for onlookers, she treated him like he was her closest friend and most trusted confidant. She had a wry sense of humor that he was more often privy to than anyone else, and she sometimes whispered his name when she was dreaming. He wondered again why their marriage was in name only...
No. The fact that she was so upset over Marie's finding them out was proof enough that she wasn't ready for anything else. She loved him, but she loved him as a companion and fellow adventurer, which was the same way he cared for her.
He was almost sure of it.
***********
For her part, Willow was hoping that if she just kept talking, her embarrassment over the whole situation would just fade. She really loved being friends with Angel, and all this discussion of intimacy was not conducive to a platonic relationship. He treated her like, well, a princess, but it was more than that. He had changed so much from the mysterious vampire he had once been. In all fairness, she knew part of the change was from his time in LA, but becoming human had somehow revived all the inner chivalry that he had always managed to possess.
The ladies of the court practically swooned in his presence, for all that he was lately wed. Willow was sometimes reminded of the reaction Angel had always inspired at the Bronze, if the Bronze had ever had a period dress night. Yet through all his courtesy towards every lady he met, his real concern was for Willow. He was so solicitous it sometimes made her head spin. No matter where they were, if their eyes met, he would give her a certain smile. With that smile, he told her that he was watching out for her, that he still remembered who she had been, that he was glad to be with her as she tried being someone else. That smile made her miss home less. It was the sort of smile she had always dreamed of someone reserving for her.
Of course, she was forced to remind herself, though the smile was full of love, it wasn't that kind of love. And why would she want that kind of love from him anyway?
She didn't. Of course not. Just like she didn't mind the time every night before they fell asleep, each lying in the same bed, neither daring to touch the other. She didn't mind the speed with which Angel disentangled himself the few times that their slumber had decimated the carefully kept space between them.
She didn't mind that her husband didn't kiss her in private.
Angel interrupted her increasingly disturbing thoughts. "The way I see it, Willow, there is really only one solution. You'll simply have to fall in love with me."
She looked at him in horror. She hadn't been vocalizing her thoughts, had she?
"I'm kidding, Willow," he gently prompted.
"Kidding! Well, yeah? Because of the...funny. Yes."
The excruciatingly uncomfortable moment was fortunately ended by a sharp knocking on the door. Angel excused himself and opened it to find a frightened looking page. "His Majesty requests your presence, Your Highness. In the War Room."
"The War Room?" Angel shot Willow a troubled look over his shoulder, then turned back to the page. "Do you know wherefore?"
"A messenger arrived today on horseback, his steed almost running dead from his haste. It is supposed he carried a message of grave import, Your Highness, for the king called for his councilors upon speaking with the man."
"I will come presently." Angel shut the door again, turning back to Willow. "This sounds bad."
She nodded. "You'll tell me about it tonight, won't you?"
"Of course. I should go. I'll see you later. Try not to worry too much, okay?" In an action so swift it seemed completely natural, he placed a quick kiss on her lips as he headed for the door. His footsteps slowed as he realized what he had done without thinking, but it was too late to apologize. He decided not to worry about it as he exited the library and ran down the hall.
For her part, Willow's thoughts were not too concerned with war as she sat with her fingers lightly brushing her lips.
~Part: 15~
Angel wearily shut the door behind him as he crept into the bedroom. He was trying to be quiet so as not to wake Willow up, but the point became moot as he saw her sitting in a chair by the mostly dead fire.
Her lids were obviously heavy in her pale face, but she had not yet succumbed to sleep. Her velvet dressing gown glowed softly in the flickering light, as did her luminous eyes.
"What's happening, Angel?"
"Why aren't you in bed?" he asked.
"Is it so bad that you can't even tell me?"
He moved towards her, falling into the chair beside her own. "Well, my dear father is, as ever, his old charming self. He's been gathering forces for a few weeks now, and his liegemen are bringing their armor out yet again. The messenger that arrived today barely made it out of the country alive."
"Has the king declared war?"
"No, that would be too obvious. He's getting ready, and while there is always the chance he plans on attacking another country, I needn't mention that no one thought that was much of a possibility. None of the other countries on his borders would ever resemble anything like a threat." He rubbed his head violently.
"So what are we going to do?" Willow's voice was almost a whisper.
"Well, we're going to get ready ourselves. We're going to hope it has nothing to do with us and prepare the country for war with my father..." with a sudden movement, he stood and hurled a tiny table that had been next to his chair across the room. It landed in a sadly splintered heap by one of the closets, and Angel could almost hear Willow trembling as he braced himself against the fireplace mantle. The room was silent but for the crackling of the logs, and he struggled to regain control.
"I'm sorry," he said finally.
Willow looked at the back of his head. She had rarely seen him so angry.
"This was what I was supposed to prevent. My whole point for being here was prevention of another war. Your people loved me as much for the peace that I represented as for anything else. And now? Now mothers have to send their sons off to war again. Wives will lose their husbands, children will lose their fathers, all because one father in particular has no sense of honor." His fists clenched again.
"You don't really think that, do you?" she asked after a moment.
"That my father has no honor? I certainly do."
"No, that's not what I meant. You don't really think that the people of this country only love you for the treaty?"
He shrugged noncommittally. She stood and walked up behind his tense back.
"People don't love you for anything, Angel. They love you. They think you're the greatest thing since...well, me."
He chuckled quietly, and considering it a success, she went on. "They love you because you are the opposite of everything they ever imagined you to be. They love you certainly because you are handsome and charming, but also because you are kind and polite. They love you because you love me and my family, and they love you because they can tell you have a good heart. They love you for your love of Garwin, they love you because you are nothing at all like your father. They may fear and hate him, but you are his antithesis, and they adore you for becoming such a wonderful man in spite of his parentage. Furthermore, I am their princess, and they love you because...I love you."
He turned to face her then, but backlit by the fire, she couldn't read his expression.
"You really think everyone knows how we love each other?"
'Do we know how we love each other?' Willow thought. But she couldn't find any words to return to him.
"Do you really think they aren't all resenting me right now?"
"I think the aftereffects of a soul tortured for a century are affecting your judgement. My father has accepted you as a son, and most of the people who you think are judging you have already forgotten that you were any relation to Aylmar. All that they know is that they trust you."
"Trust me?" he muttered.
"Completely. Like I do." She dropped her eyes, but looked up sharply as Angel seized her by the shoulders.
"Why do you trust me?"
"Why do I have any reason not to?"
They were locked in time for a moment, the embers of the fire washing them both in a dull red. His hands instinctively clutched at her shoulders, and neither seemed capable of releasing the others' gaze. Whether it was the stress of a long and disturbing day or something less easily defined, they seemed to think they would be able to find the answer if they stared at one another long enough.
It was the sound of a servant walking briskly down the hall that ended the moment. Angel released Willow's shoulders as if he was in a daze, while she pulled her dressing gown tighter around her.
"Well, I'm tired," she said finally. Moving blindly towards the bed, she crawled under the covers, willing her heart to stop beating so fast, trying to convince herself that only the threat of imminent war was capable of causing her such distress. Her husband, meanwhile, dressed for bed, damping the fire and blowing out candles. He laid down beside her with a sigh.
"I had forgotten how tired humans get," he remarked.
"Right."
"Well, goodnight-"
"Angel?" She cursed herself for a weakling, but she was beyond the place where she might have cared how embarrassed she might be in the morning.
"Yes?" he answered. She blamed her fatigue for the fact that she thought his voice sounded hopeful.
"If you wouldn't mind, could you maybe, um, hold me? It's just been a pretty unpleasant day, and I wouldn't even ask, except that I-"
She stopped talking as his arm slid around her waist. Forgetting about consequences and repercussions and embarrassed pauses, she nestled closer and closed her eyes. The feeling of his gentle kiss in her hair was the last thing she was aware of before she fell asleep.
********
There are some dreams that are so unutterably lovely, it seems like a crime to abandon them for real life. Willow was having one, and she was near frantic not to wake up. Nothing extraordinary was going on in the dream. In fact, anyone else would have thought it dull. She and Angel were sitting together in front of a cheerful fire, neither one saying anything. She was dimly aware of Garwin dancing in the periphery of her vision, and she was almost certain she saw Giles playing chess with Marie. Yet none of it interested her, and she was content to just lean against Angel's velvet-clad side.
He kissed the top of her head and she smiled. Then he kissed her cheek and she held her breath. Then he kissed her jaw, and only the small detail that they were married (even in her dreamscape) kept her from being frozen in guilt. Dream Willow could have pulled away, but just like her dreaming counterpart, it had been too long and she had thought about it too much to not be a little more willing than might be expected when he tilted her chin and kissed her tingling mouth.
**********
Angel was fighting his father in his dream. He slashed and stabbed with his sword, the king constantly losing ground. Then the sun rose in all its fiery glory and Aylmar exploded into dust, his sword falling uselessly onto the blood-stained battlefield.
Angel stood proud, knowing that the sun was some sort of metaphor and had not in anyway robbed him of his inevitable victory, actually feeling regal as his troops cheered behind him and the opposing army surrendered. Then a white horse galloped up to his side and he saw that Willow had somehow materialized on the front lines. She dismounted gracefully, running up to his side.
"Oh, Angel! You did it!" she gazed up adoringly into his face. Ostensibly, it was the typical sort of manly dream that gets made into foolish books and worse movies, where the hero conquers all available evil and gets the beautiful girl. Yet, even in his dream, even though he could see that his army was celebrating success by playing tag and occasionally tripping over the bodies of their dead foes, the only thing he could see was Willow. And for all the overly typical parts of his dream, the real hero was her.
And she touched his bruised cheek and avoided his wounded side and he carefully gathered her in his arms, making sure she would not be crushed by his armor, and kissing her almost made the war worthwhile.
*********
Sometimes parts of the real world get incorporated into dreams. The sounds of alarm clocks and talking people, instead of waking up the dreamer, merely involve themselves into the random storylines created by the subconscious. So, it can't be said that this instance was too much different...
Everyone has resided between dreams and reality, and most often they want to stay in the dream, unless the reality they are slowly waking to is more interesting. And here appears the curious dilemma of the morning. How could Willow be expected to choose between the dream Angel's kiss and the lips of her suddenly real husband? On the one hand, her dream could not compare with the genuine article. On the other, she didn't have to worry about what to say to dream Angel later, once she was fully awake.
Opting for indecision, Willow ignored both options. Believing herself capable of blaming it on sleep, she found herself awake, wrapped in her husband's arms, and being kissed with a fervor that one would not expect from sleepers.
Furthermore, since they agreed about so many things while conscious, it seems logical that Angel had chosen the same path. An irritating part of his brain insisted that he was extremely awake, that no dream could contain so much tactile delight. Yet he had no inclination to stop and apologize, and if all had been done in sleep, there could be no question of fault. To finally feel her kissing him back was the sort of gift he was very well able to accept from his dreams.
