A/N:
Ajani's Apprentice: It would, but it would also cause him to lose all his allies, what with how beloved Katerina was in Nohr. So even if Emeric ran, he wouldn't have many people willing to help him.
Kisha-KK: While womanizing is definitely wrong, it's not Garon's sole trait, and he's not a solely bad person because of it. He's a far better parent than the concubines, he's a good king, and he's trying to be a good person, too. So don't be terribly hard on him.
As the jester exaggeratedly took a tumble on-stage, Azura laughed and clapped her hands. On her right, Arete let out a soft chuckle; on her left, Garon smiled, less because of what was happening on the stage and more because he was happy to see them happy.
Courting Arete was slow and sweet. Garon wanted to prove his sincerity, so he tried to ensure the time they spent together was time well-enjoyed. Finding activities where she could bring Azura along was a bit more challenging—he shared very little interests with a four-year-old girl, and many of the events he would have attended with Arete lasted so long as to bore her. But Arete loved Azura, and he wanted to show he was willing to try to love her too. And every child loved plays.
He wished he'd been able to take Arete to Cyrkensia—the operas and dances there were masterful—but the opera house was currently undergoing some new renovations. Until they were done, it was closed. Nestrian troupes still travelled around, though, and when he heard of one stopping in Windmire made a reservation for himself, his paramour, and her daughter.
"Well, I'll admit," Arete said when the play ended a short while later, as she and Garon began to leave, Azura holding her hand. They stepped out of the undercity onto the streets above, covered in light layers of early snow, turning the usually-ugly landscape into something beautiful. "These have been an enjoyable past few months."
"That they have." He watched Azura stick her tongue out to catch snowflakes, adorable in her bundle of heavy clothes. "I'm glad you're both enjoying them."
She smirked playfully. "Thanks in no small part to your efforts. I'm surprised you haven't been bringing your retainers along on our outings, though."
"I haven't exactly had a good relationship with them since…" Garon coughed. "Well. Raoul liked Jeanette, and after Josie was born, she became all…" He waved a hand, unable to possibly summarize the events of the past. "The relationship between the three of us fell apart. It's gotten easier to avoid bringing them with me if I don't have to."
"I see. I used to—" Arete cut herself off.
I used…what? I used to know what that was like? I used to be a retainer? He frowned and glanced at Arete, but the only thing betraying her slip-up was a slight tightening around her mouth. He sighed and squeezed her hand, deciding to let it go. Arete had become less reserved as they courted, but her past was as taboo a subject as ever.
It was probably for the best Jeanette hadn't come along, anyway. She, like most of Nohr, didn't regard his relationship with Arete as serious—his reputation working in his favor for once—but she was a jealous harpy. He could rely on her to protect him if trouble came, but he wasn't certain she'd protect Arete. She and the concubines restricted themselves to a few snide comments here and there—"I hope she doesn't think she's special. Every woman in the court's been in her shoes," "I wonder when she realizes she's no better than the rest of us?" "How long do you think she'll last before he discards her too?"—but it was still painful to hear.
Azura tugged on his hand and he glanced down at her. She was pointing at one of the few open stores on the surface, selling hot drinks, eyes hopeful. "Please?"
"I've told you, you can call me Father," he chuckled. "But of course."
While at first he'd solely tried to spend time with Azura for Arete's sake, he found he was genuinely growing fond of the girl. She was so shy, it reminded him of Xander a bit; but different, too. Sweet, and very eager when it came to learning how to sing from her mother. He pitied her a little, for not having a father figure in her life. Perhaps it was arrogant of him to presume, but he would like to at least provide a reliable male figure for her.
From the way she was beaming at him now, he thought he had succeeded.
Fall faded to winter, and winter began to bow to spring. Slowly, the wounds on Garon's heart healed.
So one day, when he was ready, he took Arete to the top of Castle Krakenburg, underneath the stars, and asked her to marry him.
Her eyebrow arched, and she looked about. "Starry sky, breathtaking view, flowery speech, on knee; you certainly don't do things by halves, do you?"
"Not when it comes to you. Is that a no?"
She sighed. "No, it's not a no. But are you sure, Garon? I'm not exactly…"
"Open?" Her secrecy was frustrating, he'd admit it. He didn't like feeling as though she didn't trust him. But one thing he'd learned from his relationship with Katerina was to compromise. Arete entrusted him with her daughter, which alone was major; she would entrust him with her past when she was ready.
