Declan Broekhart caught his son's eye and stared at him. This was it, the moment to clear the air. Conor threded his way down the tower. All the while thinking of what to say; how to say it. Thankfully, as he opened the reinforced door, he didn't have to speak.
"Hello son" said Declan Broekhart, "will you walk with me?"
Conor nodded and slowly donned his leather jacket; pulling the door closed behind him. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard a satisfied sigh coming from Linus. The two men began to walk, hands in pockets down the shore. Father and son nearly identical to the casual passerby in the moonlight.
"Conor, my son, I have many things I need to say" began Declan, glancing in his son's direction, "but I'm finding myself having a hard time saying them."
This caught Conor off guard.
"I have failed you as a father. My first priority should always have been to my family. I should have known you'd never betray your king and country."
Conor was speechless. This was the last thing he expected his father to say. This left him with more questions than he'd had before. Until now, he'd been walking, staring at the rocks beneath his feet. He paused, bringing a halt to their journey. Looking over at his father, Conor realized for the first time that he was looking his father level in the eye.
"Father, so much has happened in the years I've been gone. You did what you thought you had to do. There was no way for you to know the depth of Bonvillans treachery. I am the one who needs to apologize. I've been free for over a month and never tried to reach out to you or mother."
The cold brisk of the air swept across both Broekhart men sending a chill through them. In the moonlight, Conor could begin to see the strain of the whole affair on his father's face. Declan wore the weight of the world on his shoulders and it was killing him to not be able to make peace with his son. Declan turned to face him, grabbing him by both shoulders, "Listen to me son, had I known there was even a hint of your life that remained, I would have slashed Bonvillan through the heart and clawed through that prison with my bare hands! You are no traitor and I know what my words must have done to you in your cell. I have to live with that the rest of my life. At least let me apologize to you and hope that in time you can forgive my misguided blind anguish."
This honesty, the wrinkled brow and the realization of what his supposed death must have meant for his mother, Isabella and father left him with only one thing to say,"Of course father, of course."
Declan Broekhart pulled his son into a bone-crushing embrace, holding him there like it was their last moment on earth. Truth be told, Conor was so glad to be loved again by the very man who denounced him made him want to stay by his father forever.
After a moment, both men silently turned and headed back to Forlorn Point. Nothing needed to be said just yet, they were warming up to the idea of being on the same side again. Father and son reunited.
As they neared the tower, Conor opened his mouth to speak, but was unsure of how to say what he was feeling.
Declan spoke for him, "Conor, stay where you like, but you need to speak with your Queen. There are many things to be said by both of you."
Conor stared at the ground, pushing a pebble around with his boot, a silent nod was all the answer he could muster.
"Be honest with her, she's grown and changed in your absence but she's never forgotten you. She'll, no doubt, have a few things of her own to say. Just speak from your heart son, and for God's sake listen to her."
This brought a smile to Conor's lips; now this was advice he could use.
Declan clapped his son on the forearm and held his gaze a moment longer, then with a small smile on his face turned and walked from sight.
That night Conor slept very little. Thoughts of what he needed say to Isabella kept filling his mind.
Isabella. He was a very different boy than the 14 year old one who had barged in on her that fateful afternoon, and subsequently declared his love for her. In a moment her father was dead, Victor was dead, and he was framed, beaten within an inch of his life and thrown into the worst hell he could imagine. Isabella. He'd be lying if he didn't tell her that she filled most of his nighttime thoughts; her face swimming before his eyes. Her smile keeping him from insanity. So many times he had dreamt of what to say to her should he be freed. That was all before he'd spent time as Conor Finn; cold mercenary and blood-thirsty diamond thief. Would she want to know that part of him? Would she forgive his involvement with the gang? His father had been quick to ask for forgiveness. This gave him and idea. Perhaps he'd take his father's lead when he saw her tomorrow and let the tide of emotions begin with an apology.
In the morning, at first light, Conor dressed and climbed to the roof ready to fit himself to the glider and jump into the wind tunnel.
A cough and "good morning" greeted him on the roof. Conor started. Linus was waiting for him, wrapped in a waterproof canvas, it was clear he had been up here some time. "Came to see you off…the wind is right today."
Conor smiled, "many things are right today."
Linus lifted the glider and helped Conor into it, pulling the harness tight. "You're smiling aren't you?" asked the old man.
"Yes" and with that, Conor ran the few steps to the edge and dove off. The wind tunnel caught him right away. Being in the sky was right, it was home and all doubt left Conor's mind as he banked left and headed out to sea. He could see the palace off in the distance, just as the sun was beginning to alight on the water.
Isabella had spent 5 lonely days thinking about their last conversation. Had she been wrong to want a celebration for the Airman? He had saved her life once again and foiled Bonvillan once and for all. No, if that didn't warrant a celebration, then nothing did. She was queen now, she'd have to stop second-guessing her judgment. She swung her legs out of bed, grabbed her silk robe and cinched it about her waist.
Crossing to her dressing table, she ran a brush through her long auburn locks. She smiled at her reflection. He was home. He was alive. Now how to get him to see reason? Three long years she had labored under the influence that he was dead. All of that changed last week. She remembered crossing the room and throwing her arms around his neck. How tall he had grown. He had embraced her back had he not? Did he not love her the way he once did? Isabella pondered this as she watched the sun begin to rise over the sea. She rose, crossing the room to the window to truly give the sunrise the attention it deserved. She opened the doors to the patio and scanned the skies as she had done a thousand times.
This time however, something caught her gaze and turned her attention from the spectacular sunrise. A dark figure was gliding over the water toward her. He was still 1000 meters away, but even the sight of him made her heart skip a beat. Conor. He was coming to see her. He was alive and making his way to her. She smiled a broad smile and turned back to the room. She would meet him on the roof parapet.
