Part One

This is a Brom/Selena series that originally started out as a one-shot, but quickly got out of hand and has expanded into a mini-series.

It is dedicated to my friend, fredo747, for his birthday.

I hope you all enjoy this, and if you do, that you leave a review. Thanks!

The still peacefulness of night had settled over the castle many hours ago. Moonlight bathed the garden paths, where a kitchen boy stole kisses from a chambermaid in the privacy of midnight. Inside, the scullery maid was just finished cleaning the dishes from that night's meal, and wearily trudged to the chambers she shared with another young girl. They giggled quietly together about the things young girl's discuss in the privacy of their rooms, and then fell into sleep, ready to wake the next day to take on their chores once more. In the nursery, a small child slept peacefully, being well past the time he was put down for bed. And in the tower, the steward had fallen asleep with his candle still lit, his face pressed up against the book he'd been reading and his glasses pushed askew upon his brow.

But in a small hut hidden deep within the gardens and walking paths, the castle's gardener sat at his small table, writing a letter. The letter would look like nonsense to anyone with an untrained eye, but to its intended recipient, it held great value. The gardener heard a rustling outside the hut, causing his quill to stop scratching and his hand to go still. He waited, listening intently. When the owl hooted, assuring him that all was clear, he returned to his letter.

When it was finished, he folded the parchment meticulously and stashed it in a false-bottom drawer within the desk. He'd send it tomorrow, when he got his hands on a bird from the rookery. The steward was an ally, and for that he was eternally grateful. His mission would not have been possible without the man.

Unfortunately, the wellspring of information within the castle had been dry of late. But he still needed to report to those he worked for. The master was away, as was the Black Hand. Only the Little Lord—as the servants had taken to calling him—was here, and the toddler was not exactly forthcoming with information. Brom thought of the boy, and felt sympathy for the child wash over him. One so young and innocent as he should not be subjected to the horrors he'd already witnessed.

Brom blew out his tallow candle, but sleep would not come. His thoughts kept him awake into the early hours of the morning; until dawn peeked over the horizon. Another day was upon him, and work was to be done.

He'd come to this place three months ago with the intention of infiltrating Morzan's household, and the ruse had worked so far. He was given a position as the castle gardener under the alias of Thane. It didn't take long to discover the steward—a man named Avarin—was an ally to the Varden and all they hoped to accomplish. Brom was just thankful the man had not been a footman or some other position that would not have been any use to him. There was another man that he thought might be an ally to them, in time: the castle healer, Yöthern. But there was still some work to be done on that front; Brom was not completely sure of him yet.

And there was one person in particular he'd yet to encounter. The one who had inspired this revenge mission: Morzan's Black Hand. Brom was unsure of the magician's power or temperament, or even her name. The Hand had been away on a mission since Brom had arrived at the castle. The servants did not speak of her except in hushed tones, so deep was the fear that had been ingrained in them. Whoever this woman was, Brom got the feeling that she was a fearsome thing to behold. He'd just have to wait and see how difficult it was going to be to assassinate her.

As it turned out, he didn't have to wait too long. The Hand returned that night.

The castle was as quiet as ever. There was no uproar or fuss given over her return. In fact, it seemed that hardly anyone was even aware that the Hand had returned. She stole quietly into the castle through the stables, as was her way. And from a shadowy corner, Brom kept a watchful eye on her movements.

She was nothing like he expected. Slim and small of frame, the woman looked like she was barely able to lift the sword that hung at her belt, let alone wield it effectively. On top of being petite, she had a soft face and pleasant features. But then he saw her eyes…

They were hard as stone and full of anger, their dark color almost black in the night. Her dark hair and clothes gave her a severe look, though she was still a handsome woman. Against his better judgment, Brom felt his heart quicken in his chest.

The Hand passed off the reins of her black charger to a stable boy and strode purposefully towards the castle, stripping off her gloves as she walked. Darting in and out of the shadows as he went, Brom followed behind her as far as he dared. It would not do to reveal himself now, not when he'd come so far.

She hurried through a side door into a corridor meant for the servants. Those that were gathered there gave her darting glances, but never went so far as to make eye contact with the Hand. They scuttled out of her way and bowed in deference, backing up against the stone walls. It was clear to Brom that the woman inspired fear wherever she went; she would not be used to people approaching her, unless they'd been ordered to, and that might make his mission that much more difficult. No matter. His heart ached for revenge, and he would have it by whatever means possible.