"Well, yes. It doesn't worry you, to put someone with a past you know nothing about on the throne?"
His knee was aching too much to keep kneeling, so he rose and took her hands in his. "Arete, I love you. More than that, I trust you, and I know you're a good person. You love Azura deeply, and you always try to be polite to the concubines and their children, no matter their behavior. You are capable and smart and amazing. That's the exact sort of woman I want by my side."
"I love you too." Arete went quiet, looking down at their interlocked fingers. "It's just so funny," she murmured, almost to herself, "the direction my life has taken me in. I wonder if the gods have a sense of humor?"
"Arete?"
The strategist shook herself. "My apologies. I was merely lost in thought."
He supposed her shock was understandable. No woman expected to find herself taken off the streets and proposed to by royalty, after all. It was a fairy tale story that didn't happen in real life.
"Then I'll ask again—will you marry me? Will you let me love and cherish you for as long as our lives permit? Will you help me guide this great kingdom through darkness, into a bright future?"
Arete smiled, and it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. "I would love nothing more."
The investigation had continued in the months after the duke's execution, but it had been slowly losing steam. So, as he filled out paperwork in his office, Garon wasn't expecting the sharp, two-beat knock at his door—Basil's signature knock.
"You may enter," he called out, placing the papers about catering aside. It was a few weeks after Arete accepted his proposal, and the wedding planning was well underway. He looked up as Basil filtered in, pristine as ever. The investigator saluted smartly before launching into speech, barely able to contain his excitement.
"Fantastic news, Lord Garon! I believe I've found someone who can testify about the possible identity of Emeric's accomplice."
It took Garon a moment to recognize the man stepping up to Basil's side—Kilian, the ravenmaster. He was young, having recently inherited the position from his father, and he was fidgeting on the spot, holding his hat in his hands, eyes on the floor. The king glanced back at Basil. "And why didn't you find him before now?"
"He didn't speak up before because he was afraid for his life."
Nodding, Garon returned his gaze to Killian. The poor man was trembling. "I…your Majesty, please, I had nothing to do with it," he begged.
"Stop." Immediately, the man shut up, still shaking like a leaf. "Start over and tell me what happened."
Killian wrung his hat in his hands over and over. "Y-Yes, Your Majesty. Um, a few weeks after Princess Penelope's death, one of your missuses told me she wanted me to deliver a letter to Lord Emeric. I didn't think nothing of it, what nobles do is none of my business, so I tied it to a raven and sent it off. The raven came back without a reply, and she never asked me to do send him a message again, so the event just slipped my mind."
"He probably sent her an answer through a trusted servant, who ran correspondence between them, rather than relying on public means," Basil interjected, and Garon nodded.
Killian continued, "Couple days after the duke's execution, that same missus came up to me, all polite and smiling. Like a viper, she was. She handed me a few gold coins—more than I could earn in a few months!—and told me to forget I ever delivered a letter for her. I thought she was afraid of people associating her with him; I didn't realize she was actually covering her tracks."
The king leaned forward. "Who was this lady?"
"I'm not all caught-up on nobles' names, so I can't say for certain—" He quailed under Garon's glare. "But, um, I caught some of her features. Black hair, blue eyes, looked a bit like that lady always trailin' you—a retainer, is that what you call 'em?"
"Jeanette," Garon spat, unable to stop himself from pounding a fist against his desk. Betrayed by someone who swore to protect me—treason of the highest order—hardly unexpected, given this 'concubine war', but still—
Misinterpreting his anger, Killian took a step backward. "Please, please don't kill me," he begged, "I didn't know—I was just the messenger—"
Garon closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, taking several breaths to calm down. "I'm not going to kill you," he finally sighed, "I'm not unreasonable. You were doing your job, that's all, and you stepped forward with what you know. Thank you. You may leave."
The ravenmaster almost fainted on the spot, bowing as deep as he could while thanking him over and over. The guards led him away while Basil turned to Garon.
"So there you have it. A testimony against one of your concubines. Not enough to have her fairly executed, but enough to have her imprisoned and investigated."
