All's Well That Ends Better

by Plume et Incre

After kicking up all that fuss about having to marry Helen, Bertram changed his mind pretty quickly when she returned. In the days to come, things get a little awkward between the newly-weds, and Helen decides more deception is in order.

All's Well That Ends Again

"Every time there's an awkward silence, a gay baby is born," I whispered.

Bertram looked at my bulging stomach. "Whoops," he said.

We were sitting in the King's gardens after lunch, and even though it was really hot outside, I was getting nothing but icy vibes from Bertram. I guess I couldn't blame him. What I had done was absolutely awful, and to be honest, I was giving myself icy vibes too. I crossed my legs and scooted a bit away from him on the bench.

"Pretty crazy story you told back there," he said lightly, not meeting my eye.

"Yeah, I had a bit too much sparkling cider." He forced a laugh. Sparkling cider was about all I could have now that I was pregnant, although I was usually a Merlot-fan. "Really though, uhm, it was true. All of it."

"Yep."

Okay, gay twins, I thought to myself. This was going nowhere fast.

But how could it? Things between my husband and me had been worse than rocky lately. It was entirely my own fault. You see, I'd been pining after Bertram, the son of my adoptive mother (which does NOT make him my brother, as I made very clear in Act I, Scene iii), since I was a little girl. And I finally got him. After curing the King of his mysterious malady, he declared that lowly-little-Helen could choose anyone for her husband. Naturally, I picked Bertram. And instead of kissing my hand or sweeping me up in his arms, he stood there and argued with the King of France that I was too low-born for him. Next thing I know, he's walking down the aisle and then straight out of my life for the next few months. That's right. Bertram would rather go to war in Italy than be around me. God, I was crushed. Rejection doesn't get any more thorough than that. That is, until I started thinking about it. Bertram sent me a letter that said he wouldn't be a faithful husband unless I was wearing his ring and pregnant with his child. Well, one boat ticket, faked death, and bed-trick later… I fit the bill.

All that conniving and sneaking around was dreadful. I completely took advantage of him. Still, if I had to do it all over again, I think I would. The love I have for him manifests itself in bizarre, often destructive ways. You can't want something for as long and as hard as I did without it changing the essence of what you live for. But now that I finally beat him at his own game, would he love me? It wasn't like he could just flip a switch and suddenly erase the disgust that drove him out of the country. I was still just Helen. He was the Count of Roussillon.

And yet, the words he'd spoken to the King right after I'd revealed myself rang inspiringly in my ears: "If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly I'll love her dearly, ever ever dearly." And I had explained everything clearly, over lunch, and then the Countess prompted us to go for a stroll through the gardens, and now...

"This is dearly?" I asked myself quietly, looking at the enormous amount of bench space between us. I sighed.

"Huh?"

"Nothing." I turned to face him. "Look, Bertram. Before I drive you away again with something silly that I say or do, I want to apologize. You're my husband. I love you. I feel rotten about tricking out into..." I glanced at my stomach. "Well. You know what I mean."

Bertram grimaced. For a while he didn't say anything, and I thought I had lost him again. "Look. I really wasn't ready to have a kid."

But you were ready to cheat on me with some Italian lady you barely knew, I thought hotly. The restless child in my stomach gave me a little kick. I shouldn't be upset with him. What I did was just as bad, if not worse, than what he did. Besides, he thought I was dead at the time. Totally excusable.

"To be honest, I'm not either." My parents died when I was very young, and as much as I love the Countess, she was always more Bertram's mother than mine. I couldn't be expected to raise my own child.

"Then why did you do that?"

"Because I'm ready to have a husband," I answered firmly. I was losing ground here. I didn't see this ending very well.

To my surprise, Bertram smiled. It was small and brief, but it heartened me. "I guess I have some growing up to do, then. I wasn't ready to have a wife. Not because I hated you or anything, just because I never had enough time to turn it over in my mind."

"It was pretty hasty. I didn't think the King would have us get married the same day as the proposal."

"Speaking of the King," he began. The midday sun beat down on us, and a breeze lifted the scent of the flowers past my face. "Did you, uh, happen to hear what I was saying to him? Before you came in?"

Diana, the woman he'd fallen for, had been conversing with Bertram and the King before I arrived. I was waiting in another part of the palace, so I had no idea what they were talking about. "No."

Bertram shifted closer to me on the bench and his face turned serious. "Helen, on my way back from Italy I did a lot of thinking. At first about Diana, but my thoughts always ended up back with you. It was guilt at first, I think. After a while it turned into more than that. I missed you. I really, really missed you. We grew up together, and suddenly not only were you out of my life, but dead. And to say it ended on a bad note would be the understatement of the era."

My heart was pounding. "Vraiment?"

