Eruca took Stocke to the east wing of the palace under the stupefied gazes of the guardsmen and servants.
Their stares were unnerving. His previous visits to Castle Granorg had happened under such dire circumstances that no one had stopped to notice his eerie resemblance to their dead prince. Now, there was no escaping it. Whispers followed him in every corridor, and an old woman with gentle, lovely features fainted at the sight of him. Eruca had been quite distressed then, and only after asking her did he learn that the old woman had been their governess when they had been children.
"She's never been the same since Ernst died," Eruca had said. Her cheeks had then coloured at her mistake. Stocke couldn't fault her; she had trained herself to believe her brother had been gone for the past four years. Old habits died hard, after all.
The hallway they reached was richly decorated, with thick carpets that muffled the sounds of Stocke's footsteps. The torchlight here was replaced by the faint glow of some mechanical contraptions; Thaumachines, Stocke realized with a start. He supposed they were relics from the royal family's Imperial heritage that had been brought along by their ancestors in their exile.
The walls were adorned by large paintings, portraits mostly. The people they represented were austere: their eyes seemed to silently judge the two of them as they passed by. Eruca explained the history behind each of them as they walked through the hallway, accompanied by two of her guards and the ever faithful Marie.
The two guardsmen followed them well out of earshot, as Eruca instructed them. Like the rest of the castle, they had been sworn to secrecy as to Stocke's presence. She had not quite decided yet how she wanted to explain his striking resemblance to her long-gone brother to the rest of the court, and very much preferred to keep sordid rumours to a bare minimum. Stocke wholly agreed.
Stocke was certain that little of what Eruca was telling him would stick in his mind; with a wry grin, he realized he'd need to read up a bit on the subject to polish his family history later on. He was struck speechless, however, by the appearances of the first queens and kings of Granorg. Their long, pointed ears reminded him of a certain pair. Eruca did not comment on this, prompting Stocke to wonder if it was common knowledge for the Granorgite elite to know that their ancestors might have been not fully human.
The later portraits were different: their colours were more vibrant, and the paint had not yet started to peel off. Some depicting a lovely blonde woman did appear a little worse for wear, however. Eruca's stoic composure seemed to break a little as Stocke asked her who she was.
"You can't remember?" she said, her voice wavering. "You really can't?"
Stocke looked away, meeting Marie's eyes by inadvertence. She looked stricken as well.
"No, I can't." Stocke peered closer at the portrait, trying to dredge from the depths of his mind some forgotten memory. He shook his head.
"You didn't remember much about her in the first place." Eruca sighed. "Still, I always pestered you for details. I was so little when she died."
"Our mother?" Stocke said, turning back to her. "That's our mother?"
Eruca bit down her lip, then nodded. Stocke looked upon the portrait again.
"I remember her dying when I was young as well," he finally said. "I guess that didn't need to be changed."
Eruca wrung her hands together. "Moth—Protea moved most of her portraits to the cellars when she ascended to the throne. That's why they are such in poor condition."
"We could have someone to look about restoring them."
Eruca smiled at him, the first smile she'd given him even since they started their little tour. "This is what I believe as well." She moved to the next painting, her expression turning dark. Stocke's eyes followed her motion, and he felt himself frowning at the sight of the man depicted in the painting.
"Do you…?" Eruca began as she saw his expression change. "Do you recognize him?"
"No." But there was something about the man's eyes—the cold blue, the shape of them—that set Stocke on edge. The father he remembered had a rounder face, a different hair colour and dark, heavy bags under his eyes. He looked older and more world-weary than King Victor of Granorg—and evidently less handsome. Of course, Stocke thought. He couldn't resist making some changes. Out of spite.
"Let's move on to another portrait." Eruca said. "I'll tell you about him one day, but not now. I simply cannot bear it."