"Especially given she was one of the few with knowledge of the secret passage to my room." Garon pushed back from his desk, rising to crack his back. "I'll send out the warrant for her arrest immediately."
He'd wanted to have Jeanette arrested quietly, but of course it wasn't that easy. One of his concubines, Isolde, saw his soldiers marching into her room, and as fast as she could told everyone else. In no time many nobles had gathered in the halls outside her room, the concubines giggling and gossiping to themselves as they watched Jeanette be escorted out and to the dungeons.
If there was one compliment Garon would pay her, it was that she didn't let them get to her. She'd glared at them all, head held high as though she weren't only half-dressed, her hair messy and her makeup not on, and being led to imprisonment.
A few days before her trial, Garon went to visit her. She'd had her lockpicking tools taken away from her, but just in case, had a pair of guards standing directly in front of her cell, weapons in hand. Her rank earned her a slightly-more luxurious cell than the one the assassin had been in, so rather than hanging by her wrists she was simply shackled to the wall.
He passed Raoul on his way in. The brunet tilted his head and muttered "my lord,", but he was visibly downtrodden. Garon patted him on the shoulder and followed the guards to Jeanette's cell.
His former retainer rose from the bed and curtsied sarcastically when he stood before her, her chains rattling with the motion. "Your Majesty. Forgive the poor accommodations, but a lady makes due with what she must."
He stopped before the bars. "You're no lady, Jeanette. You arranged for my wife's murder."
"You have no proof of that," she sniffed.
"Investigator Basil has already found which of Emeric's servants was carrying the letters between him and his accomplice. I've sent people to bring him here, where he will be asked to identify you. If he does…"
Garon let the sentence trail off, and by the brief flicker of fear in Jeanette's eyes, the message got across. She scoffed and sat back on the bed, crossing her legs. "Well, he won't. And then you'll see how much of a farce this entire thing is."
For a moment Garon stared at her sadly, the anger draining out of him at her haughtiness. He missed their relationship before this all started. She was terrible now, but she'd been his retainer beforehand. She'd been loyal and funny and kind. He'd been able to rely on her, trust her.
Now, he didn't recognize her anymore.
"Why did you do it, Jeanette?" he sighed, suddenly feeling very tired. "Why did you change who you were? You used to be a good person. You used to be my friend."
"You saw what happened to the other 'good' women and children in court," Jeanette sneered. "They were among the first to go. The court doesn't tolerate good people, Lord Garon. It was adapt or die."
"And now you may die anyway. Even if you're found innocent, this will haunt your reputation forever. And if you aren't, you'll miss out on so much—on our own daughter's growth, Jeanette."
She was silent, and he pushed forward. "Was it worth it? Was it worth sacrificing every moral you had for flimsy, material gain, just to end up losing it all anyway?"
Jeanette turned away.
He slammed his hands against the bars, rattling them. "Answer me, dammit!"
"What answer do you want me to give?" she snapped, but her voice lacked its usual venom. "A yes isn't what you want to hear, but you'll doubt me if I give a no." She closed her eyes. "Stop taking your anger out on me and leave me be."
The trial, held in the throne room, was not long. Emeric's messenger confirmed that yes, Jeanette was the lady his former lord had carried on correspondence with. Add that to the rest of the suspicious behavior around her—the fact she had knowledge of the secret passage, her quick arrival on the scene, her "inability" to save Queen Katerina—and the outcome was clear.
"Jeanette Du Val," Garon pronounced, as the trial finished wrapping up, "you have been charged with assistance in the assassination of Queen Katerina. You have additionally been charged with breaking your oath to protect your liege, attempted murder, murder, and regicide. The court of Nohr has found you guilty of these crimes. The sentence is death by beheading. Have you anything to say in your defense?"
Her mouth twisted bitterly—he couldn't tell if it was supposed to be a smile or a grimace. "No, not really. I can tell when I've lost. I'll only add that I didn't intend for the assassins to attack you, Lord Garon—that was all Emeric. I only wanted them to attack your wife."
Is that supposed to be worth something? In her mind, it probably was. Taking a deep breath, Garon continued, "You will be returned to your cell tonight and executed tomorrow mor—"
"Mommy!"
To Garon's horror, Josie pushed her way through the crowd, eyes runny with tears. Her nursemaid followed on her heels, grabbing the girl and trying to drag her away. "Princess Josephine, you mustn't—your father is conducting important business—"
"No! Let go! I want Mommy!"
