Disclaimer: I don't own Noblesse. However, the dubiously delightful heroine of this piece and other such original creations are mine.
A/N: This story has been sitting in my head for quite a while now, though it was a great deal more melodramatic in its early stages. After much hashing and thrashing and beating around the bush, I've finally been motivated to write it down decently and present it for your reading pleasure.
As a note of warning, the chapters will vary in length, and they will probably not be very long. My beta and I have done our best to ensure that m heroine doesn't turn into a Mary-Sue, and that the essence of Noblesse is preserved in this story – we're well aware we're messing with Rai, you see!^_~ At the end of the day, all that I want is to write a sweet, simple – and funny, I hope – Noblesse love story, and I hope you all enjoy it!
Also, many thanks to my beta, Smortz!
Girl: The Tale of a Dire Lack of Contraceptives and Sensible Baby Names
All such tales begin with a dark and stormy night. Or at least, they ought to, Gejutel K. Landeger, the honoured old warhorse of the Landeger clan, reflected, when a sticky little fist managed to get a good hold on his beard and tugged. Hard.
He winced at the indignity. His own son had never been this…rambunctious. But then again – he puffed out his chest just a little – his own son had been a pure-blooded noble baby. He glared down at the giggling bundle of stickiness and moodiness in his arms, hoping to instill some sense of decorum into it, if only by fear of his big, beetling brows and red, red staring eyes.
Tug. Pull. Giggle. Smack.
No such luck.
"Fine," he muttered, and promptly stalked off to find the baby's father – and bumped smack into the Lord, ruler of all the Nobles.
At any other time, the sight of the Lord, sprawled on the floor of the royal palace in a halo of robes and silky blonde hair, would have given Gejutel a serious case of the flusters and blushes and incoherent excuses. On this particular occasion however, his dignity had already been injured so much by the tiny half-human baby in his arms that he simply shrugged off the additional blow to his ego, deposited the baby in her father's arms and left them both there, blinking owlishly at his stiff, retreating back.
The Lord sighed and looked down at the now-silent baby in his arms. She was preoccupied with his hair, tangling her fingers in the long strands with strangely detached concentration. He grinned at her and jostled her a bit. "Hey, hey, now little one! Look at Papa…look, lookity look?"
She ignored him. Pretty hair obviously being of more importance than pretty Papas.
His face fell a little, but he wasn't going to give up that easily, not when the prize was a blinding, toothless smile from his little daughter. Cuddles and tickles and rock-a-bye cradles proved fruitless, so in desperation, he finally began singing. "Brutislava, Brutislava, my precious little flowah! The prettiest rose in Papa's garden; smile for me, you little widgeon!" he trilled, hitting the highest and lowest notes possible without completely losing the tune.
Silence descended around them the second he closed his mouth. Even Gejutel had stopped, fascinated by the terrible performance. Suspense hovered in the air.
Would little Brutislava turn her head and finally grace her Papa with a beloved smile?
Both Nobles' eyes remained fixed on the baby. Slowly, as if feeling the weight of their gazes, she turned her head, the tussled brown curls gleaming in the sunshine.
And gave her father a most disgusted look before crawling off into the shrubbery in pursuit of a passing butterfly.
Gejutel desperately wanted to laugh.
The rejected father, on the other hand, was slouched on the floor in an attitude of utter gloom. Long, burnished golden locks fells over his forehead, covering his eyes. The ends curled around his fingers as he plucked disconsolately at them. Gejutel debated the wisdom of stopping him – it wouldn't do have the Lord go bald now, would it – but the poor man looked like he might just start crying if someone didn't give him a nice hug and a bowl of warm chicken soup soon.
Hmm. If he was truly a loyal servant of the Lord, as he claimed to be, it should be his bounden duty to provide the morose ruler with just that. Gejutel shook off that ghastly thought as soon as it prodded his conscience. Good grief, if he so much as suggested at a bit of comfort and consolation – and good, hearty food – the Lord would probably insist on him carrying it all the way through. In a uniform borrowed from the palace nurse.
Gejutel K. Landeger's dignity, which was a force quite as important as its owner and encompassed his entire clan, shuddered from top to toe at the mental images that his battered, broken, baby-beleaguered brain had just produced.
Yet, underneath all that frosty dignity and elegance, beat a kindly, paternal old heart that had toddled the Lord on its knee when the Lord had been a baby just as perverse as this little daughter of his. Gejutel sighed and gave in to instinct.
"What…?" The Lord peered up at his most trusted advisor when he felt his hand gently patting his shoulder. Gejutel smiled back, remembering his own days as a new father…he hadn't been quite right for the first seventeen months of his son's life. Yet, he had managed to raise the boy into a fine, dignified young Noble, hadn't he? If a mere clan leader could manage the enormous responsibility of moulding a young life, then the Lord would surely be no less!
Though…he stared at the baby frolicking in the garden. This one might turn out a little too interesting, considering her father's personality. Oh well, we shall see to fixing that when the time comes. For now, there's a young father who needs me rather more than you do, wee one.
And out came the first of many pieces of parenting advice that Gejutel K. Landeger was to pass on to the Lord of the Nobles, as both men worked to raise the baby that neither had planned for.
"If I may be so presumptuous, Lord, she might like you more if you didn't persist in calling her Brutislava…"
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