He nodded. "The thing is, I only missed you as a friend. And having you back, now I love you as a friend." He quickly continued, "I mean, not that I couldn't come to love you as a wife. I... will, eventually... it's just not going to happen overnight." I thought of a few other things that happened overnight.

But oh, this was such good news. It stung a little to hear him say that I was still just a friend, but that could be remedied. I was a doer. If I didn't like the way my life was going, I always did something to change it (witness: the last six months of my life).

I reached over and put my hand over his. "Thank you, Bertram. It's nice to hear you say that." I stood up and cringed at the way my dress stretched when I did. Definitely time to get this taken out at the tailor's. "I guess I'll see you at dinner."

"Right. Bye, Helen."

I walked through the gardens to the palace without looking back. The beginning of an idea was growing in my mind, and I either had to crush it now before it turned into something dangerous or let it blossom in full. I was debating which would be the healthier course when I saw someone standing idly on the portico.

Blossom it was. The fact that the person I was just about to go see was suddenly standing in front of me was incentive enough. "Hey!" I shouted to the man on the portico. "Paroles! Busy this afternoon?"

"I always figured you had a little crush on me, Helen," Paroles said as he straightened his ascot in the reflection of the silver tea tray. The sun was setting outside the palace windows. Just another hour or so until dinner.

"Hold thy tongue," I hissed back. I was not the biggest fan of Paroles – although, he was Bertram's best friend so I'd seen rather a lot of him. Plus, he was always good for a laugh. "Are you finished setting up yet?"

We were in the hall that we would feast in tonight, rigging it for what I vowed would be the final trick I played on my husband. It didn't take a whole lot of convincing to get Paroles on board, especially after the embarrassing prank that Bertram and the Dumain brothers had pulled on him in the war. After a bit of heckling, I got Lavatch to help us too.

"Done over here," he confirmed. Paroles was stowing his costume, while I made sure that our appointed spot could be easily viewed from the window. "So what are you going to name the little parasite?" The little parasite, as it so often did, playfully kicked me and I knocked on my belly in response. "I bet you anything Bertram's going to try to get you to name him after Lafeu. I hate Lafeu. Don't let him talk you into anything stupid."

"Speaking of talking, and stupid, shut up."

"I hate this costume. I'm usually oh-so well-dressed." Paroles chuckled as he continued to study himself. "Now. I'm meeting you… in the gardens?"

"The grove behind the fountain. I'll have your rapier for you." This was almost as nerve-wracking as trying to cure the King, but not half as nerve-wracking as the bed-trick. "Please don't mess this up, Paroles. It's about me and Bertram, not you. Okay?"

"Sure," he said, waving me off as though this was a foolish concern. "I must commend you Helen. You show true valor and initiative in your little scheme."

Paroles was hardly one to talk of valor or initiative, but he fancied himself a soldier and it suited my purposes well enough. Having him kidnap me was risky. Let's face it, Parole's favorite battle move was "the retreat" and if he didn't put up a good fight against Bertram, the charade would have been a moot point. Still. Men like to win their women. It's a fact. I'd come on too strong with Bertram at first, especially after so many years of silence, and what he needed was a challenge. Tonight, he would really win me. Maybe then I'd earn his love.

I clapped Paroles on the shoulder. "Don't hurt him, don't run away until I give you the signal, and stay in character no matter what happens."

"How come Lavatch doesn't get subjected to a pep talk?"

"He doesn't need one."

Paroles made a pouty-face. "Ouch. Jusqu'à ce soir. Bonne chance."

"Ne vas pas foutre en l'air."

The conversation at the dinner table that evening passed over me like a cloud. I stole a sideways glance at Bertram, then stared at my bouillabaisse, then back at him. I hoped I didn't look too pale. As it was I was already baby-fat all over because of the pregnancy. He gave me an insipid smile, which I tried to return. I gulped down another spoonful of soup.

Sitting here, worrying, was killing me. After casting a knowing glance across the table at Paroles and Lavatch, I definitively pushed back my chair and stood up. The cheerful conversation that had been buzzing at the King's end of the table stalled. "I beg pardon, your majesty," I said as I backed towards the door. "I'm feeling ill." I put a hand over my stomach to suggest morning sickness. The Countess immediately stood up to see me to the bathroom, but I held out a hand. "I'll be back soon."

I scurried out into the hall without looking back. I had to be very careful about this. When I felt I was close enough to be heard for sure, and also close enough to the door leading to the gardens, I screamed at the top of my lungs and cut off abruptly.

Bertram's voice was the first I heard. "Helen!"

"The Senoys!" someone else yelled.