What is she doing here? Garon glanced about to see one of his older sons, Damian, slip out the room, hiding a smirk—had he let slip word about the trial, just to agitate or hurt his sister? Given how their mothers were at odds, it seemed likely.
Most of the court was tittering at the young girl's uncouth behavior, but for once, Jeanette wasn't among them. She hesitated, looking at her daughter as though seeing her for the first time. Her mouth moved, but whatever she was planning to say never came out, for the guards grabbed her and began dragging her to back to her cell. Josie sobbed wildly, reaching for her mother. "Mommy, no! Mommy!"
Wheeling around, she gazed up at Garon desperately, tears pouring out of her eyes. "Daddy, make them stop! Make them give back Mommy!"
"I can't," Garon tried to explain helplessly. "Josie, sweetie…"
His daughter let out a devastated wail. "I hate you!"
She tried to run after the guards, but this time Arete stepped forward, almost literally out of nowhere, and caught her around the waist. Lifting the shrieking, flailing girl, his betrothed carried her over to her nursemaid, grunting with effort. "Get her out of here!"
The cries of his six-year-old daughter, screaming for her mother, echoed in Garon's ears long, long after she'd quite literally been carried out of the room.
That evening, Garon ensured Josie was locked inside her room, the windows barred to prevent her seeing from what would occur outside. And at dawn the next day, Jeanette calmly knelt on the chopping block, to a crowd of jeerers for her death. The king swung the axe, and blood splattered the streets of Nohr.
The wedding was held in summer, a little over a year after Katerina's death and two months after Jeanette's execution. Nohrian weddings were normally quick affairs, with only a small amount of luxuries. But a royal wedding was different. It was a grand party, and thanks to the food they'd been procuring from Hoshido, they were able to spoil themselves with the indulgences.
Arete's dress was black silk and black lace, with a train of crow feathers and a veil around the lower half of her face. Her father's pendant gleamed brightly against her dress, and the flowers in her bouquet were nightshade and water lilies. She walked down the aisle alone, having no one to give her away. She was radiant.
They burned her veil and his cufflinks together at the altar, kissed, and were wed. And then it was time for the banquet, held in the square outside the church—the royal couple sat at the head of the table, the nobles below them. Commoners had no seats, but could come and go freely, taking the scraps.
It was customary for people to come up to congratulate the new couple, so it gave Garon time to notice that, while he, Arete and Azura were happy, they were the only ones. Many of the attending lords, ladies and commoners looked a bit uncertain about their new queen. The concubines were fuming, their smiles slightly fixed and their well-wishes ground out from between their teeth. Bernice is particular sounded as though she were sucking on a lemon when she congratulated them.
Xander, too, seemed downtrodden. His son was still very shy, but he'd slowly taken to approaching Garon and talking to him for little bits of time in hopes of overcoming that. But today, he was scowling quietly next to him at the banquet table. The only child who seemed to be in as black a mood was Josie, who was listlessly picking at her food.
"Xander, are you alright?" Garon asked quietly as they ate, leaning over.
"I want you to be happy, Father," he said, sounding rehearsed. "If this makes you happy, I'm fine with that."
Garon sighed. "Don't lie to me, son."
"I'm not—"
"You're clearly unhappy with the situation. And that's fine—I'm not asking you to treat her as a mother. She could never replace yours. But I would at least like you to get along."
His son was silent. "I'll try," he finally said, and then yet another set of nobles approached the table, warily stealing glances at Arete as they wished Garon well.
It's nothing, Garon told himself as they departed, they're uneasy because Katerina left large shoes to fill. They'll grow to accept her in time. She's one of the few good people left in my court.
But despite his hopes, the court grew colder to Arete, and by extension her daughter.
One evening, he stopped to kiss Azura goodnight, as had become his custom. As he stooped to press his lips to her brow, the little girl looked up at him with wide, sad eyes and asked, "Why doesn't Josie like me anymore?"