***********
Willow and Angel had already experienced the intrusions of servants on their personal lives, and that interesting morning was to be no different. For as it became increasingly obvious (and simultaneously denied) that neither was asleep, a maidservant-in-training in the hallway dropped a tray stacked high, and the resulting crash and shatter caused both prince and princess to jump in surprise.
'Good morning' seemed inappropriate.
Sleep was long lost, but coherent thought was not long functioning, and it took a moment for their situation to register. It took a moment to notice their entwined legs, their lack of breath. It took a moment to notice Angel's hand gripping the small of Willow's back, her hand entwined in his hair and her other hand clutching tightly at his nightshirt. (While it is true that only one of Angel's hands has been accounted for, neither participant permitted themselves to admit that it was resting where it was, so perhaps it was never there to begin with, and need not be mentioned.)
"Oh," Willow said.
"Um," Angel replied.
In a flurry of sheets and blushes, husband and wife escaped from their bridal bed.
~Part: 16~
Garwin looked on in half amusement, half confusion as Willow and Angel continued their carefully choreographed dance of avoidance. They not only managed to escape any and all physical interaction, but there was absolutely no eye contact. What Garwin found truly amazing, however, was the fact that they were so obvious in doing so. He was sure that he was not the only person noticing their odd behavior. He was sure that most people would chalk it up to the stress of impending war, but he knew the news of Aylmar's betrayal could never have this sort of effect on them.
He smiled as his mother sat down beside him and took his hand. He looked twice, however, at the expression on her face.
"From whence comes this bemused smile?" he asked.
"I have no doubt but that you have noticed the strange behavior of our prince and princess?"
"Indeed. I think most of the court has. But from your knowing smile, should I assume you have an idea?"
"I believe I do."
"Have they finally consummated their marriage?" he asked quietly.
"Why, my son! How did you know about their...hesitancy?" she asked with genuine surprise.
"Fear not, Alaric did not tell me. Yet I am perceptive enough, and I have had my suspicions that their bridal bed has remained pure."
"Well, unfortunately, both for their mutual felicity in marriage and for the kingdom's hopes for an heir, you are right. But I do not think they have amended that lack, exactly. Instead..." she stopped thoughtfully.
"Confide in me, mother. I will keep your counsel faithfully."
"I do not know to what extent, but I believe they have experienced at least some small amount of new intimacy. New lovers are never this uncomfortable around one another. No, I think they are both struggling from the discovery of something else entirely."
"Love?" he asked.
"Desire," she intoned, winking playfully at her son when he laughed in surprise.
************
Willow was going to die.
She could feel the curious stares of the court, but she could not seem to do anything to stop the waves of embarrassment that were emanating from her body. Sitting next to her husband, all she could think about was the feelings that had been coursing through her that morning when she had awoken to find herself in his arms. She could not help but remember his arms wrapped so tightly around her, the heat from their combined bodies, the feeling of his lips, the taste of his mouth...
Yes, she was going to die. She was going to wither and perish solely from the torture of extreme embarrassment. She tried to concentrate on her meal, but thinking about food took her mind to naughty places. Food was bad.
She wanted to run out, to escape his presence, to stop thinking about the feeling of being pressed up against him. She wanted to stop wanting him.
She wanted to die. Anything but have to sleep next to him that night.
***********
Angel was about to use his fork to poke out his eyes, in the hope that the horrible pain might distract him from the small woman sitting next to him. Of course, he knew it probably wouldn't work, and if it couldn't even do that, there was no point in making himself blind.
He was supposed to be her friend and protector. He was supposed to be the one person she could trust. He was NOT supposed to take advantage of her in her sleep.
There was a subversive yet logical voice in his head, pointing out that they were, in fact, married. It also made the observation that Willow had been no more asleep than he had been that morning, and that she could have easily stopped him, that if she had really objected to the feeling of his lips on hers, she could have pushed him away.
Angel wished that voice would shut up.
He needed to concentrate on his duties as a prince (providing an heir, the voice said. Shut up, Angel replied), he needed to think about the war, about how he could prevent his father from destroying everyone he cared about (especially his extremely lovely, extremely soft wife, the voice said. Shut UP, Angel replied.).
Above all else, he needed to fight the urge to sweep her into his arms and take her back to their bedchamber, where he would finish what their respective subconsciouses had already begun.
He needed to put down his fork.
*************
Garwin had sent Thayne away for a few hours, while he and Marie spent some time together. Wandering into the stables, Thayne stopped suddenly when he heard a low voice speaking nearby. Turning around, he looked for the person whose voice he was hearing, but there was no one in sight. A horse whickered and the voice laughed in response. The laugh was louder than the words had been, and Thayne followed the sound.
He found a man sitting next to a horse a few stalls down. The horse was in poor shape, for it was not even standing, but had lay down in the bed of straw. The man looked up apprehensively, but Thayne smiled amiably to put him at ease.
"Forgive my intrusion," Thayne apologized. "I heard a voice, and followed it to...you."
"Not at all. I was just having a conversation with Evadne here."
"Is she going to be alright?" Thayne asked, coming over to pat her hindquarters.
"I hope so," the man replied. "My name is Stephan, by the way."
"What happened?"
"We rode hard all the way from the border."
"Oh! Then you're the one who brought the message about Aylmar's preparations for war."
"Yes. Evadne did all the work, though." His eyes were shadowed as he ran his hand up her graceful nose.
"Good work it was," Thayne remarked.
"It's worse than ever," Stephan said, his face worried. "The country has been at war for so long, but it's different this time. This isn't going to be about victory-- this is going to be about inflicting as much pain as possible. This is going to be intimately horrible."
Evadne nudged his still hand worriedly.
"The prince doesn't deserve this. Neither does Garwin," Thayne said sadly.
"You speak as if you know them."
"I am Garwin's personal guard, appointed by the princess," Thayne explained, his grey eyes miraculously empty of any and all pride. He said it merely as a statement of fact.
"That's quite an honor," Stephan remarked with a little awe for the unassuming man kneeling next to him in the straw, but Thayne just shrugged.
"I wish we could avoid this war. I don't want to see more people die." Thayne dropped all pretense of being any sort of soldier, and he looked exactly like the frightened young man he was.
Evadne looked at them, and each of the two humans fell silent. Her still belabored breathing was the only sound in the stall.
************
Willow glowered at the leaves falling all around her. She and Angel had arrived in late summer, and fall was coming quickly. The air was already becoming chilly, and soon it would be winter...
"Of all the ridiculous times to start a war!" she muttered into her fur lined cloak. War was always atrocious, but it was even worse in winter. It meant even more unnecessary deaths.
Thinking about death and mayhem was the most effective way to keep herself from thinking about Angel. She had used the same method when she found Xander kissing Cordelia, blocking out the confusion and overwhelming emotion with a focused view of the impending disaster.
Of course, now, just as then, it couldn't work completely. She did her best to keep her mind focused, but nothing seemed to work for very long, and memories of the morning would come scampering back. Abandoning all pretenses of princesshood, she began kicking the leaves covering the ground with a brutality she had used only when fighting demons in the past. After a few minutes, there were leaves in her face, on her cloak and floating in the air, and she herself was flushed from the exertion. Much as she had been flushed that morning...
"Aaaaaahhh!" she screamed. "Shut up, brain!"
"Direct approach," a voice came from behind her. "Does it work?"
Willow whirled around to find Marie smiling. "Not one word," she threatened through clenched teeth.
"I didn't say anything," Marie pointed out innocently. "Come along, walk with me and I shall distract you from your incalcitrant brain with the inane chatter that comes so easily to a lady-in-waiting like myself."
With a sigh of relief, Willow took her arm, and the two women walked away together.
***********
Of course, Marie could only distract Willow for so long. Willow was forced to endure yet another wretched meal with her silent husband beside her, but she wished it could have lasted forever. She knew that however uncomfortable she and Angel were as they picked at the food on their plates, it would not be able to compare to what they would be suffering in a few hours. They would be sharing the same bed yet again.
Willow cursed her unruly subconscious. She had learned to control herself, to create a persona she felt she could present to the world, but there was nothing she could do when her own dreams were betraying her. She could smile at Angel like she cared for him in a friendly way, she could take his arm with a casual grace that belied no sort of further emotion, but there was no way the morning's performance could be regarded as platonic.
The worst part of her situation was that there was no way to guard herself against similar gaffes in the future. She wasn't a very light sleeper, and if her body was enjoying itself-
Stifling a groan, Willow tried to think about something else, all the while knowing that bedtime was dangerously close.
*************
Angel felt that he should say something. He felt that he should break this heavy silence, try to penetrate the deadly tension that seemed to cover their bedroom.
Say something. He knew there were words available for use, he just had to figure out what they were. He had to find something benign and comforting, something that could sound apologetic but not regretful. He needed words with no sexual implications, words that would put her at ease but not make her feel vulnerable. Oh, and perhaps some words with just the slightest touch of tastefully heartwarming humor. He needed words that wouldn't make him cringe immediately after he said them, words that wouldn't embarrass her either.
He needed to say something before she fell asleep.
"Goodnight, Angel," her soft voice said suddenly, as she rolled onto her side, her back facing him. She was as far to her side of the bed as she could be without falling off.
"Goodnight, Willow," he replied. They were not, perhaps, the words he had been looking for, but they would do until the morning.
**************
Their dreams that night were oddly vague and unimpressive. They were so dull, in fact, that neither would be likely to remember them the next morning.
As Willow woke up, her first cognizant thought was to check and make sure her lips were having nothing to do with Angel's. They were not, and she deemed it safe to completely rouse herself from sleep. It was in doing so that she realized she really did not want to, owing to the comfort of her position.
In Angel's arms.
Now, although she froze at the thought at first, it was quite different than the previous dawn. There was no intertwining, no movement. She was cradled in his arms as if he could protect her from anything, at least during sleep. It was, all in all, not a bad place to be.
Deciding herself to be in no immediate need to vacate the bed, she closed her eyes again. She felt Angel shift, and, knowing he would wake in a moment, wondered what his reaction would be. She felt his arms tense as he realized situation, but he relaxed as quickly as she had. Neither moved, and for a short time, there was no need to explain, no need to wonder or surmise what had happened.
Opening her eyes once more, Willow looked up at Angel.
"Good morning."
His smile, though sluggish with sleep, made the warmth of his embrace complete.
"Good morning, Princess."
~Part: 17~
Angel burst into the room where Willow was reading, his cheeks flushed and a wide grin on his face. "Willow! You have to come see this."
"See what?" she asked with a bemused smile.