I burst out the door and kicked off my shoes frantically. Then I made tracks past the fountains and through the rose gardens towards the appointed meeting place. If things worked out as planned, Lavatch should have offered to help search the palace with Bertram. Then, as soon as Bertram was gone, Paroles would say he wanted to help too, pick up his costume, and meet me at our spot. By the time all four of us met up, I'd be the perfect damsel in distress, all ripe for the rescuing.

The only thing I could do now was wait. I quickly ruffled my hair and tore my dress a tad. Then I reached under the bench and extracted the rapier and book I'd placed there earlier. Since it would take Paroles a while to get changed, I might as well catch up on some reading.

Somewhere around page two (which I had read four times), I snapped the book shut and let myself cry. The father of my child didn't love me, and I was manipulating him… again. It was how I got through life. Clever, subtle manipulation. I heard someone traipsing through the grove next to me and I swiped at my eyes.

Paroles was so covered in capes and robes and cloaks that it was impossible to tell it was him. The hulking runaway-wardrobe nodded at me, and then plodded over. "We ready?" he asked.

I nodded, handing him the rapier. "Should be here any minute."

"You were crying," he said, a smirk playing at his lips. "Nice touch. How'd you manage that?"

Bertram and Lavatch's timely arrival spared me from having to answer. Paroles quickly locked his arm around my neck and fumbled for the rapier. We moved to the edge of the thicket.

"Lavatch, this is ridiculous," Bertram griped, dragging himself after the energetic jester. "Do you know your way around this place or don't you? Helen could be anywhere by now."

Lavtach mumbled some convoluted answer about the nature of the ridiculous, and Bertram rolled his eyes.

"Now," I whispered. We moved into their line of sight and I did my best to look desperate. I felt the rapier prick lightly into my back, and I jammed myself into it to let Paroles know this was no time play nice.

"By r' lakin, Lavatch, did you see him go this way or not?" Bertram snapped. Lavatch was about to answer when he cut off and looked in our direction. Bertram followed his gaze.

"Thank God," I uttered, lurching away from Paroles. "Bertram, help me!"

The grounds were growing dark, and it was almost otherworldly to see the sheen of his rapier as he pulled it from his belt. He stalked up to Paroles with a swiftness and grace that I'd seen only a few times before, a beauty that took my breath away and made me fall in love with him all over again. Whatever shame I felt for setting this trap for him disappeared. It was worth it just for this.

"What are you?" he growled at Paroles.

"You killed my brother in the war," he responded, making his voice low and gravelly. Wow. Maybe Paroles did care more about this than I thought. I guessed part of it was payback, but still, I was impressed that he hadn't massively screwed it up yet.

Bertram and Paroles began to circle each other, which was kind of awkward since the latter was still trying to use me as a human shield. Lavatch, as I'd asked, had gone to the palace window and had ushered everyone over to watch this feat of valor.

"How did you get in here? And what do you want with my wife?" Although his voice was perfectly composed, his eyes told a different story. He was nervous. He feared for my life.

"To cause you the pain that you caused me."

"Release her. Now. Or so help me I'll rend your head from your shoulders."

Paroles drew the rapier away from my back and brought it up to my neck. He pressed down just enough to draw blood. It hurt in a good way. To me, the amount of pain I felt was proportionate to the degree to which Bertram would treasure me afterwards. I yelped.

That's when everything went to enfer.

Bertram jabbed at Parole's shoulder, one of the only parts of his body that I wasn't standing in front of, and tore through a good part of his flesh. He screamed like a girl and roughly threw me to the ground. I fell hard on my stomach, putting out my hands to stop me just a little too late. It smarted, but the pain was infinitesimal compared to the panic I felt for the child inside me. Unbidden tears pooled in my eyes. God, I wanted Bertram to love me, but at the cost of my child? No. No, no, never.

I looked up and saw Bertram and Paroles parrying. Paroles was losing badly. I'm not sure if it was on purpose or not. After Bertram had him practically up against a tree, Paroles turned to run away and three strides into his great escape he tripped over a root. His rapier went flying from his hand and his hat floated off his head. He scrambled to get them back, but at that point I knew it was too late. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Lavatch frantically divert the King and Countess's attention.

"P-Paroles?" Bertram asked incredulously. He crept closer to the young man, then seemed to notice me, and rushed over. "Helen. What happened?"

I put a hand over my stomach. My first instinct was to think of a lie, a really beautiful and elaborate one, but words failed me. I was an impostor and a bad wife, yes, but a murderer I was not. And now my little one would die because of me.

"Helen. Say something."

I thought about using the gay baby line, but it somehow didn't seem to fit here. I put my arms around Bertram's neck and cried into his shoulder.

