Grant Us All
Rifiuto: Non Miriena
Summary: A slighted, mad king and the probability of war. A country caught in the middle of a family feud. And the young Fliaanian empress, desperate to keep her own family from falling victim to the same bullets that nearly ended her family's dynasty over twenty years earlier. Will she succeed? 4th in the Fliaanian Royals series.
A/N: Written: 2007. Found: 2017- Licia
1940
Laughter filled the air, and she watched from her place on the porch as her children dashed out to play in the snow. All eight of them were filled to the brim with excitement, for it was the first week of the new year; they had a reprieve from lessons, and their parents were home with them, having forgone their duties as rulers to be parents these last few weeks. Not that the children were neglected, not in any way, but it was nice when they got to spend time with their parents without the titles or formality.
The boys were careful; they helped their sisters build snowmen and create snow angels, while Cattery, the young maid, watched over them, being ever diligent to make sure the boys didn't get hurt.
Strong arms slid around her from behind, and she turned, meeting her husband's gaze. "It's nice to see them playing, being children."
She nodded, leaning back against his chest. "Instead of the royals they have to be most of the time?"
He chuckled, knowing what she said was true, though behind closed doors, they were like any normal family. The children often had to be on their best behavior when visitors came- unless it was Partra, Locasta, Glinda or her parents or even Zor and Trot- and with the last few days, it had been members of Parliament, come to discuss what to do in regards to the situation with Ev and the attack on Center Munch. Though Trism and Elphaba had kept the news of the attack away from their children, not wanting to marr their innocence with distressing news. Whenever the children had been pleasant, they'd been polite, respectful, quiet, as they should be. Often meeting in Trism's study on the first floor, their father had usually ushered whoever it was out the door and then shut it softly behind them, with a nod to go play. The conversations were private, adult affairs between whoever had come and their mother, and they were not to interrupt.
"Mama! Daddy! Come play with us, please!"
The couple shared a glance, before Trism took her hand, tugging her down the steps. She laughed softly as he pulled her towards the children. Though her husband was King of the Vinkus, he never missed an opportunity to return to childhood, even at the young age of thirty-five.
She hummed softly with the music coming from the small radio in the living room as she sat curled up on the sofa in her Cerulean Room, reading a book later that evening. Her two oldest sons were locked in a game of Chess, and her oldest, Faola, sat beside her on the sofa, working on a drawing. Faola, at only ten, was turning out to be a gifted artist.
So like you, Fabala. She briefly glanced up from her book, to see her mother leaning over her daughter's shoulder, watching her. My granddaughter is as gifted as her mother with a drawing pencil.
Most of the doors of the house were open; Trism had turned the radio on after dinner before slipping out of the house; Locasta and Partra were coming to visit, and Trism would pick them both up at that train station, within the hour, leaving Elphaba alone with the children. They were having a quiet evening at home.
"But why? That doesn't seem fair."
"I don't know why, Kauri."
"What doesn't seem fair, Fechí?" Elphaba asked, turning another page in her book as Cattery set the tray with cups for coffee and tea down on the table. "Thank you, Cattery." The young maid nodded, as the nearly-nine-year-old princess spoke up.
"That the servants have to work these few weeks when they should be spending the holiday with their families. This is slavery, Mama!" Everything stopped; Elphaba looked up from her book; both Chiss and Kió stopped their game, and even the scratching of Faola's pencil stopped as she turned to her sister. Fechín soon became very aware that everyone was looking at her.
"Some of them don't have families to go home to for the holidays, Fechí," Elphaba whispered, her personal nickname for her daughter flying from her lips like angel's wings. She thought of Cata, who's only family had died when she was a child, and who had spent so long in the palace, that the Thropps had become her family.
"Oh." The child had the decency to look ashamed at her comment.
"Where are your siblings?" Elphaba marked her place and closed her book, setting it on the end table as she sat up, accepting a cup of steaming coffee from the maid. "Thank you, Cattery." The young maid nodded; though she had become the keeper of the children, she still waited on her master and mistress, for she had been Elphaba's personal servant not long after her return to Fliaan, before the young empress had married the Vinkun king.
"Welcome, Your Majesty." The young servant poured a cup for Faola, who wrinkled her nose, but accepted it once the maid added sugar and cream.
"In the kitchens with the cook."
"Cata."
The younger girl furrowed a brow. "What?"
"Cata. That cook's name is Cata, and you would do well to learn it, Fiarchra Elphaparia Tigelaar." The child ducked her head; while it wasn't her full name, and only her matrionic, it was still chiding, to be referenced by, especially when it came out of her mother's mouth, and her first name was involved. "That 'cook' as you call her, has been with my family since I was not much older than you. She did not start out as a cook; she was a scullery maid to your grandmama, and a personal friend of mine and your aunts. We loved her, and when the revolution hit, she was taken from us, forced to leave before we were taken to the House of Special Purpose. She is lucky she survived the revolution, when so many of our household did not. She is with us because she asked; she has watched over each of you before you were even born, and she deserves respect, and you will treat her with such or there will be consequences. Do I make myself clear, Fiarchra?"
The other children nodded, and slowly, softly, the eight-year-old princess whispered, "Yes, Mama."
Silence fell within the Cerulean Room again, and after a moment, Faola asked, "Mama, what's the House of Special Purpose?"
But before she could answer, a car door closing could be heard and Havni, Vala and Ruli's voices could be heard downstairs. Ryn's voice soon carried up the stairs. "Mama! Daddy's home! And he brought company!"