What was he supposed to say to that? Garon fumbled about in his mind for some sort of explanation. After her mother's execution, Azura had hesitantly tried to comfort Josie, but her friend had slapped her hand away. Josie had started avoiding Azura shortly after that, making thin, snide excuses whenever Azura tried to invite her to play. The rest of the children had also begun staying away from her after the wedding, on the words of their mothers; some were just passive about it like Camilla, but some actively shunned her, leaving whenever she tried to join their group for play. Even Xander couldn't bring himself to really interact with her, occupied as he was by his renewed efforts to learn the sword.
"She just misses her mother, darling," was the best he could come up with. "She still likes you, she's just too sad to play right now."
It was technically true. He'd entrusted Josie to Raoul—without Jeanette, she was vulnerable to the machinations of the rest of the concubines. And as much as he wanted to keep her with him to best protect her, it was just impractical. He and his retainer may not have the best of relationships right now, but Raoul had cared for Jeanette; Garon trusted him to look after her daughter. The butler told him that Josie often cried for her mother at night.
"She'll come play with me again?"
"I'm sure she will."
Then he left, unable to keep looking her in the eyes as he lied, silently cursing himself.
When he entered his bedroom, Arete was getting ready for bed, wiping off her makeup with a cloth. She jumped as he rammed a fist into the wall, the sound of bone connecting with stone ringing throughout the room. Garon was so furious and frustrated he didn't even notice the pain shooting down his arm.
"I hate this," he growled. "I hate how powerless I am in my own castle. I hate…"
His wife took his outburst in stride, expression barely changing as she reached for his hand with her two smaller ones. She frowned and clucked her tongue. "Now you've done it. You've broken two of your knuckles."
"It doesn't matter," he mumbled, dropping onto the bed as Arete moved to fetch a staff.
"It matters to me. Now sit still while I patch you up."
They sat in silence for a while, as the staff cast a glowing light over his hands and his bones knit back together. Arete put the staff down, but didn't let go of his hand, her fingers rubbing circles over the back of it. "What happened, Garon?"
He sighed. "Azura told me that Josie's stopped playing with her."
Arete's fingers stilled briefly. "Yes, I know. She told me too. Losing her mother like that can't have been easy for the girl."
"She blames me for not stopping it." And you, because you stopped her from chasing after her mother, and Azura because she's your daughter. It was unfair and childish, but then she was still just a child.
"You're her father. She'll come around."
"When? It's been months."
Arete didn't have an answer for that, so he changed the subject. "I've noticed you don't seem to have a lot of people to talk to, yourself." Even the retainers he'd found for her kept their distance.
She turned away dismissively. "I'm not a particularly social person. I'm happy so long as I have my music, my books, and my magic. And you and Azura, of course."
"If they say anything cruel—"
"They haven't." He studied her face and tone closely, but if she was lying, he could find no sign of it. Nevertheless, it was clear from her body language that the subject was closed. So instead he put an arm around her, and as they cuddled she sang softly, an old, familiar Nohrian folk song that spoke of happier times, of bountiful harvests and plentiful rain. Garon leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the lovely lilt of her voice carry him away to those good times.
He soon learned she was lying, though. A few days later, as he was striding down the hall, intending to get in some training before dinner, he caught some snippets of conversation between a butler and a young nobleman.
"…appearance was quite fortuitous, don't you agree?"
"Oh, completely. A commoner appears from nowhere, with a daughter despite being unwed I might add, so soon after the death of our beloved queen? A commoner who proceeds to win the heart of our king? No mere coincidence, that."
"How did she do it, I wonder? Some sort of enchantment or spell?"
"Well, you didn't hear this from me, but I spoke with Lady Vesta a few days ago, and she said—"
They fell silent when Garon's shadow fell over them, faces paling.
"Go on," he said pleasantly, dangerously. "What did Lady Vesta say?"
"That…that Her Majesty was quite adept at magic, 'tis all," the nobleman squeaked. "She sung quite a bit of praise about her…her skill."
"I'm sure she did," he growled. He spun on his heel and stormed away. Forget his training; he had a concubine to speak to.
He found Vesta in the larder, bringing food out in preparation for the upcoming meal. She smiled and curtsied—somewhat awkwardly, with the box in her arms—when she saw him. "Lord Garon," the maid purred. "How may I assist you this lovely day?"
"You can start by putting an end to the rumors you're spreading about my wife."
Her eyes widened, faux innocent. "Rumors? I merely speculate, my lord; it's not my fault if some people take those speculations as fact."