We stayed like that for ten precious seconds before he brusquely broke away. "Don't you even think about crawling away, Paroles." I looked over to see the bundle of costumes stop in his tracks. He got to his feet and walked over to us. For a moment we held a glance. He seemed to ask, How much do you want me to tell him? Or, knowing Paroles, probably more like, Why don't you do the talking and save me the trouble? He gripped his shoulder, the blood already showing through his fingers.

I looked at the window and saw that no one stood watching us anymore. They were most likely making their way out to us to see what had happened. Knowing I'd have to speak at some point, I took a deep breath and looked my husband in the eye.

"I asked him to do it, my lord. I love you. I wanted you to love me, too. And I was hoping that if you fought for me, and won me like you had to win Diana, maybe we could make our marriage work." I wasn't excepting Bertram to be touched by the breadth of my sentiments, and from the looks of it, he certainly wasn't. "It was stupid and selfish. And now I don't even know what's going to happen to the baby."

Bertram turned to Paroles. "Is this true?" Paroles nodded. "You connard. You'd let her do this to me?"

Paroles' eyes narrowed. "You were being a jerk to her. She did nothing but love you and all you had to say was that she was too poor to marry you."

Bertram blushed. After a beat he answered, "Well you rooted me on when I said I was going to war."

"Only because I'm a fickle bastard."

"That's your defense? You're fickle?"

"Stop!" I shouted angrily. My tears kept coming, streaking like coals down my cheeks. "Shut up, the both of you. Paroles, be mad at me for dragging you into this. Bertram, hate me for not being a good wife. But someone please save the baby." I tried to stand and both men rushed to help me up at once. I couldn't feel it kicking, and that scared me more than almost anything in the world.

"She needs a physician."

"No," I mumbled hollowly. "I need a miracle."

A thought came rushing to me. I remembered the exact words I had practiced on the long coach-ride to this very court many months ago: Oft expectation fails and most oft there / Where most it promises, and oft it hits / Where hope is coldest and despair most fits. My medicine! The medicine that my father entrusted me with before he died, the one that I'd used to save the King. I still had some left.

At that moment, I could see the King and his train walking at a swift pace through the gardens. Lavatch had clearly not been enough to stop them. I wished I could disappear, but in a way it was a blessing. I tried to read the King's face, and oddly enough he didn't seem angry. He just looked determined.

"Quickly," I said as soon as they were in earshot. "Someone go up into my chamber and look through my trunk. At the bottom I have—"

"This?"

The Countess, who was standing right behind the King, held up a half empty flask of clear liquid. It sparkled like snow in the last rays of the setting sun. I made an unattractive moan of thanks and lunged for it.

"Helen, what is that?" Bertram asked warily as I held it in my shaking hands.

"It's what saved me," the King intoned, gesturing for me to drink. Without any further ado I took a sip, then another, and then gulped the whole thing. Paroles murmured behind me that he wanted some for his arm. I handed the flask back to the Countess, who stood behind me and rubbed my back tenderly.

"How do you feel, poussin?" asked one of the dinner guests gently.

I was waiting for a kick. For anything. I would have held my breath if I could have caught it. After a while I started crying again. Bertram put an arm around my shoulder and squeezed me close to him, but he might as well have been standing on the other side of France. I felt nothing but the nothing in my stomach.

And then, one tiny little flick against the inside of my belly as if to say, Mom, why'd you fall on me like that?

"Grace a Dieu!" I shouted. I hugged my stomach first, then the Countess, then Bertram, then Paroles, and I had enough good sense to stop before I reached the King. Lavatch was hanging around at the edge of the group since he thought he was probably in the doghouse. I couldn't care less. My baby was alive, and that was all that mattered.

All of the King's dinner guests clapped for me. Paroles, who had recovered his hat by now, swept it off and bowed as though they were thanking him for his performance. I gave them a tremulous smile and a frenzied laugh as I rubbed my stomach up and down.

"Do you suppose we could finish dinner now?" the King asked with a grin. I nodded. "Then we'll meet you two back in the hall." He turned around and almost everyone went with him. I tried to walk after them, but Bertram tightened his grip around my shoulders so I stayed. Paroles looked like he wanted to pick a fight with Bertram, but Lavatch quickly wrapped him up in some irrational debate. I'd need to remember to thank him for everything later.

Currently sharing my stomach with the baby and the miracle potion was a horde of butterflies. Bertram wanted to talk alone, and I didn't think it was going to be one of those warm and fuzzy conversations. He remained hauntingly silent until every last person had walked back into the hall. Even when we had the garden entirely to ourselves, he didn't say a word.

I couldn't bear not knowing what he was thinking. I turned to him, the look in my eyes desperate and a little wild. "Bertram? Won't you say something? Are you upset with me for all this?"

Slowly, he put his hand under my chin and placed the gentlest, most tender kiss on my lips. Smiling when he released me, he said very quietly, "All's well that ends well."