"Just come outside. Look, I even have your cloak. Come on!"
Allowing him to bundle her up in the thick velvet garment, she could hardly keep up as he practically ran to the doors leading to the palace gardens. Pausing before the large doors he gave her a mysterious smile. "Are you ready?" he asked ominously.
"I suppose I'll have to be," she replied.
Throwing open the doors, he pulled her out amongst the frost covered flower beds. "Watch," he whispered. Then...
"What?" Willow asked as he looked at her expectantly. She hadn't seen anything to occasion remark.
"Look! I'm breathing!" he cried.
"Angel, you've been breathing since we got here," she pointed out.
"Yes, but now you can see it!" he laughed. Willow finally saw what he meant, as his breath fogged in the crisp morning air. She couldn't help but giggle as her husband, prince, and future king remained enraptured by the visual manifestation of his breath.
Actually, Willow herself was not overly used to it. After all, Sunnydale winters were not known for their freezing temperatures, save the miraculous snowfall the year before. It wasn't long before Willow and Angel were both trying to make rings out of their crystallized breath, and practically hyperventilating in the excitement of it all. They both fell onto an ornamental bench, feeling refreshed, both from the chill in the air as well as the unmitigated silliness of their games.
"I love how it swirls around," Angel said, puffing out once more to prove his point.
"I like the way it gets tossed around by the breeze," Willow added.
"Hey! Would your breath do the same thing to my breath as the wind?" he asked.
"Let's see," she replied. He gently exhaled, and Willow leaned forward to breathe upon the dissipating cloud. They each watched the fine mists swirl and dissipate, only to find their mouths excessively close once the experiment had evaporated. There was yet another moment of awkwardness. Such instances had lessened in the weeks since their dream induced intimacy, but still cropped up now and again.
Yet, something had changed, Willow realized. There was a new sort of confusion, not the fear of getting caught, and not just embarrassment...
"Oh," she said suddenly, falling off the bench.
"Are you alright?" Angel asked with concern as he helped her up.
"Fine, fine, just a little cold. I'm just going to go back to the library, warm up, I'll see you later." she walked away quickly, her cheeks rosy, but no longer from the cold. She was determined not to think about it, but all her determination was for naught as her incalcitrant mind kept turning over her fresh realization. Her almost-kisses with Angel were becoming increasingly difficult to deal with not because they made her uncomfortable.
Rather, she had started wishing they would actually come to pass.
***********
If Willow's subconscious was anything to go by, then she had been waiting for Angel to kiss her long before the morning's small epiphany. But the fact that her waking mind was finally catching up disturbed her in a way she couldn't even define.
She focused again on the book, but her mind was thinking only of how warm his lips would have been in the cold air...
"Bad! Bad wrong bad bad bad bad." Willow's self-scoldings had been with her for many years, but she cut herself off suddenly. "Bad?" she said to the empty room, her brow furrowed in thought. She looked at the ring on her finger.
Shutting her book, she began to pace around the library, occasionally clutching at her head as she was overtaken by somewhat...revolutionary thought processes. She was still there several hours later when the sun went down. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her back and marched out of the room with undeniable purpose.
************
Angel was tired. He had ridden out into the town in the hopes of taking his mind off his rather peculiar home life, but it hadn't worked. He seemed to choose the one day when all the young lovers in the country had convened in the capitol city to make him feel wretched. There were pretty wenches flirting with their admirers, some bold young men even stealing kisses. One couple had been so amorous, they hadn't even noticed their prince riding by. A tradesman and his glowing, pregnant wife had bowed as Angel rode past, and he couldn't help but notice how happy the young settled couple had looked.
To make it worse, the town had been absolutely crawling with redheads.
In a modest church on the outskirts of the town, he had seen a wedding procession, the bride positively sparkling with love for her proud husband. She did not cry tears of sadness on her wedding day, Angel thought disloyally, though he scolded himself for the unworthy notion in the next minute.
Eventually, the prosperity and goodwill of his nation proved too much for his gloomy disposition, and he headed back to the palace and his oddly platonic marriage. Having retreated to his bedchamber, he sat in front of a dying fire, wondering why they had been dragged through the portal in the first place.
He looked up as Willow entered the room.
She was as jumpy as a cat, her eyes wide and her movements oddly jerky. She kept twisting her hands together, and her whole demeanor was one of concentrated nerves. Yet she came toward him purposely, with a determination that was only slightly lessened by her palpable fear.
"Angel," she began, her voice unnaturally high and tight. "Hi."
She stopped then, and seemed to be waiting for permission to continue.
"Um, hi," he answered.
"I've been thinking. A lot. About, well, stuff, like who I am. And stuff."
"Right," Angel replied.
"I started wrong...Okay. We are not in Sunnydale anymore. Well, you've been out of Sunnydale longer than I have, but what I mean is that I'm not in Sunnydale and you aren't in LA and this world is completely different. Because, you know, of the whole alternate dimension thing. And we both had...roles, before. And duties, and loyalties. But we aren't there anymore, so I was sort of thinking that our duties in this world are more- wait, that sounds stupid."
Angel looked at her in disbelief. Could she possibly be saying what he thought she was saying, or was he just hearing what he wanted to hear? She wouldn't meet his eyes, so it made it more difficult to tell.
"Ummm," she continued. "Well, we've been here for quite some time now. And, you know, I always cared about you. Because, well, you saved my life all the time and that was really great, but also because you were...you. I mean, I guess I always trusted you, except when you were evil, but I liked you a lot. Because you are likeable. And I did. Like you. Um, but, you know, now we're here together. And sometimes I think that it was a mistake that I came with you, because it didn't seem to make much sense. But I am here, with you, and during the time that we've been here, our relationship has...changed. No, that isn't what I meant. Well, I mean to say, that we've, um, gotten to know one another much better. And, also, see each other in different circumstances. Because, before, whenever we ran into each other, it was to fight evil or because you had something cryptic to- never mind. We saw each other in specific places and situations. But here, it's very different.
'This world is sort of, well, classier. You know? I can't honestly say that I don't like being a princess and having people adore me on principle. But that isn't the topic. Well, you know, as a prince and my husband besides, you have to treat me in a certain way. And I guess I sort of like it. Because having a handsome man smile at me like I'm all he sees and escort me about with my hand on his arm and do all the chivalrous things you do is...nice. But people like your father remind me that you, as in you, Angel, are the gentleman. It isn't your upbringing and it has nothing to do with the portal travelling. It's you. And...wait, I lost the topic." She paused, looking confused.
"Willow-" he began, but her eyes brightened and she held up a finger.
"No, I remember. Okay. Well, I mentioned all my thoughts about who I was. Because Willow Rosenberg, UC Sunnydale student and best friend of Buffy Summers, was in love with Oz. Still is, in many ways, even though he left. And then there's Angel, Angelus, vampire and former resident of hell, who loves aforementioned Buffy Summers.
'But Princess Aurelia never technically knew any of those people. Neither did Prince Alaric. And, as a married couple, since we are they, I just find myself wondering if, maybe, we wouldn't be completely right in abiding by the rules of their marriage by-"
She stopped, and Angel almost sighed out loud. She had almost said it, and he was really, really hoping she would say it.
"That makes it sound like a moral obligation, and that isn't what I mean to say," she corrected herself. In her nervousness, she began walking in small circles, still refusing to look at him. "I don't want to say this and have you be disgusted with me, Angel. I just hate living like this. Seeing you every day, sharing a bed with you, wishing it wasn't just an act. I'm only human, and you've been so wonderful, and I'm tired of feeling guilty when I find myself..." her words faltered then, and she sat on the back of the sofa, her back facing Angel. Her shoulders were stooped with the difficulty of the words she had been trying to say.
"Why do you feel guilty?" he asked then, his voice quiet.
"Well, I started wondering that myself! I mean, from the looks of it, we aren't going home anytime soon. We're married, after all. Different names used, us nonetheless. And Oz left me, and Buffy's trying to move on with her life without you, and yet I feel like-"
He came around in front of her then, and put his finger under her chin to make her look at him. "Like what?" he whispered.
"Like they would be, maybe, scandalized, if they knew." Her breath was getting caught in her throat as he looked at her so closely, the dark red embers of the fire glowing in his dark eyes.
"If they knew what? That we're lost? That we're married?"
"No," she shook her head. "That-"
"That I might be falling in love with you?"
She was holding her breath, that he could tell in the silence of the room.
"You can't blame me," he smiled. "Every day, I'm amazed yet again by your strength and grace. Some people would have broken under half so much pressure, but you not only keep going, you're determined to be cheerful about it. That takes a lot, but you keep managing."
"And you tend to be attracted to strong women," she pointed out with a half smile.
"True. Furthermore, I haven't even mentioned your incredible beauty. I just didn't want to say anything because I didn't want to impose. Also I'm a coward."
"Didn't want to take advantage?" she guessed.
"That too."
"Well," her eyes looked searchingly into his own, "take all the advantage you want."
It was his turn to catch his breath, but her eyes were truthful, with just a hint of shame at her own brazenness. Determined not to let her take back her offer or her admittances, he took her at her word.
With a swiftness stemming from the long denial of his desire, he leaned over and pressed his lips to her upturned mouth.
*****
Marie entered the royal bedchamber quietly, but almost tripped over her own feet at the sight within. Her dearest princess was being ruthlessly kissed by her husband as she precariously balanced on the back of a sofa. Silently backpedalling, Marie exited the room and tried to stop the wicked smile that kept surfacing on her face.
She really needed to prepare Willow for the banquet, but...
Perhaps she should just take a short walk before she returned.
*******
Willow's brain managed to reflect that it was certainly to her benefit that Angel had retained his centuries of romantic experience, right before all her cognizant thought processes shut down.
Her perch on the sofa was uncomfortable, and her head was still aching from her hours of intense thought, but she noticed nothing save the insistent pressure of her husband's gifted mouth. If this was what he could do to her with nothing more than a kiss, then why had she waited so long? The room was dark and cold, but she was burned by his every touch. She was glad her speech (if you could call such a convoluted mess of random words a 'speech') had worked. Oh yes, she was very very glad.
For his part, Angel was just as glad. He had been using quite a bit of control to keep his relationship with Willow stable, and to finally let go was turning out to be a marvelously pleasant experience. Perhaps it was the long time that had elapsed since he had kissed anyone, perhaps it was the unresolved sexual tension that had been circulating between them for weeks, perhaps it was the novelty of being human again. In any case, the mere feeling of her lips was-
There was a loud knocking at the door. He broke away from Willow with an exasperated sigh, and she leaned her face against his chest. "I'm beginning to hate servants," she muttered against the velvet. He laughed in reply, and she hopped off the sofa. She stole one last kiss, then called out, "Enter if you are able!"