He did not go so far as to follow her down the hall; that would have aroused too much suspicion. If this plan of his were to work, he would have to be cautious. And sometimes caution demanded patience, neither of which were his forte. The Hand disappeared around the bend of another corridor, and the servants in the hallway snapped back to motion, the spell of her intimidation having been broken. Brom waited only a few moments longer, to make sure nothing of note was going to happen, and then hurried away back to the garden and his hut.

Brom retrieved his encrypted letter from its hiding spot and tucked it away safely in the inside pocket of his tunic. Then he stole out of the hut once more, thankful that night had finally fallen to conceal his movements. He'd learned almost immediately after his arrival that the wards placed around the castle prevented anyone inside from practicing magic without alerting the master of the estate, unless they had the express permission of Morzan or the Hand. It seemed he would have to rely on his natural cunning to reach success.

The rookery was situated at the very top of the highest tower of Morzan's castle. One could hear the squawking and cawing of the birds from the very bottom of the tower, and many chose not to go there unless they had absolute need to do so. It was a dirty place, and Master Avarin was wont to keep his desk in a state of disarray. So it was without incident that Brom made it to the very top to find the steward bent over his desk in deep concentration. So deep, in fact, that he did not notice Brom's arrival until the Rider cleared his throat.

Avarin jumped slightly, startled but the abrupt intrusion upon his studies. But when he noticed Brom standing just inside the doorway, his stern expression softened. "Ah, Brom, do you have need of a bird?" the steward asked, removing his spectacles and placing them atop the book he'd just been poring over.

"Aye, if you can spare one." Brom came further into the room.

"Of course," he replied, vacating his chair and leading the way through a door at the far end of the room. Beyond the door lay another set of stairs which would lead up to the rookery. Brom winced slightly at the grating sound of the birds' cries against his ears. When they reached the top of the tower, the noise was nearly deafening. Master Avarin perused the cages for a few moments, reading off the labels under his breath. "Teirm again?" he asked over his shoulder without tearing his eyes away from the cages.

"Yes," Brom replied in a clipped tone. Although he'd discovered the man to be an ally, he still didn't like to speak too much, lest he give something away he otherwise shouldn't. "If you'll send it to the postmaster in the southern sector of the city, and address it to Jeod, I'd be much obliged." Avarin hummed absently to himself until he located the appropriate bird. The steward hurried to Brom where he stood by the door and retrieved the letter, then returned to the cages and brought out the raven that would make the voyage. He rolled the letter into the canister strapped to the bird's leg, and then ferried it over to the open window upon his gloved hand. Brom watched as the bird took flight out of the tower, and then crossed to the window to make sure it made it over the castle walls. In the gloom of night, Brom quickly lost sight of the bird, so he could only hope that it had gotten out unharmed.

When that task was done, Brom thanked the steward and took his leave. Lingering too long in the tower might rouse suspicion, if indeed anyone had seen him. After all, what need did a gardener have for the castle steward? He didn't think anyone had noticed his presence though, and so he hurried back across the castle to the garden. Before he retired to his hut, he stopped by a section of the strolling gardens to inspect the night-blooming flowers. The flowers―moonflowers, he believed they were called―had white, trumpet-like blooms, and they seemed not to serve any other purpose than to be aesthetically pleasing. Brom wondered which of Morzan's many dark servants had requested them planted. He cut free a few dead blooms, and then continued on his way.

Brom sat at a counter in the castle's gigantic kitchen, quietly eating the meal he'd been given that evening. Each of the servants had their own tasks and duties, so they ate at irregular intervals. He just happened to have finished his duties early that day, so he could enjoy a meal by himself. The kitchen maids and cooks were bustling about him, running between this oven and that counter to prepare the meal for Morzan's underlings and, presumably, the Black Hand. Now that she had returned, Brom noticed the servants going about their tasks with a renewed fervor, though not so much as to stick out from the other servants.

As he sat there, Brom watched as the housekeeper—a great beast of a woman—hurried in and out of the kitchen, ordering whatever food and drink would be required for this evening's meal. He counted five times that the woman came back and forth, obviously having been told to fetch some new item. But for all of the activity, Brom noticed that none of the servants spoke to one another outside of giving instructions. He marveled at the depth of their fear, but he understood it completely. Morzan had always been black-of-heart, though it took Brom long enough to figure out. And what he'd seen of Morzan's Black Hand, she seemed just as fearsome as the Red Rider.