For a split second, Stocke wished he could have reached to her. But he couldn't. He'd never been keen on affectionate gestures. Raynie was starting to grind down his defenses a bit, but there was still a long way to go before… before what, actually? Had Ernst even been one for hugs and kisses and holding hands? Would Eruca find it strange if he tried to comfort her in any way?
Stocke shooed those thoughts away and continued to follow his sister without any word. From the portraits on the wall, their father's eyes bore down on them. A distant hatred resurfaced from within Stocke. This, he expected, had not been forcibly planted inside his mind. It had been something borne wholly of his own experiences. He's dead now, Stocke reminded himself. Both in reality and in my own fake world. The anger slightly receded. He didn't need it.
He, Eruca and Marie, finally arrived at a large painting showing five people, three adults and two children. Stocke's breath hitched in his throat.
"I guess you don't need me to tell you that this handsome little boy is you," Eruca said as she pointed to one of the two blond toddlers in the painting. The boy was dressed in a fine red velvet doublet, and wore an expression far too grave for one his age. It left Stocke oddly amused. "The baby in Mother's lap is me." Young Eruca was all golden curls and white frills. "And this man next to Father is…"
Stocke didn't need to be told. He glanced at the young man—teenager, really—in the portrait, trying to find in his wide, fearful eyes, in his slouched posture, in his clasped, bony hands some bits and parts of the crazed creature that had been trying to kill them all only some months priors. The only image his mind could instead conjure was that of a broken old man crying out to him, begging not to be left alone. Something in his mouth suddenly tasted bitter.
"I don't remember much about him as well," Eruca said. "You were closer to him, but I can't say you talked much about him after he disappeared. You were just… so angry at everything."
A faint buzzing had begun to ring in Stocke's ears. It was not a pleasant feeling. "Could we go somewhere else?" he found himself telling Eruca. "I'm starting to get a headache."
"Of course," his sister said, and they headed for her study, guards and Marie in tow. The soldiers mercifully stayed outside as he and Eruca sat down, while Marie left to bring refreshments. Not a moment later, she was back, with an herbal tea for Stocke and a small glass of something golden that smelled rather pleasant for Eruca.
"Cider with honey, Your Majesty," Marie said with a wink.
Stocke looked at his sister with a quirk of the eyebrow.
"Oh, shush, you two," the young queen answered. "You know it's perfect for these chilly winter nights."
"We haven't said anything, my lady," Marie quipped. "I'll leave you two alone for now." She bowed to the queen then headed outside the study.
"I'm grateful for her companionship," Eruca said with a soft smile. "I will have to find myself some new ladies-in-waiting after I get married. Preferably from my husband's family." She sighed. She obviously hadn't meant for the last words to sound so bitter.
"Are you getting married?" Stocke asked, a note of amusement creeping in his voice.
"I should. The realm needs an heir. And of course…" Her unsaid words hung heavily in the air.
Stocke himself had realized lately that he had gotten terrified of being too intimate with Raynie. She understood her fears, and never pushed him for more than they currently had, but…
No wonder our family is so messed-up.
"There are many candidates vying for my hand," Eruca said, her fingers circling the top of her glass in an absentminded gesture. "I don't know which to choose."
"You don't need to do this so quickly. Give it some time."
"Should I?" Eruca turned her gaze on him. "I don't think I have this luxury."
"What I mean is that you should at least find someone you're comfortable with," Stocke replied. "Get someone you like, at least. Don't just think about this in matters of duties and favours to your court." The thought of Eruca in a loveless union was unbearable. It was strange to find himself so protective of someone he didn't even know two years ago.
Eruca gave a little laugh. "Weren't you the man would once told me to stick to my duty no matter what?"
Stocke answered with a soft look. "Things were different back then. I was just a stranger offering advice. Not a concerned big brother."
The smile she gave him then was brighter than the sun. With watery eyes, she reached for his hand. Stocke interlaced his fingers with hers, gently squeezing them back.
Written for the 2014 RH fandom Christmas exchange, for catteries.