"Wrong universe," he pointed out.
"Right," she smiled, her lips rosy from his attentions.
Marie came in with an odd air of excitement. "Your Highnesses, the banquet will begin soon, and neither of you is ready. Come, Princess, I will attend to you, and your husband must do what he can for himself. You are decidedly late! What were you doing?"
"Lost track of the time," Willow explained, her eyes on her husband's. He smiled at her, a sensual smile full of promises, but neither one was aware of the knowing look that crossed Marie's face.
"Of course," she replied in a neutral voice, dragging Willow away to her dressing chamber. Willow was decidedly dazed as Marie dressed and arranged her, chattering on and on about nothing at all, the whole time observing Willow's dreamy face very carefully. It was only as they were about to depart for the feast that Willow actually noticed the gown she was wearing.
"Marie!" she hissed. "I can't wear this!"
"Why not, pray? I think you look vastly fetching in it."
"Look at me!" Willow looked at the mirror hesitantly. The dress itself wasn't really problem. It was more the lack of the dress that left her so concerned. The amount of decolletage revealed by the neckline was not in her usual style, and she futilely tugged at the firm brocade.
"It's a little, low, don't you think?" she squeaked. One wrong move, and she would find herself quite exposed to the entire court.
"Don't be ridiculous. Now hurry up, dear. You are already late," Marie reprimanded her. Willow walked out the door with a somewhat defeated air, so did not see the look on her lady's face. Marie smiled at her reflection in the full length mirror.
"It will do him some good to go mad with wanting during dinner. Don't you think?" She winked at herself, and with a youthful giggle, swished out the door herself.
********
Angel strummed his fingers on his forearm impatiently as he waited for his wife. He just wanted the evening to be over, so that he could take her back upstairs and finally-
"Oh, sweet heaven," he whispered, for Willow had entered the room. He would not have been able to really describe the dress. His eyes registered neither color nor fabric, neither embroidery nor trim. All he could have said was that the dress managed to destroy all his capacity for thought at first sight.
"Angel? Angel!" he realized Willow was saying with some concern.
"Mmm?" he replied, his tongue being sluggish to form any actual words.
"Is something wrong with my dress? You keep staring. Should I change?" her question was not asked to fish for compliments, but merely out of self-conscious ignorance.
"No," he replied firmly. "You should NOT change."
The glossy look in his eyes convinced Willow that he was completely sincere, and for the first time, she began to realize why Marie had chosen that particular dress. Taking his arm with a small smile hovering around her mouth, she looked up at him through her lashes. "Shall we dine, milord?"
"Only if it won't take too long," he replied, the look in his eyes making her flush with pleasure.
They entered the main hall together.
*********
There were moments during that evening when the rest of the court might as well have been nonexistent, for all the notice the couple of honor took of them. Course after course came and went, with neither prince nor princess eating very much.
"It's about time," Garwin declared as he and his mother watched the lovestruck pair.
"You'll have nieces and nephews in no time, dear," his mother replied. "I just hope they have some time together before this ridiculous war occurs, as it no doubt shall."
She would later curse herself for her unlucky words, but had no idea of their import as she said them, and continued to chat with her son.
A few moments later, a special platter was brought to the princess. One of her other ladies-in-waiting, Gwen, conveyed the good wishes of the chef. "He prepared this dish specifically for you, Your Highness," she said as she curtsied before Willow. "He has understood that you are fond of chocolate, and has prepared this tart in the hopes that it will please your discriminating palate." The nobles politely applauded, and Willow smiled in delight.
"Thank you, Gwen. I will convey my thanks to the chef as well. Oh, but I couldn't eat another bite, not just yet. Will you taste it for me?" she begged.
"Princess, I doubt not that it is delicious, but I would not presume-"
"Oh, please. I am too full right now. You try a bit, and if it meets your approval, I will endeavor to eat some more." Willow was just remembering that Gwen had once been as important a companion as Marie to the princess, and her guilt made her hope that her mark of favor might restore some of Gwen's status. She dug her fork into the delectable looking dessert, and held it up to the lady's mouth. "Please, I would love for you to try it," she pleaded.
Gwen smiled and nodded, and everyone waited expectantly as she took the fork into her mouth. Her eyes widened at the flavor, and she nodded as she chewed.
"Good?" Willow asked.
Gwen nodded emphatically, and Willow used a fresh fork to dig out a bite for herself. She almost had it to her mouth, when Gwen's hand suddenly clamped down on her wrist. Willow looked up at her in shock.
"I think," Gwen gasped, "Your Highness should not taste it." Her lips were blue, and she began to shake. Clawing at the air, she fell backwards, her head striking the stone floor quite hard. Willow fell to her knees beside the woman, chafing her trembling hands as others gathered around.
"Poisoned, Princess," the poor woman whispered. "Please, I didn't know. I think-ah! I think the chef is innocent. I," her words were halting, and all the blood had rushed from her face. "I- I am glad you, you did not- taste it. Your kindness saved- saved your life- I-" her body convulsed then, and her hands went quite limp.
"No," Willow breathed, backing away in horror. "No!" she shrieked, clutching at her gown. Angel helped her up, but she hardly noticed as her eyes rolled in panic.
"Who would dare attempt to attack my daughters life?" the king's voice thundered across the hall. Suddenly, guards ran into the doors.
"Your Majesties," he bowed before the king, "A young woman was seen riding away from the palace. She had been engaged as an assistant in the kitchen for three weeks. She was riding towards...the border." The soldier's voice was filled with dread.
"Aylmar," the king growled. "Gentlemen, let us adjourn to the councilroom. My dear," he said in a softer voice as he turned to Willow, "I am sorry, but you it will not happen again, I swear. We will teach him that he cannot make attacks on your inviolate person and expect it to go unpunished." He whirled away, his face as hard as stone.
Angel was quite upset, not only by the attempt on Willow's life and the death of her servingwoman, but by the fact that he was forced to leave her to plan a war. She was trembling quite violently in his arms, and he could tell that her slipping self-control was really only the first stage of extreme panic.
Marie appeared, her face much older than it had been earlier, and she took Willow into her arms gently. "Go, my prince," she said to Angel. "Plan your war, and I will watch over your bride until you return."
He nodded gratefully, and kissing Willow's white cheek, he followed the king.
*****
As Angel entered the room, the first thing he noticed was that Marie had fallen asleep in a chair in front of the fire. She stirred as he walked over to her, and she stood up, putting a finger to her lips. "She's asleep," she whispered, gesturing to the mound of blankets Angel assumed to be his wife.
"How is she?" he asked with great concern.
The look on Marie's face did nothing to allay his fears. "I have never seen her this distressed. She is not quite herself, and though she has ample reasons to be upset, I cannot help but worry. I hate to see her so shaken."
Angel nodded. "Thank you, Marie."
"So, Your Highness, what are the king's plans?"
He shut his eyes wearily. "We are to march at daybreak."
Marie's gasped. "No! Not yet! You have only just- but it isn't my place. I am sorry, Your Highness." He looked at her curiously, but she curtsied wearily.
"You will want your rest. Goodnight, Prince Alaric." She left the room with a tired air, and Angel remembered that she had only just begun to know her son, but Garwin would be leaving the next day with the rest of them.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he crossed the room to the bed and looked down at his wife's pillow.
It was empty.
"Willow?" He threw back the blankets, but the bed was unoccupied. Suddenly panicked, he looked around the room in terror. She was nowhere to be seen.
He shivered, and as he saw that the balcony doors were slightly open, his heart seemed to stop. Throwing the doors open, he cast his glance out over the stone railing. "Willow?" he asked again. Then he saw her.
She was huddled against the wall, her thin shift no protection aginst the cold night air. Cursing under his breath, he ran over to where she had crumpled.
"Me. He wanted to kill me..." she whispered as he gathered her up in his arms. Her thin body was terribly cold, and he ripped of his doublet to wrap it around her shoulders. he carried her back inside, securing the doors on the way in. He settled her into the bed, and kicking off his boots, he climbed in next to her. Her skin was still much too cold, and he rubbed his hands up and down her shaking arms, hoping the friction would warm her.
"Are you insane?" he whispered, his voice angry and frightened. "You could have gotten frostbite, or hypothermia. You could have died."
"Dead. He wanted me dead!" she cried.
"Yes? We knew he hated us. Why are you so upset that you would let yourself almost freeze to death?"
"I've been attacked and nearly murdered by any number of monsters," she began, "but this is different. Even Faith, who at one time was on our side, was different. But Angel, that man is your father! I tried to love him, I wanted him to be happy for us. And he tried to kill me! So cruelly, such calculation. Faith was hot tempered, it reminded me how weak and utterly human she was. But him- poison! And not even himself. To send a spy... He didn't want me dead because he even hated me. He just wanted me dead to start a war. And then...Gwen..." she stopped then, squeezing her eyes together. "It's my fault."
"What? What are you talking about?" Angel asked, furious that his father had reduced her to such a state.
"I should have known something horrible would happen if I said those things to you. I should have known it was wrong-"
"Willow, something horrible happened because my father is horrible, not for any other reason. Gwen died because of my father, not because of you. Remember that."
Willow nodded dumbly, but her eyes were grateful. Some warmth was seeping back into her extremities, and her face was regaining color. "What happened at the council?" she asked.
"We're leaving tomorrow." Angel's voice was low and heavy.
Willow shook her head violently. "No! You can't! Not when I finally realized-" she paused, looking up at him. "Not when I finally realized that I love you."
"Oh, Willow," was all that Angel was able to say.
"Now you'll go to war and I won't have the time to-" he stopped her with a kiss. The tragedy of the evening seemed more and more distant as they realized that they had only one night left, one night before he disappeared. Her body was no longer cold, it was hot and throbbing, and his felt much the same way.
And his mouth, his lips, were as eloquent as any of the words he didn't have the breath to whisper. He clung to her desperately, and she would not have been able to tear herself away if her life had depended on it. She could only do her best to reciprocate each feverish embrace.
There was no thought of war or treaties that night, no thought of duty or even servants. If past loves were remembered, it was with the vague fondness of a pleasant memory, and not the shooting pain of broken hearts. Actually, the night was not for much thinking. It was far more focused on touch.
*********
"You'll be careful?" Marie asked in a small voice, stroking Garwin's hair with trembling fingers.
"Of course I will."
There were not many hours left till daybreak, but the pair had been sitting together for a long time, and neither showed any inclination to leave.
"Did you get your boots mended?"
"Yes, Mother. The cobbler repaired them." His head shifted under her hand, but he stayed where he was.
"Has your sword been sharpened?"
"Yesterday."
"Oh, Garwin?"
"Yes, Mother?"
"I love you," she whispered.