"You know very well it's not mere speculation you spread, but slander against the rightful queen of Nohr. It needs to stop."
"Is speaking a crime, now? Do you intend to cut out the tongues of everyone who has repeated these words? If so, you will have to get half the court in line, for I am not the only one speculating, my lord."
And unfortunately, she was right. Rumor and hearsay had always been part of court life, and you couldn't just go around silencing everyone who said something you disliked without quickly becoming unpopular. Reacting to this would do nothing except cement the idea that Arete had done something to bewitch him, in people's minds.
His and Arete's first major fight was over that, when he confronted her later that evening. In hindsight jumping on her about it as soon as she walked through the door was dumb, he could admit that, but he was agitated and angry and not thinking straight.
"Why did you lie to me?"
She stopped short. "Lie? Garon, I haven't—"
"You told me the other women in court weren't bullying you. So why did I have to learn from Vesta that that's not true?"
"Oh my gods," she muttered, shaking her head. "That's it? Really? It's nothing."
"It's not nothing! What they're saying is—"
"I can handle it!" she snapped, spinning around, "And you have more important matters on your mind, so—"
"So now you think you're not important to me? Is that it?"
"I didn't say that!"
Needless to say, the shouting lasted for quite a while. It didn't wind down until, frustrated, Arete actually screamed, "I can't just go running to you as soon as a few mean words come my way! What do you think the court would say to that? They'd call me weak, and Nohr doesn't tolerate weakness! I have to prove to them that I'm an able queen!"
It shocked him, to say the least. He slumped, resting a hand against the dresser for support, exhausted and drained and plain-out sore from the fighting. "How will you do that?"
She was quiet. "I don't know," she finally said, sounding as tired as he. "But I'll work something out."
Things remained awkward for a few days, but they resolved matters. Garon reluctantly promised to let her handle the slander herself, and she promised to rely on him for emotional support when she needed it.
Autumn creeped by, and in its final days, Garon woke one morning to find a letter from Izumo had arrived in the night. It was resting on his desk in all its gross excessiveness, fancy gold calligraphy and colorful stationery winking at him cheerfully. Not how he wanted to start his morning—he had little patience for Izumo's foppishness—but he may as well just get it out of the way now, so grudgingly he opened it up and read it aloud.
"To the esteemed King Garon of Nohr…you, your lovely new bride, and whomever you see fit to bring are cordially invited to Izumo, the great land of medicine and festivity, for a banquet celebrating love and peace… Hiromi's usual verbosity, in short," he sighed, turning to set the letter aside.
Then his eyes caught sight of a particular phrase that had his grip on the paper tightening dangerously, until it was almost ripped. "The esteemed King Sumeragi of Hoshido and his lovely new bride, as well as whomever else they see fit to bring, have also been invited. As you well know, Izumo has a strict non-violence policy—even enemies may be friends within its borders…"
"Garon?" Arete's curious, sleepy voice called him out of his rage. Exhaling, his fingers loosened, and the crumpled piece of paper drifted slowly to the ground. His wife sat up in their bed, rubbing her eyes and yawning. Her eyes drifted down to the letter, and she stooped to fetch it, running her fingers over the loopy writing. Her eyebrows climbed up her face the further she got, and she began looking more awake.
Finally, she put the letter down, meeting Garon's fuming face calmly. "You have to admire Duchess Hiromi. It takes a certain amount of…gravitas, to invite two enemy nations to the same banquet."
"An invitation implies I can refuse it," he grumbled. Izumo was Nohr's sole source of medicinal imports; turning down an invitation ran the risk of losing those imports, or having the prices raised.
"It's not all bad. It'll be nice to get away from the court for a while," Arete commented. "And it's free food."
An unintentional snort slipped out of him. "Fair point. The children could probably use a vacation, too—Josie especially." And he thought he could, at least, trust the concubines to know better than to start something in neutral territory.
Still, Izumo was far, almost as far as Hoshido, and the date for the banquet was close. Even by wyvern it would take more than a week to arrive. They'd need to make preparations immediately and set out swiftly if they wanted to arrive in time.
He sighed, turning to his wardrobe to get dressed for the day. "I'll tell the stablemasters to start preparing the wyverns for the flight."
And then it would be time to see Sumeragi in the flesh, for the first time since this whole mess began.