When his bowl was finished, Brom exited the kitchen without gaining so much as a glance from the other servants. After he'd first arrived, there had been many questioning glances, and a few outright questions, but now they seemed to be accustomed to his presence. And since he was not gaining so many sideways glances anymore, Brom decided he would explore the castle and try to commit its layout to memory.

Many of the minor lords that served Morzan seemed to be already gathering in the great hall for that night's dinner, so the passageways were virtually deserted. The few servants he did pass did not even glance up at him, which he was thankful for. He traversed the empty corridors and passed by hundreds of rooms, many of which he was not sure of their uses. Most of them, he guessed, were chambers belonging to the lords that served Morzan, and their households. He turned the corner at the end of one corridor and found himself in a passage that was suspended over a section of the gardens, leading to the east wing of the castle. He hurried along it, ducking his head as he passed the windows lest someone should spot him from down below.

Once he was in the east wing, he noticed that not even the servants traveled these passages. The rooms in this wing were Morzan's personal ones, as well as the Hand's. He'd learned that much from Master Avarin. Brom wondered if she was anywhere nearby. If she was, and she somehow spotted him, his whole plan could have been shattered.

Quietly, he walked slowly down one long corridor lined with burning torches, its walls adorned with various tapestries and pieces of artwork. At his left, the wall was completely devoid of any doors, so he knew a very large set of rooms lay beyond it. Perhaps they were Morzan's own personal quarters. At the end of the wall, he saw there was but one door. He stopped in front of the door and tried the latch. It swung inward on quiet hinges, so he knew the entrance was used often. But for what? As quiet as he could, he stole into the dark space.

He dared not use any magic with the Black Hand in the castle, so he had to feel along the walls. It seemed he was in some sort of inner passageway that the servants would have used to travel in and out of the quarters without drawing its occupant's attention. A little ways down, he could see where light was flooding underneath a door, so he made his way to that point. When he reached the door, he noticed it had been left slightly open, enough that he was able to see into the room. What he saw there set his heart to beating rapidly in his chest.

A dark-haired woman clad in black clothes stood over a small bed, one made for a child. There were small rails on the side of the bed, to keep a child from rolling out and onto the floor, and Brom could tell it had been built for a toddler. The woman he immediately recognized as the Hand, which meant the child could only be...

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a soft, lilting voice floating to his ears. "Lay down your head," she sang quietly, "and I'll sing you a lullaby, back to the years of loo-li lai-lay. And I'll sing you to sleep, and I'll sing you tomorrow. Bless you with love for the road that you go." It was a tune that Brom recognized—some folk song he was sure he'd heard in his childhood—and it stirred a memory within him; a memory of his own mother, in a time long ago. The child within the bed stirred restlessly, and he could see the Hand stroking the child's head in a loving manner, the way only a mother would.

The Black Hand is the mother of Morzan's son?

The thought stirred something within Brom. Morzan, he was well acquainted with; how had this woman come to love him enough to give him a child? And what's more, he was aware of the woman's reputation. He imagined that the product of such a union would be something to be feared.

The woman continued singing softly to the Little Lord—Murtagh, he was sure was the child's name—and he thought he could just make out the boy whimpering pitifully. "Hush, my son," the Hand whispered to the boy. "I know... I know."

Brom was beginning to reevaluate his plan. Initially, he'd thought to just assassinate Morzan's Black Hand, but now... Now he knew the woman was a mother, and had shown herself capable of tenderness. Perhaps he would be able to seduce her first, and gain her trust before he did the deed. Perhaps that might be the better way to—

He was cut off abruptly by the banging of a door against a stone wall. The Hand's attention was drawn away from the crib, and she let out an involuntary gasp. Heavy footsteps pounded on the stone floor, and Brom witnessed the Hand begin to tremble slightly. When the man came into his sight, he could guess why. When had he returned to the castle? How could he have been so careless to miss his arrival!

"Selena," Morzan growled threateningly, grabbing hold of her arm and gripping it with alarming force. "What have I told you? You will be permitted to see the child when I say you may see him, and no other time. I had thought I'd made myself clear the last time." Brom felt his hatred for his childhood friend stirring within him, and it took an incredible amount of self-control for him not to burst from concealment and kill him right there. But he was unarmed, and did not want to risk using magic if he didn't have to. Damn the man; damn him to the seven hells.