He stood up from his position at her feet and yanked her into his arms. He hugged her as tightly as possible, and felt her tears on the nape of his neck.
"Mother, I swear," he promised, "I swear I will come back alive. I will protect my prince and brother, I will fight against the army of the most despicable man on this earth, and I will come home to you. I will come home to you and we will never lack for each other ever again. Okay? I love you. I will not die just yet."
She squeezed him even tighter.
**********
Willow awoke suddenly, not really knowing why. She thought she had felt something brush against her cheek, but there was nothing there as she opened her eyes. Instead, she got an eyeful of her sleeping husband, no longer just in name, and couldn't help but smile. If only the morning could never come, she thought she could be perfectly content. To lay in their bed with his arm wrapped posessively around her waist-
There it was again. It was like a breath of air. She hated to leave the comfort of the blankets and her lover, but her perpetual curiosity caused her to disentangle herself, shrug into her dressing gown, and walk across the darkened room. Some instinct led her towards the main door leading into the hallway. Not really knowing why, she opened the door and walked out of the room.
"Oh," she sighed, because there it was. The same swirling nothingness that had started the whole adventure, the same lightless vortex that she had seen on her wedding day. Even in the darkness of the hallway, it was not difficult to see. It stood before her, unblinking and shifting. It was no dream, no part of her imagination. It merely waited, either for a traveller to use it or to open up in another dimension.
So it had arrived. Her transport home, her ticket back to the 'real' world. This world, with it's own set of rules and complications, would disappear, and she would return to the life she had been forced to leave. No more palace, no more war, no more princess.
No more Angel.
She knew they would not be able to explain, to go home and transfer their relationship, their roles. They had pre-established lives, there. Nothing she currently cared so much about had even ever existed a few months previous.
All she needed to do was go wake up Angel, bring him out into the hallway, and they would make the homeward journey. She would see her friends again, resume her life where she had left off. All she had to do was go tell Angel...
She was suddenly a blur of motion. She didn't know the rules of these portals, and from what they had seen, they were somewhat unstable. She didn't want to mess up this time. She flew back into the room, determination etched into every line of her slim body.
She locked the door.
She went back to bed, and drifted off to sleep.
~Part: 18~
"Oh, this can't be happening," Willow whispered into the crook of his neck.
"How many times have you said that in your life?" he asked, a ghost of a smile on his face.
"I mean it this time! Well, yeah, okay, I meant it all those other times too, but it doesn't make it any less valid just because it's the most recent in a string of many similar such-"
"I know," he cut her off, tightening his grip around her waist.
"I don't want to watch you go. You're the one thing that has kept me sane, made me sure that I'm not just some princess with a strange and oddly inventive form of amnesia. I don't want to watch you get on your horse and leave."
"I don't want to get on my horse and leave. I want my father to choke on his own bitterness, I want the war to be declared null and void, and I want to take you back to bed for the rest of the week."
"Why do we have to be noble?" Willow asked in an exasperated voice. "The majority of the world, this one and the old one, is filled with people who don't care about doing the right thing. Selfish people, who never need to think twice about doing what they want to do. I wish we could be them, just for a little while."
"No, you don't," Angel whispered in her ear, sending shivers down her spine.
"No, I don't," she replied. "I just want you to stay."
He kissed her then, because he knew that his words could make nothing better. He kissed her like a husband should, possessing and freeing her at the same time, making her his and something more all at once. It cannot be said that either of them had ever been brought up to think too much of marriage. His parents had fought constantly, and he had been raised to treat women as his playthings. Willow's parents had never been affectionate, with her or one another. But all at once, in the power of one farewell kiss, they each understood what matrimony really was. One mind and one flesh while remaining two vibrant individuals. One love and two promises.
"I'll store that up," he gasped as they broke apart. "I'll keep that kiss for cold and lonely nights. I'll give you that kiss every time I dream. That kiss will bring me back." He buried his face in her hair one last time, memorizing her scent and the feeling of holding her close.
He broke off suddenly, knowing that one moment more would have made him stay. He walked away as quickly as he could, every step carrying him too far. At the door he turned, gazing at her one more time.
"I love you," he promised.
"I love you too," she echoed.
And then the Prince was gone.
********
Marie had said goodbye to Garwin quickly, making sure all his needs were provided for before kissing his cheek and retreating back into the palace. As he looked at his saddlebags, however, he found a letter tucked into one of the pockets. Opening the seal, he absently stroked the horse's flank as he read his mother's delicate handwriting.
'Dear Garwin,
There have been times when I have cursed fortune and wished to die. There have been times when I hated the world for not knowing my misery.
But during those times, I did not know you. I knew you were alive, but I knew nothing about you. I called you son in a vague way, because it is hard to believe when there is no evidence.
The day I met you, my heart healed.
I am the luckiest woman alive.'
Gritting his teeth against the pricking of tears, he mounted.
"This war better not take too long," he ground out beneath his breath.
*********
Angel and Garwin rode side by side in a sort of companionable misery. Despite all their weaponry and armor, there was nothing too intimidating about their forlorn faces.
"Where's Thayne?" Garwin asked suddenly
Angel blinked once, twice, and his half brother knew his thoughts had been with a certain Princess. "I haven't seen him. He must be amongst the troops."
"Well, let's find him. It will be something to do."
Shrugging in acquiescence, Angel reined in his horse. Dispatching a few pages to see if they could speed up the search, they scanned through the multitude of soldiers, but neither could spot the fair youth.
At last, a page came running up to them. "He's marching with the foot soldiers, Your Highness."
Angel frowned. "I gave instructions that he should be given a horse. Why is he on foot?"
"Here he comes, Your Highness," the page bowed.
Thayne approached in the wake of his captain, a burly man who did not seem completely at ease with an audience with the Crown Prince.
"Thayne, there you are," Angel said calmly. "Wherefore do you march? I had made provisions for you to be on horseback."
"Yes, Your Highness, I know," Thayne replied quietly.
"If you knew of my plans for you and yet you remain with your old regiment, then the only thing I can imagine is that your good captain has insisted upon it. Is this so, Captain?" he asked coolly.
The man reddened, harrumphing uselessly. "Fact is, Your Highness, I figured there was some mistake. Thayne here has never been much of a soldier, and I didn't see as he could have deserved a horse-"
"You are mistaken, good Captain," Angel interrupted smoothly. "Thayne is the epitome of an honorable man, and I am delighted that he has chosen to remain in my army. In recognition of his loyal services to Garwin and myself, I had hoped to see him seated upon a horse. Other than your lack of faith in his talents, which I assure you is completely mistaken, have you any objections to my wish that he ride?"
"No, Highness, of course not," he answered, not daring to meet his eyes.
"Splendid," Angel smiled. "Come Thayne, Garwin and I are desirous of your company."
"Ride with you, Your Highness?" Thayne asked in surprise.
"But of course. We can't have Garwin riding without his personal guard, can we?"
The bewildered captain gaped as Thayne was led away by two of the most powerful young men in the kingdom. He heard whispers as he made his way back to his post, men wondering about the condescension of the prince, his graciousness towards one such as Thayne.
They loved the Prince.
***********
Thayne was a welcome diversion for the two men, though he was somewhat astonished by their vehement insistence that he tell them every pleasantry and tale that he had ever known. He told them of his childhood fears of cats, the time when he was thirteen that the squire's comely daughter had kissed him full on the mouth. If they were not paying complete attention, it was more to do with their own separations than with their opinion of Thayne. Ever understanding, he did not mind, and babbled on until they made camp at sunset.
Since the capital city was not far from the border, they were not a great distance from their destination, and the men were quieter than they had been as they realized their proximity to certain war. Angel, however, did not feel that he could sleep, and remained staring into the embers of the dying campfire as most of the army retired for the night.
Thayne hesitated beside him, trying to stifle a yawn. "Is there anything you require of me, Highness?"
Angel smiled at the sleepy boy. "No, I am as well as I will be. Go to bed."
"My Prince, if there is a single thing-"
"Go to bed. That's an order, a royal command even. Sleep. Dream of peaceful times and unused armies."
Still Thayne paused. "Was that last part an order as well?"
"Very funny. Just sleep."
Thayne departed at last, and a moment later, Garwin joined Angel before the fire.
"He's a good man," Garwin observed.
"He's still too young to be a man. If he survives this war, though, he'll be more than that. He'll be a great man."
Garwin tilted his head, studying the lines of Angel's profile.
"What?" Angel asked at last.
"I grew up with you. I have seen you at your worst, throwing tantrums, misbehaving and causing all the trouble that boys are expected to produce. I remember how you used to blush when your voice began changing. And now-" he stopped.
"What? I'm even more irritating?"
"No," Garwin smiled. "No, you're a prince. Not just the son of a king kind of prince. You act like a monarch already. Don't shake your head at me, you do. You command and approve with this air of authority and power that has only lately come to you. Look at all the men in this camp-- they know what you are, even if you deny it. Every part of you proclaims your birth, your lineage, and your breeding. Not from your father, but from your ancestors. I have all the respect in the world for King Padraic, but you will be the most wonderful monarch his country has ever seen."
Angel squinted at him in the soft glow of the smoking fire. "Garwin, if I can exude that sort of carriage, that sort of attitude, then I'm glad, because it will make my life easier for people to respect and follow me. But I'm not different. I promise."
"You're wrong. You're better than you've ever been. Probably something to do with escaping from the power of your father, but I think a lot more to do with your wife. In any case, it becomes you. Let's just hope it will help you win this war." Clapping Angel on the shoulder, Garwin ducked under the flap of his tent.
"Me too," Angel muttered.
***********
Willow sneezed again.
"Princess, I like not your sneezing. You sound unwell." Marie looked at her with concern.
"No, Marie, I am well," she said quietly. The scratchiness of her voice, however, belied her words.
Marie placed a cool hand on her forehead, and gasped at the temperature of Willow's white skin. "Willow, you have a fever and did not tell me!"
"Marie, I do not feel so bad-"
"Do not feel so bad! Get into your bedclothes immediately! A princess's first duty to her country is to keep herself alive and well. You are not well, and you look only half alive. Get abed, get abed! You must get well."
Willow permitted herself to be hustled into bed.
"Where have you caught this fever? Have you neglected to dress warmly in this frosty weather?" Marie asked sternly.
"Of course not! Except-"
"There must be no exceptions! The cold will harm you if you give it occasion. What have you exposed yourself to?"
"Well," Willow reluctantly explained, "Last night I sort of went out onto the balcony without dressing properly."
"What were you wearing?" Marie asked threateningly.
"My shift," Willow replied in a small voice. Marie gasped.
"My love, how could you?"
"I was upset!" Willow pleaded. "I wasn't thinking properly!"
"Oh, of course. And after finding you nearly frozen, your dear prince very capably drove all other thoughts out of your mind, I'm sure."
