Authors Note: Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Sorry for the delay in getting this out. Thank you so much for the reviews! I must confess I did a little happy dance when I saw them :) I hope you like this chapter just as much!
Disclaimer: Lionhead owns it all. *teardrop
In Which The Queen Makes A Decision
Reaver strode away from the castle, smiling with devilish amusement at the havoc he was leaving in his wake. The Queen, being rather too intelligent for her own good, would spend the rest of the night scrutinizing his little gift, trying to glean some insight into his plans. She would find none of course, but then, that had been the point.
He laughed into the night, startling several merry-makers who were passing by. Their eyes filled with fear at the sight of just whose path they had stumbled into and, in their haste to get away, they careened wildly into one another in a most comical manner. He snorted in amusement as he passed the drunken sods, now hopelessly entangled on the filthy street. It was so very nice to be remembered.
Sauntering through the gritty streets of Industrial, he made his way to the docks. There, moored against the furthest pier, drifted the Reaver. As he walked to the gangway, boot heels thudding on the wooden boards, Reaver again congratulated himself on his newest little game. He had been so terribly bored of late, and now, the fun was about to begin!
The Queen was bombarded with sound the moment she appeared in Sanctuary. Prince, her Red Setter, was tearing around the map table that stood in the center of the circular room, covered in suds. Jasper, face flushed and out of breath, leaned against the wall next to the Armory, equally soapy brush in hand. "Good...gasp...evening, Madam." Jasper said, struggling to straighten his water-stained clothes. "I thought you had retired for the night. How may I be of service." The Queens' eyebrows rose and, smile tugging at the corners of her lips, she whistled to Prince, bringing him to heel.
"I had an unexpected visit from Reaver tonight." She replied, the amusement fading from her face. "He gave me these." Jasper came forward and she passed both the invitation and note to him. "I'll finish this." Motioning to the dripping canine, the Queen walked to the Armory door, ignoring Jasper's startled protests.
Some time later she emerged, Prince trotting beside her, clean and dry. She sighed down at her embroidered vest, now liberally splashed with water, trying to smooth the fabric with her fingers. Her tailor would not be pleased. The Queen found Jasper standing where she had left him, his face drawn and worried. "Madam, will you accept this invitation?" Surprised by the blunt question, the Queen knelt, running her fingers through Princes' silky fur. "I don't know." She replied softly. "What are your thoughts?"
Jasper frowned, staring down at the offending pages. "It is, most certainly, an attempt to embroil you in one of his scandalous plots." His frown deepened. "I would never presume, Madam, to tell you how to conduct your business." He paused, clearing his throat. "But I urge you to consider declining this invitation. I do not see how any good can come of this."
The Queen straightened, arms folded, contemplating the map of Albion before her. She ran a finger along the glossy, painted topography, hesitating over Aurora. "I haven't seen Kalin since Walters... memorial." She paused, looking down as tears again threatened to spill from her eyes. Jasper waited, sympathy and understanding plain on his face. "Besides," she added after a long moment. "I'm curious about these "acquaintances" of Fathers."
Jasper nodded, sighing. "Very well, Madam. The date is set for...," he glanced down, "six weeks from tomorrow. It should be just enough time to arrange matters." The Queen nodded, retrieving the papers from Jasper. "I'll inform Hobson tomorrow, first thing." Suddenly, she burst out laughing. "Oh, he is going to be absolutely thrilled. I'm accepting an invitation from his beloved Master Reaver!" Still chuckling, she called Prince to her side, and waving good night to Jasper, left Sanctuary in a flash of blue light.
"There will be no further discussion on the matter, ladies and gentlemen. I depart for Aurora aboard the Sparrow in three days time. That is my final decision." The Queen said, the steel in her voice ringing out through her study. "No extra fanfare, pomp or ceremony." She continued, looking each of her councilors in the eyes. "And definitely no escort. Captain Phells and his crew will be more than adequate. Nothing has changed since the last time this subject was raised."
She motioned to her page, a dark-haired boy of about twelve, who stood waiting in attendance by the doors. "That will be all for today, thank you." The Queen nodded a dismissal as the boy showed her grumbling council out.
"Well. That could have gone better." She said to the lad after he had shut the doors. "Aye, don' think it coulda gone much worse." His thick, Industrial-slums accent sounded out of place with the blue and silver splendor of his royal livery. He shook his head, tossing his dark brown hair from his eyes, and grinned at his Queen. "Cheeky thief," she replied, an answering smile dancing across her lips. "No respect for authority."
He had been pinching purses in the Market, nearly six months before, when one of the guards patrolling the square had spotted him. Leading the increasing pack of guardsmen on a merry chase through the back alleys of Bowerstone, he had taunted them, slipping under stacks of crates and over rubbish heaps. Doubling back to the square, intent on disappearing into the increasing crowd, he had tripped over a raised cobblestone, sprawling face first in the street.
The first guard had just grabbed the back of his collar when a clear, lyrical voice commanded, "Hold." The boy had looked up through dirty bangs at a tall blond woman, dressed in a dark blue vest embroidered in silver, black breeches and boots. His eyes lit on the gold circlet at her brow and he gulped, realizing just whose feet he had fallen at. As the guard stammered an explanation, the boy had stared up at the Queen of Albion, meeting her light brown eyes.
Holding up a hand for silence, she asked, "What is your name, child?" The boy had hesitated for a moment, then replied softly. "Timon, Ma'am. Don' have a las' one." The Queen, still looking into the boys' eyes, motioned at the guard to release him, then knelt before him.
"Where are your parents, Timon?" She asked. The boy dropped his gaze to the ground, shame written across his small, thin body. "Ain't got any, Ma'am." He felt a feather light touch under his chin and, tipping his face up to meet her eyes again, the Queen said, "Would you come with me? To the castle, to live and work as one of my pages? I promise, you will be safe and happy. The work is hard and you will have to learn to read and write, among other things, but you will have a future. One that doesn't include stealing to survive."
The boys jaw had dropped, staring in shock at the Queen. "Yer serious? Ya want me? Why?" He had demanded, suspicion darkening his blue eyes. She had smiled at him, understanding his hesitation. "You have survived on the streets, you're quick and intelligent," she laughed, shaking her head. "You ran circles around my guards. I could use someone with your talents and potential. What do you say?"
Timon looked into the Queens kind eyes, thinking. Coming to a decision, he spat into his hand and extended it to her. "Ya got a deal, Majesty."
The Queen stood, stretching to her full height. Timon watched her, grin still hovering on his young face. "So," she asked him, "are you excited about our little adventure?" He laughed. "Can't think o' any who wouldn' be, 'cept maybe that lot." Timon said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder towards the doors. "They're actin' like ya don' know how ta tie yer own boots." He continued, pulling a face to show his thoughts on the fussy old nobles that formed her council.
She chuckled, turning to the window. The last rays of the setting sun were just striking the gardens, turning all they touched brilliant shades of burnished gold. The Queen stared out over her grounds, drinking in the quiet beauty of the fading day. She turned her eyes from the familiar sight and searched the horizon for the telltale smoke of Industrial, where her ship sat ready at the docks. "Just a few more days, Timon." She said softly. "A few more days and we're gone."