"You did, my lord," the woman replied.

"Then why have you defied me?" Brom could just make out the ferocious gleam in Morzan's wolfish, grey eyes. He'd always been a handsome boy—and had grown into a handsome man—and he'd never been shy around the girls. But right now, Brom thought he looked like the monster he truly was inside. Selena cowered before him, her shoulders shaking with her fear. For an instant, Brom felt a rush of sympathy wash over him.

"Our son is sick, my lord. He was crying," she explained, her voice quavering slightly, "and the nurse was nowhere to be found. I was passing by and thought I might comfort him until she returns."

"There are maids for such trivial matters. You need not concern yourself with them." Morzan released her arm with a bit of a push, and Brom could see he'd inflicted some degree of pain by the look on her face. "You will join the nobles in the hall," he continued, his tone only slightly more subdued than it had been, "and I will be there shortly. There are some other matters I must attend to first."

"My lord, if I could stay with him until the nurse returns—" Selena never finished her request. Morzan's hand moved quick as a flash of lightning, making contact with her cheek in a forceful slap. Brom felt himself tense up when the woman cried out and placed a hand to her cheek. She stood there trembling for a moment, but Brom did not think she ever let any tears escape. And when she stood straight again, there was a hard look in her eyes and an angry red mark upon her face.

"Defy me again, and I will personally ensure your son pays for your insolence." Morzan's voice was deathly quiet, a tone he reserved for making threats he had every intention of following through with. Brom knew it well.

"Yes, my lord," Selena said, her voice vacant of all emotion. The Little Lord was crying in earnest now, but Selena never shifted her gaze back to him. And when Morzan turned to exit the room, Brom saw the Black Hand follow him like a dutiful servant. He watched the boy in his crib, large tears streaming down his face as he reached for the retreating form of his mother with anguished cries. And in that moment, his heart broke for the little dark-haired boy. What horrors this child must already have witnessed in his young life. But Brom knew there were only more horrors yet to come.

It was two days later when the unexpected happened.

"Gardener!" The voice had a sharp edge like a knife, and it made him stiffen where he was stooped over a flower bed. "I have need of you," she continued. Brom lay down his trowel in the upturned soil and placed the bloom he was about to plant next to it. When he turned, he came face-to-face with the Hand.

"My lady," he mumbled, bowing slightly and taking care not to look her directly in the eye. "How may I be of service?"

"Where is Yöthern, the healer?" Brom could hear the irritation in her voice now.

"I believe he has gone down to Therinsford, my lady. His stores were low, and he had need to replenish them. It seems I do not grow everything he has need of," Brom explained calmly. This answer seemed only to irritate her further.

"Well, perhaps you can help me," she finally said begrudgingly.

"I will do my best, my lady."

"I am in need of something that will reduce a high fever. Do you know of such a tincture?" Brom thought back to the other night, and remembered how she'd told Morzan their child was sick. He was also, in this moment, thankful for Oromis' teachings.

"Of course, my lady," Brom replied, still looking at a point slightly below the gaze of her dark eyes. "I have all the necessary ingredients here on the grounds. Is this for a child?"

Brom saw Selena bristle slightly at that, and her shoulders tensed up. "Why would you ask that?" she demanded hotly.

"The proportions for a tincture intended for a child are wildly different than one intended for an adult," Brom said. "If I give him too much, the child could die."

She seemed to relax, and then said, "Yes, it is for a boy of two. If you will have it delivered to my chambers when it is ready, I will see that it reaches its intended recipient."

Brom bowed slightly at the waist and muttered a quiet, "My lady," before she turned swiftly on her heel and strode off through the gardens. When she was out of his sight, Brom let out a heavy breath and noticed the rapid beating of his heart. If he had to guess, he would say that Selena had waited so long to come for the tincture because Morzan had not vacated the castle until last night. And after witnessing their meeting in the nursery, Brom was not surprised by this. What he had not expected, however, was that she would come for the tincture herself, instead of sending one of the servants.

And as Brom returned to his trowel and his gardenia bloom, he could not help but think that it was a testament to how much she truly loved her son. Perhaps there was more to the Black Hand than he'd originally thought.

If you're at all interested, this is the lullaby Selena is singing to Murtagh: www . youtube /watch?v=TjUX3CeRUZI

Just copy, take out the spaces, and add a dot com after "youtube" and it should come right up. :-)