"Marie!" Willow exclaimed, a blush stealing across her face.
"Well, and what if he gets sick? Off he goes to battle, and he cannot afford to be ill! But sure, it is not your fault, and I am certain he will be well," she amended, seeing the stricken look on Willow's face. "The only thing you need to do is to get better. Now sleep, and when you awaken, I will bring you some warm broth." Kissing her forehead, Marie swept out the doors.
Willow found that she was quite sleepy, but she turned to look at the empty pillow beside her own. "Angel, come home," she whispered. Gathering his pillow into her arms, she inhaled deeply, loving his smell. With a piece of bedding taking the place of her husband, she drifted off to sleep.
**********
Before setting out the next morning, Padraic and Angel broke their fast together.
"I find myself quite envious of you, my boy," the king said.
"Excuse me?" Angel asked, startled.
"My people are proud that I am their monarch. But I find that they are not quite so entirely in love with me as they are with you."
"Your Majesty, I don't think that is exactly-"
"Ah ah, divine right says that I'm not mistaken." The look on Angel's face made him laugh, his baritone echoing out through the camp. "I'm jesting, but I do not jest about what I said before. I think it's wonderful that they love you so much. Almost as much as my daughter, in fact. What ho there, steward!" Nodding to his son-in-law, the king strode away.
"Told you so." Garwin's voice came from behind Angel, making him jump.
"Don't do that!" Angel exclaimed.
"Come on, Princey boy. Get up on your horse."
Angel scowled at him. "Ooh, if you weren't my half brother..."
*************
There was no more laughter, a few hours later.
The troops had halted, and Angel looked grimly ahead. They stood facing the border, and to cross it was to begin the war proper. Many of the men who stood behind him would die within a very short amount of time. He wished with all his might that they could turn back, run back to the comfort and quiet of the palace, pretending they were good friends with Aylmar.
But Angel was well acquainted with impossible wishes, as he had made a great many in his old life. They could not, would not forgive Aylmar for his many insults, for his breaking of the treaty.
For his attempt upon Willow's life.
With the memory of her kiss lending him courage, he led his men forward.
~Part: 19~
At the sound of a woman's scream, Garwin began running.
He had been exploring an abandoned village by moonlight as the rest of the troops slept, depressing himself even further, when the sounds of a struggle reached his ears. Tearing through the silent streets, he heard a man's deep laugh, and began running even faster.
Rounding a corner, the first thing he really saw were the terrified, though still furious, eyes of a girl in the grip of a monstrous beast of a man. He had pinned her up against a wall, and she showed signs of ill usage already. Her cheek had a bruise about the size of a large hand on it, and her dress was ripped down the front. She was still struggling in his grasp, but he was tugging up her skirt, and Garwin could almost smell her despair. Furthermore, her hair was blonde, so much like his own mother's...
"Release her at once, cur," he demanded, pulling his sword free.
The girl gasped, a spark of hope springing into her eyes, and her attacker slowly turned.
"Who're ye?" he growled in Garwin's direction.
"A man who still believes in honor, you blackguard. Need I remind you that I have demanded you release yon maiden immediately?"
Keeping his huge paw around her pale neck, the brute leered at Garwin. "Don't worry, sonny. I'll let you have a turn when I'm finished."
The girl squealed as he tightened his grip, and Garwin's jaw clenched.
Forty-seven seconds later, the churl was stretched out on the ground, and Garwin found his arms full of grateful softness.
"Milord, milord, I thank you with all my soul, and all my life! I thought that my screams were for naught!" she cried into his shoulder.
"Here now, damsel, you are safe and well." He deftly removed his doublet and placed it around her shoulders, restoring her modesty and thanking heaven that the night was not too cold. Still, she trembled so that she was incapable of walking, and with his arm around her waist, he began leading her away from the body of the fallen knave.
"What is your name, fair maiden?" he asked softly, hoping to distract her from the trauma of her recent trials.
"Dalenna is my name, good knight."
"Dalenna, how came you to be here in this lonely village, helpless against the wiles of evil men?"
"Good sir, you must know about the impending war. To protect ourselves from the coming slaughter, the inhabitants of this village, and many others in the land, sojourned to the fortress of the king. My father is the county squire in these parts, and we had hoped to be safe there.
'Upon arrival, however, I found that my father's position was yet too low to protect me from the advances of the king's men, and I was horrified when I was harshly informed that my duty to my country was obviously lacking, if I could behave so missish in the company of his brave troops. Missish, they said! To protect my honor and be censured for it, I felt was the outside of enough. My father tried to complain on my behalf, but the overly familiar men merely seemed to seek me out because of his pleas.
'One night, I accidentally overheard them talking about me... I will never repeat the things they said, but I knew that I would rather risk death than endure the horrors they had in store for me. I snuck out that night, and fled back here, but I suppose I must have been followed. I recognized that man as one of the soldiers who attempted to importune me."
Her voice had been growing stronger thorughout the speech, and Garwin was pleased to see her regaining color in her cheeks. True, she was flushed with rightous ire, but she was looking vastly better than when he had asked her name. She walked under her own power, her back stiff with indignation, her eyes snapping with fury. She suddenly looked at him in suspicion.
"I realize now you are a soldier too. Did you also follow me from the city?"
Garwin was a bit insulted that she should even think such a thing, but he reminded himself that she was bound to be a bit wary of men after her experiences, and rightly so.
"I am a soldier, but I am of the army come to wage this war."
She stepped back with a gasp of fear, and he realized his explanation had probably caused yet more worry, rather than alleviating her fears.
"Fear not, you will be safe. I swear. Besides, can you really be loyal to the king whose men had the gall to accost you so?"
Confusion flitted across her face. "But, he is the king."
"He is _a_ king," Garwin corrected her. "And a foul king at that, one who has no thought for the safety of his subjects, or the sanctity of his promises. I grew up in his castle, and I serve a much better king now."
"Padraic?" she asked, still trying to understand.
"Indeed. He is a good and honorable man, one who knows how to rule fairly. But above all, I serve Prince Alaric, and if even he marches against his father, then I know which side I am on."
Her eyes were still shadowed with doubt, but she came to his side again. "May I ask your name, milord?"
"I am called Garwin."
"And why do you fight against the king, Sir Garwin?"
"You need not call me 'sir', Dalenna. I have no title. And I march against Aylmar because...he is my father."
***********
Willow was tossing and turning in her feverish sleep, sweat standing out on her parchment white forehead. "No, no, don't leave me, don't leave me!" she cried out.
"Sshh, sshh," Marie tried to soothe her, laying a cool cloth on her brow. "Quiet now, dearest."
"No, I need, I need Giles! He can help...he can fix it..." She struggled to sit up in the throes of her dream.
"Lay down, Willow." Marie restrained her, pushing her back down.
"It was just a clothes fluke, I swear! I didn't want anyone to get impaled!"
As her delusions became stronger, her words became more and more lucid, although nothing she said made any sense to Marie. Her eyes snapped open, and she looked at Marie intensely. Her pupils were dilated, and she blinked abnormally quickly.
"Listen to me, Jesse. I'm not in on Angel's plan. It's his plan. Say hi for me?"
Marie stroked her hair futilely. "Willow, you need to sleep-"
"It's not lunchtime, I don't even care. I'm Willow group."
Marie could feel tears forming, and she stood up from the bed quickly.
"My mom bought it for me. Are we gonna study, or are we gonna talk about boys? Plus, I can't turn the pages."
Another gentlewoman was at her side for the rest of the night, tending to the sick princess, ignoring her ravings that seemed to make no sense whatsoever.
"I felt something go through me. Not dead, nor not of the living. She'll be here soon."
************
Angel looked up as Garwin reentered the camp, but he did a double take as he saw the woman walking beside him.
"Hey, Garwin. I would imagine this isn't a soldier."
Garwin rolled his eyes. "Your Highness, this is Dalenna. Dalenna, this is Prince Alaric."
Upon hearing his name, she let out a muffled sound of surprise, then sank into a low curtsy. "Good Prince, I am indeed honored."
Angel bowed in return. "Good lady, allow me to offer you my tent for the rest of the night, at least until we can find you some more appropriate sleeping arrangements."
Her eyes widened. "Your Highness, I could not presume-"
"Come now, I insist. I will share Garwin's tent, so you need not worry. Get some sleep, maiden. We will be departing early upon the morn."
Dumbfounded, she allowed herself to be ushered into his tent, and Angel turned to Garwin, his smile gone.
"Her dress is ripped. What happened? Was it one of our soldiers?"
Garwin's face darkened in response. "I went looking around that village we spotted. I thought it was abandoned, but I found her being accosted by one of Aylmar's soldiers."
"Of course." Angel's voice was thick with disgust.
"Indeed. So, I knocked him out, and brought her back with me. Everyone she knows is staying at the castle, but she ran away, fearful for her virtue. What a shock."
Angel rubbed a hand across his face. "How did we grow up there, Garwin?" In his anger Angel didn't seem to notice the oddity of his statement, considering that he had only heard stories of his childhood in the home of his father. "How did we never see all the evil that was going on around us? That place... I hate that place. I want to raze it to the ground and never have to worry about what goes on there, ever again."
Garwin simply nodded, understanding all too well.
"So, this girl. Do you think there is any risk of her turning against us?"
"Not that I can see. I may be wrong, but I think gratitude and her wounded pride will be more than enough to keep her on our side. Also, I sort of told her..."
"Told her what? Garwin?" Angel was amused at the almost guilty look on Garwin's face.
"About, um, Aylmar being my father. And other related information."
Angel clapped him on the shoulder reassuringly. "Well, that story would probably be enough to convince almost anyone that we're in the right. There's also the fact that she looks like she might be in love with you."
Garwin was silent for a long moment. Then, "What?!"
"Oh, you won't know it till everyone else does, I'm sure. Let's just get some sleep. I want to dream about my wife. Besides, if Dalenna ran here from the capital city, chances are we're in for some action tomorrow."
************
"Don't tell her about Angel. I don't think she would understand," Willow whimpered.
No one was listening. One of the palace nurses was asleep beside her, but the images of her old life kept flashing through her uncomprehending brain, and she was trying desperately to explain herself.
"He saved me from a horrible flamey death. Past tense rule! You'd be cranky? Oh, Angel, why did you leave me? Where are you? What's happening? Princess Aurelia. Willow Rosenberg. Angelus, the one with the angelic- no, no, no, no, no, no...
************
Marie didn't know what to do. As her husband, the prince had every right to know that Willow was ill, and Marie really couldn't keep the information from him in good conscience.
Unfortunately, the war complicated things. He needed to have his wits about him, and worrying about Willow's delirium was sure to distract him, especially since he was so very much in love with her. It was not Marie's place to make that decision, but who could she ask for advice?