Conor landed as gently as he had on the bridge that first day back from Little Saltee. Pulling both rope handles he took the glider off and gently began to fold the wings in. He heard a scuffle of feet and turned to see a guard taking aim at him with a rifle. Conor quickly removed his mask and goggles and waved to the marksman. At that same moment he heard a door open behind him. He smiled, knowing already who he'd see when he turned. The marksman lowered his weapon and gave a curt nod in his direction. Conor turned slowly, finishing the stowing of his glider before looking at Isabella.
She stood there in her dressing gown and robe. He shouldn't have expected anything differently due to the hour of the morning, but it surprised him none the less. Her features were highlighted in the early sun rays and he was taken aback by how beautiful she had become. His father was right, she had grown and changed. She smiled at him and crossed the distance to him in a few short strides. Conor smiled in return and moved toward her.
"Good morning" he began.
"Good morning to you too" Isabella replied. "I'm glad you came. I was beginning to think you were not coming back."
"I was too" Conor replied. "I've had a lot of thinking to do and I needed someone to kick some sense into me."
"I'd be happy to do that if you want. I'd also be happy to slap or punch you if you'd rather. However, it sounds like somebody beat me to it."
Conor was shocked, she was joking with him already. Perhaps this would be easier than he thought. "Yes, Linus has given me much to think about."
"Good, then let's hear it. I'm all ears" She crossed her arms in front of herself, aware for the first time of the brisk wind from up on the roof. A shiver crossed her body and Conor noticed it.
"Don't you think we ought to get off this roof? Perhaps let you get dressed and we can chat then?"
Isabella stared at Conor for a long moment, taking in his features on his face and studying his eyes, nose, chin and jaw. She didn't answer for a time, but when she did, she had lost all traces of sarcasm, "yes, lets."
She turned and led the way back down the spiral turret to the upper floors of the castle. Conor obligingly followed Isabella back to her dressing room. When she entered, he hesitated, and then decided to stand sentry rather than follow her inside. Isabella noticed this hesitation, "Come in will you not? The Queen's apartment is quite different from my old quarters when we were children. You'll be safe I can assure you as will I."He hesitated one second longer then followed his queen into her chambers. She was not mistaken; Isabella had done much to change the look of the King's chambers since his death. Somehow it felt lonely and hollow despite the lavish furnishings and large windows.
Conor stood by the fire, watching the flames dance warming himself while Isabella disappeared behind a door, no doubt to dress. As he waited, he could picture her on the rooftop, wind whipping around her thin frame in her dressing gown, her smooth skin and bright eyes. She was happy he was back. She was happy he had come to see her. He knew the words he would say, he had made a new version of himself over night. He had melded Conor Broekhart with Conor Finn and he would present himself to Isabella. He would explain his absence without giving too much detail, he would ask for forgiveness and then be silent, letting Isabella speak.
Isabella returned from her dressing chambers, as she did, Conor turned to see her. She was beautiful in her deep purple form fitting sheath. The first thing Conor noticed was her neckline; long graceful neck with her hair hastily piled upon her head, the bodice of her dress sloping ever so gently down to a V at her bustline. Her waist cinched tight and the curve of her hips jutting out from her corset. Her gown caught the curve of her hip and fell in a straight line to the floor. He had never seen anyone so beautiful in his life.
He must have been staring at her for some time because she began to blush and cleared her throat. Right, on to business. He walked over to Isabella and gently took her hand. "Isabella, there are a lot of things I need to tell you," he said mimicking his father's words from the night before.
Isabella cut him off, "Conor, I know. I know all about your imprisonment, the torture you endured, the branding and gangs you had to fight in and become a part of. I know all of it. That's not the part of you I care about. I want to know why you came back. You worked so hard to free yourself from that hell and still you came back to people who thought you dead, or a traitor."
Conor found himself speechless for the second time that morning. How did she know?
Isabella reached up and brushed a strand of hair off his forehead. Conor shivered at her touch. He loved her so much and he always had. "I came back because I couldn't have you thinking I was a murderer and traitor. Believe me, I had wanted to run, start a whole new life in America, but the thought of leaving you behind was too much for me in the end." Conor searched Isabella's eyes. He continued, "Even if you didn't want me, I had to do it to clear my conscience. Bonvillan ruined both of our lives. If I didn't kill him, then I would at the very least ruin his life." Conor adopted a steely look to his eyes with that statement and Isabella grabbed his other hand in hers, leading him to a sofa by the fire.
"Conor, when I said you were my hero and savior, I meant every word. I've thought about you so often in the last three years wondering how I'd ever be able to move on without you. It was painful to see your mother and father, and when I learned about a new baby for them, I was happy and sad simultaneously. Happy that they had begun to move on with their lives, but sad that you and I would never have that kind of life; that love. How is a queen supposed to go on courting knowing that her one true love died? Conor, when you died that day, I died with you."
He didn't know what to say. Bonvillan's lies had scarred Isabella to her core. Conor was just beginning to understand the anquish she had been through. He looked up at her, surprised to see she was crying. He reached up and brushed a tear away from her face. She grabbed his hand and held it to her face, cradling it against her cheek. Conor wanted to melt into the sofa, all he could manage was "Isabella…" He leaned over to her and wrapped his free arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him. She began to sob quietly into his embrace. She had been holding in so much emotion for so long. The death of her father, Vigny, Conor and assuming the crown were all too much for her. He pulled her even tighter and held her, letting his own tears free from their bonds. Together they sat, letting time and space knit them back together; their shared experience so terrible no one else could understand.