"Marie?" She looked up as the queen entered the library she was pacing around. "Is she doing any better?"
Marie looked up and winced at the pinched look of Queen Neile's face. "Your Majesty, she is...delirious, I'm afraid. She continues to cry out in her fever, names I don't know, words I don't understand."
The queen sank down into a chair. "What shall we do?"
Marie came to sit beside her. "My Queen, we must consider the possiblity of sending a message to the King and Prince."
Panic crept into Neile's eyes. "Wouldn't that be unwise? She is not so sick as all that! Is she?"
Marie couldn't meet her gaze. "I don't-"
"Will she die?"
The soft question shook Marie more than she could have anticipated. Neile did not know Willow as well as a mother should, but the princess was still her daughter. Neile had never posessed her daughter's extraordinary health, and her middle age had been plagued with weakening illnesses. With everyone fearful of harming the royal infant, Willow had been raised by Marie, only seeing her mother during her sadly infrequent periods of recovery.
This situation was new for everyone. For the first time ever, Neile was well, Willow was ill, and Padraic was gone, incapable of helping wife or daughter.
"The palace healers are trying," Marie said quietly. "The fever came up so quickly, and her delirium is so strong- it is unlike any sickness they really know."
"Can they do nothing?"
"They are going to try bleeding her tomorrow."
Neile nodded, reassured. "Good. That should help the fever escape, don't you think?"
But Marie seemed not to hear.
~Part: 20~
This was not a normal war.
The death was just as bloody, the screams as terrified, and the weapons as busy as in any war. But most wars were extended campaigns, made up of strategy and flanks and elaborately designed plans of attack.
This war was destined to have only one battlefield. And though they were separated by distance and hordes of screaming soldiers, the two men who really owned the war could feel one another. Father and son, they fought like machines, knowing that every man they cut down was a single step closer to the one person they were finally ready to destroy. One of them would win, and one of them would die, because coexistence in the same world was simply no longer an option.
*************
Angel ducked his opponent's mace with all the dexterity he could manage in his armor, and feinted towards the man's face, forcing him to pull round his shield. With a speed he would never have dreamed possible in a human body, Angel swung his sword around, plunging it into the man's side.
Before the body had even dropped from the saddle, Angel was parrying the downswing of a pike headed for his face. The man wielding it pulled back to strike again, but found the prince's sword in his neck before he could even aim, and the pike dropped uselessly to the ground.
Angel looked around anxiously, trying to find evidence that they were winning. He saw Padraic fighting with about six of his lords in a circle around him, and if the grim smile on the king's face was any indication, he was as good a fighter as he was a monarch.
His foot soldiers were all well trained fighters, and it was evident that discipline was somewhat atrophied in Aylmar's troops. Still, Angel reflected, as he blocked a sword swing with his shield, it would never do for him to count on any weakness in the enemy lines.
The part of the war that discouraged him the most, was that the men he was fighting against, the men he was killing, should never have been the enemy lines to begin with. He was their prince, and he had probably been protected by them in his childhood. They should be swearing fealty to him, not screaming hoarsely as he cut them down.
All the death was a direct consequence of his father's inhumanity, but these men were not the monsters Aylmar had become. They were brothers and farmers, and each man that died at Angel's hand was one more son who would never return home...
Angel swung Bishop around to face another knight, and mentally reproved himself. He couldn't afford to let his overdeveloped guilt complex affect his actions, or he, and his troops, would be quickly killed. Moral ambiguities had no place in war, and he would have plenty of time to reflect upon the damage he had done...after he had won.
Ignoring the gurgling scream of a man being trampled down by Bishop's slashing hooves, Angel finally caught sight of Garwin. He saw Thayne near him, unaccustomed to fighting on a horse, but managing with a dexterity born of necessity.
Angel's mouth tightened. Necessity? This war, as deadly as it was, was completely frivolous. It was founded in the prejudice of a bitter man who had forgotten how to love anything but cruelty, but that prejudice was strong enough to cover a battlefield with blood and dead men.
His sword flew through complex passes, confounding his foes as it ended their lives, and he prayed for the war to end.
*************
Marie paced through the library, the painful decision she was attempting to make causing her head to throb.
Where did her responsibility lie? Which did she owe more to her king- full truth about his daughter's condition, or a silence that would preserve whatever peace of mind he had left?
And which would the prince prefer? If she sent the messenger, he would want to rush back to the palace. It could make him fight more fiercely, or it could make him hasty and rash, which would surely get him killed.
Who was she to decide, anyway?
But she knew. She was Willow's protectress and mentor and friend. She was someone trusted implicitly by the entire royal family, and if they couldn't count on her in this situation, then all her years building up that trust had been essentially false.
She had been tormenting herself for hours. Neile had left the responsibility with her, as Marie had known the queen would, but her mind was so crowded with worry for the sick princess and concern for the men off at war, that she had no assurance that she was even capable of logical thought.
There was a knock at the door.
She looked up as the palace healer came in.
"We are ready to begin. Do you want to be with her while we-"
"Bleed her?" Marie finished. "Yes, I will be with you in a moment."
He bowed out of the room.
Straightening her back, Marie closed her eyes. She found whatever resolve she was searching for in her mind, because her back straightened and she walked swiftly to the door.
Going into the hallway, she signaled for a page.
"I need someone to take a message to the king."
************
Angel would never be able to describe how, exactly, it happened. One moment, he was watching the battle unroll before him, fending off a large knight with some amount of difficulty. He could see men losing limbs, he could see Garwin hacking at the soldiers who were coming at him from both sides.
He knocked the weary knight off his horse and headed towards his brother, determined to help him. For a moment, he felt completely detached from everything, as he felt Bishop moving beneath him. He evaluated the skills of the men fighting around him, and remembered the battle techniques he had picked up over hundreds of years. He noticed the places in his armor that pinched his skin, he felt his halberd shift with the movement of his horse. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck, its movement completely clear and distinct.
The sky was a clear blue, and his attention was suddenly drawn by some jarring movement in the periphery of his vision.
And that was when he saw the king die.
Not the king he despised, not the man who had tried to rule him with spite. To see Aylmar dying would have given him some measure of peace and justice.
But Padraic-
He wanted to scream out, to roar against the sword embedded in his father-in-law's collarbone, but the only sound that would come from his dry throat was a small, whispered, 'no'.
The man whose sword had killed a king was swiftly cut down by furious soldiers, but he had served his purpose.
And Angel could hear his father laughing.
The ugly, exultant laugh of a tyrant echoed in his ears, and they stung from the sound. He was preparing to find that voice and end it forever, when Aylmar and his army did the one thing Angel did not expect.
They began to retreat.
The clash of metal on metal died away as his troops fell back, the field emptying as quickly as was possible, and Angel could only stare in shock as all the fighting ceased. He began to understand, however, when he saw that Aylmar was among the last to leave. His eyes, though far away, were glittering with power, and Angel hated him even more than before when he heard him shout across the field.
"Check and mate, my boy. Or perhaps I should say, Your Majesty?"
Aylmar turned his charger and galloped away, his laugh only fading as he disappeared behind the swell of a hill.
Angel was numb as he urged Bishop forward, heading for Padraic. He dismounted and looked down at the man whose body had been placed on the ground. The sword that had killed him was broken in two pieces, but too late.
He was regal even in death, his snowy hair being all the crown he needed. His face looked resigned, somehow, like he had known this battle, this campaign, would be his last. The strong planes of his face looked sharper, and Angel knew the body was growing colder every minute.
A numb sort of horror ran through his mind like a shockwave. All of his anger and adrenaline crumbled away, and his eyes fell shut with pained weariness.
He sheathed his sword and knelt, bowing his head. The nobles around him followed suit, and for a span of minutes, the battlefield, so recently a scene of pure chaos, was completely silent.
Angel felt dead himself. He felt cold and empty and blamable, though he knew it was illogical. And though his mind was working sluggishly, it managed to latch onto, but not really comprehend, one unbelievable thought-
Angel was king.
*************
Years of fleeing from vampires had taught Willow one extremely important thing- her blood was her life. To lose it was to lose herself. Creatures of the night may have regarded it as a meal or a prize, but to her it was precious.
It was perhaps for that reason that she struggled so violently when the healers tried to relieve her of her supposedly poisoned blood. She thrashed and screamed, calling out her husband's name in a desperation borne of fevered fear.
He couldn't help, however, and she could do nothing as short slits were made in her forearms. Basins nestled in the bedcovers caught the viscous rivulets winding around her elbows, and she stopped fighting the people trying to help her.
Her fever didn't lessen, though her energy did, and her delirious rantings faded away as her blood dripped and pooled in old crockery...
**************
Garwin hissed as Dalenna wrapped a bandage around his wrist.
"You don't really need to do this, you know. I know how to tend to wounds."
She gave him a superior look. "Yes, I have seen the sort of field dressings soldiers are capable of, and if you can forgive me, I think I can do a bit better. And since I cannot fight, the least I can do is be some use to this army as a nurse."
"We have nurses."
"And now you have one more."
He examined her face carefully, then flexed his wrist slowly. "Thank you."
"You don't need to thank me. After all, I owe you-"
"Sir Garwin?" a voice came from the entrance of the tent.
"Come in," he called out.
A foot soldier entered with a respectful salute. "Begging your pardon, my lord, but your presence is needed."
Garwin looked at him in confusion.
"At the coronation," the soldier explained.
Garwin and Dalenna shared a look, and then he stood, offering his arm to her.
She looked at him in shock. "My lord, I cannot!"
"Come with me, Dalenna."
She hesitated, but he didn't waver, and they left the tent together.
*************
The Duke of Glenlea stood to begin the ceremony, his lined face dusky in the firelight.
"We lost many men today. We saw lives snuffed out before us, but since that is one of the wages of war, we were not shocked by it. Friends and fathers died all around us, and we, for our part, killed some of the same.
'I say these things because I do not want to make it seem that these deaths are unimportant in the face of what has occurred. I think that His Majesty," here the duke's voice faltered, but he made his mouth a firm line and continued.
"His Majesty would have said that his life was no more important than the life of the lowest foot soldier. He would have been right, in a sense, because hearts are broken by every death that occurs. And yet, he would have been wrong too.
'King Padraic was born to be a leader. He commanded attention and respect by merely existing, which is a quality possessed by all the best kings that have ever ruled any land. He was more than kind- he was just, which is more important. He ruled our country with duty and care, and every citizen has felt the effects of that.
'I wish we had the time to eulogize him here. But, it will wait, because remembering our late king is not why we have gathered in this camp.
'We are here to coronate a new king.
'There are those who are blinded by misguided loyalty to Padraic, who are deceived by unfair opinions that our late king would never have condoned. They say that the man who will become our next king is not one of us, that he doesn't care about the welfare of our people.
'Fortunately, such people are not many, and more fortunately, they are wrong. Because the man who is here with me now is the only person I have ever met whom I consider a worthy successor of our departed king. His every action since he first arrived in our land has been honourable, his every impulse correct. He fought among you all today, and I do not think any of you can say that his conduct was anything less than royal.
'He has been loved as a Prince. I am here, on the edge of this battlefield, promising you that he will be revered as a king."
The duke lifted the crown, the crown that had been worn by Padraic only a few hours earlier. It was not the crown of beaten gold that had been left back at the palace, the sort of crown one would associate with kings and luxury. It was a crown of war, simple and unornamented, and it fairly reeked of power.
Angel stepped forward, his face frozen and sad, and he knelt as Glenlea placed the crown on his head. "I give you your monarch- King Alaric."
The crowd cheered as enthusiastically as they were able, following the events of the day. Angel put up a hand, and they silenced respectfully.
"I have prayed this day would not come so soon, because I loved King Padraic, and I would have preferred to always remain a prince if it meant that he would remain King. I am more saddened than I can say by his passing." He stared into the flames for a moment, and those who could see his eyes found that they could not help but believe him.
"Aylmar is a mockery of kingship. His one talent is hatred, and I plan on making him an expert on one other thing."
He looked around, and his eyes were cold. "Losing."
The cheers were louder the second time, because they were righteous and wounded, and he retreated with the knowledge that they all hated his father almost as much as he did.
************
Angel lay in his bedroll, his eyes wide open, staring into the darkness.
What was he going to tell Willow?
She had learned to love her new father, and Angel was coming home a king. The king. Her king.
He knew that even as he tried to sleep, messengers were being sent back to her, to tell her that he had failed to stop it from happening. And he knew that she wouldn't blame him, that she would tell herself what Garwin kept telling him- that it wasn't his fault, there was nothing he could have done.
But he also knew that she would be hurting, and that she would be alone.
Which is why the war had to end.
***********
Dawn was just breaking when Garwin found Angel outside, staring at the sunrise with the same sort of bewildered wonder he always did.
"What's your plan of attack?" he asked.
"Kill our father."
Rays of sunshine were bouncing off Angel's new crown as the camp buzzed with preparations for the day ahead.
"Do you ever get the feeling," Garwin mused softly, "that the world you grew up knowing, the world you understood, just up and disappeared? And it's like you've been transported to some other reality entirely?"
Angel replied with a tired chuckle. "You have no idea how much I know what you are talking about."
***********
The armies had rushed at each other in the early morning hours, and there was no end in sight as the sun looked on from its zenith. Angel could hardly feel his sword arm, and he was bleeding from a gash in his side. The whole day, he had been trying to get closer to Aylmar, to get within killing distance, but the armies seemed to plot against him.
He no longer cared about the inhumanity of war, about guilt or sorrow or regret. He knew victory and loss, and when his regiments advanced, he felt a grim satisfaction. When they lost ground, he felt bitter disappointment.
When he saw Garwin turn to find Aylmar's sword at his throat, he froze.
"Well," their father's voice oozed with triumph, "Look who fancies himself a lord."
Aylmar carefully dismounted, then had two of his knights unhorse his helpless opponent.
"Fighting for your king and brother? Convincing all your new friends that you're something more than a useless, illegitimate piece of trash? Quite a trick. But it's the sort of thing I'd expect from the pathetic country you've settled in. A country that makes a weak snob like Padraic king, a country that allows whores like your mother to raise princesses, a country that deserves to be erased for its insipidity and weak blood."
He circled Garwin slowly, tracing lazy patterns with the tip of his sword. "I had always hoped that my _real_ son would be able to help me absorb it into my own kingdom, but since he betrayed me, I find I'll have to take it the old fashioned way. I'll just kill everyone who refuses to call me their monarch."
He grabbed Garwin by the hair then, and pulled his head toward him as he whispered in his ear. "You think I hate you, don't you? That's the saddest part. You think I care about you. It may be difficult for you to understand this, but please do try- you...are...nothing. If you had died in childbirth, I would have shrugged and gone hunting. You are negligible in my world. You are a visual reminder of a pretty slut I once ravished and then threw away. And when I kill you, I will regret your passing as much as I would that of a worm."
He threw Garwin's head away from him and smiled. "Are you afraid of my sword, boy?"
Garwin's eyes were cold.
Aylmar nodded. "Well, you don't need to be. Death by the sword holds some sort of glory, some sort of honor in the eyes of the world. And you don't even deserve the patch of grass that your body will soon occupy."
His face was inflamed with all the emotion his words had denied as he buried his dagger in Garwin's abdomen, and twisted.
***********
There was a scream as Garwin fell, and Aylmar turned to parry a wildly swinging sword.
Thayne's grey eyes were like liquid anguish as he attacked, and the man he wished dead simply laughed. "Who are you, stripling?"
Thayne tried not to sob. "Protector to Sir Garwin." He thrust again, but the king blocked him without batting an eye.
"Well done, then. A good effort. Were you supposed to keep him alive?"
Thayne gripped his sword with both hands, chopping with all his strength, but all his strength was not enough, and he was disarmed in the matter of minutes. Aylmar cut him down almost as an afterthought, his sword flashing from the boy's shoulder downward. He was uninterested in Thayne's death, because his attention was focused on someone else entirely.
King Alaric had arrived.
Angel would mourn his friends later, but for the moment, he was conscious of only two things- the length of bright steel in his hand, and the man he hoped to soon run through with it.
***********
Willow stirred in her bed, her arms bandaged, her mind hazy.
"Please."
Marie woke suddenly, unsure as to whether or not she had heard something. "Willow?"
Willow's eyes opened. "Please."
"Please what, darling?"
Her eyes were foggy and dark with exhaustion, but she begged with them. "Please? He can't."
"Can't what? What's the matter? Can you hear me?"
Willow whimpered. "He has to come back."
"Do you mean Alaric?" Marie took her hand, praying that the princess could become coherent for even a moment.
"His soul is..."
Her eyes fell shut, and Marie began to cry.
***********
Aylmar still wore his infuriating smile as he circled his son, but there was a wildness in his eyes that Angel noted with grim satisfaction.
"I heard that my little present for your pretty bride didn't work as I had planned. A shame, really. Still, once you're dead, and I rule your country, I'll find some way to make it up to her." He feinted half-heartedly, waiting for Angel to attack.
Angel's own smile came over him slowly, but he knew the effect it would create was well worth the waiting. The smile had been invented by a demon he no longer dealt with, but his face curved in the old familiar way. "You really don't realize how...obsolete you are, do you?" He parried another of Aylmar's thrusts, but he felt the force behind it, and knew that the look on his face was working.
"Your age of tyranny is over. You keep holding on, but it's gone, and I think you know it."
"Tell that to your brother," Aylmar snarled, his sword snapping out as violently as his words.
"He knew it. He's known it all his life, because if you were as powerful as you pretend to be, he would have been dead a long time ago." Angel began a complicated crescent maneuver with his sword, but his concentration still seemed to be focused on the deadly conversation. "He's always known how weak you really are."
Aylmar managed to block Angel's swift sword, but Angel disengaged quickly and thrust at the older man's exposed side, nicking his shoulder through his armor. He pulled free and danced backward, avoiding the wild swing of his father's weapon.
"Padraic taught you false confidence well, boy, but it won't be much use to you when you die." He jabbed furiously, but Angel spun away to the side.
Angel was ready to end it. He had drawn first blood, but he was tired of exchanging meaningful insults with an embittered opponent. His control was not slipping, but his fury over Garwin and Thayne made him feel like his heart was being constricted somehow.
He had lived for hundreds of years in the old world, watching people around him die. He had moved through time silently, knowing death while never achieving it. He had become reconciled to it, because it was one of the wages of immortality.
But it was supposed to be different in this world. Why was he forced to watch the people around him die no matter where he was? They were excised from his life, as he moved on, ever increasingly alone. His friends were taken from him, but he survived to be attacked by his enemy.
Depressed but determined, he studied Aylmar's technique, looking for any flaw, any opening. It was frustrating, because the man was justifiably proud of his prowess in battle. He moved like a machine, preprogrammed and inexorable-
Angel paused, parrying absentmindedly. Machines were efficient and powerful, but there was one thing they were not- inventive.
Angel gathered himself, wiping away all his emotion to save for later, and focused on the movement of his body. He allowed himself to give in to his natural grace, remembering his acquired stealthiness, remembering his predatory instincts.
Remembering...Angelus.
Aylmar felt a twinge of shock when he looked into his son's eyes. That sort of vicious bloodlust could not be counterfeited, and the sword in Angel's hands was practically blurring with silvery speed. It seemed liquid in his hands, a steely snake no one could avoid forever.
This, in the end, was the entire war. Everything that had gone before, every gruesome and lamentable death, had been essentially preliminary. This familial conflict had begun every antagonism, and it would end it as well. A disparity in one man's mind about the difference between love and ownership had caused the irreparable rift, and Aylmar was about to learn the consequences for misunderstanding the rights of a father.
His sword was twisted out of his hand before he could blink, and he was staring down the length of his son's victorious sword in shock. He had called his son weak and pathetic, but one look into those bored, cold eyes told him that he could expect no mercy.
"Sorry, Your Majesty." Angel's velvety voice sent chills down the supposedly infallible warrior's spine. "You lose."
He thrust the sword home, and turned away with disgust. He looked at Aylmar's dukes, and he wore the haughty eyes of a king. "You can continue to fight me, if you are that interested in losing. Your other option is to abide by the conditions of a treaty Aylmar refused to heed. That treaty, which acknowledged me to be your prince, stipulated that I would someday be your king. I leave the choice to you."
Of course, after they saw his glare, there was never really a choice.
**********
Dalenna had appeared a few moments later, her face going white when she saw Garwin's body sprawled in the bloody turf. Thayne lay a few feet away, and she sank down to the ground, her skirts billowing around her.
Angel watched her weep over his brother, and he was about to join her when he heard an urgent voice behind him.
"Message for the king!"
He turned and saw a travel weary man wearing his royal colors. Soldiers pointed in Angel's direction. The messenger was confused, still thinking him a prince, but saw the crown and came forward.
"Your Majesty," he began, bowing deeply, "I bring you news from the palace."
Angel frowned. "What sort of news?"
The man's eyes fell. "It's the princess- rather, the Queen, Your Majesty."
Angel felt dizzy. "What about her?"
"She is...ill."
"How ill?"
The messenger's jaw tightened.
The king fell to his knees in despair, and overhead, the sky was still blue.