A/N: I don't own Gilmore Girls or The Praise of Folly.
The next morning Rory and Nick were sitting next to each other after their morning run, their legs out in front of them as they leaned forward, grabbing their ankles to stretch. "So have you heard?" he asked, turning to look at her.
Rory switched from her right leg to her left, pulling her body closer to the ground, "Heard what?"
"About the king's birthday." he switched legs as well.
"His birthday is coming up?" she asked, rocking her body back and forth lightly.
He nodded, "All the men are talking about it. You must have been with him yesterday when they told me."
"Will he be twenty two?" she asked, counting under her breath.
"Yeah. All of his friends are coming for the celebration."
She turned her head to stare at him, "What?"
"His friends. The nobles he grew up with. You know of Finnegan Morgan? The drunken womanizing prince of Gildren?"
"Yes." Rory said slowly, releasing her leg and sitting up straight.
Nick mimicked her movement, "Well he and the king were best friends as children. The two of them grew up with several of the most prominent nobles in the kingdom. They're all coming to stay at the castle. Prince Finnegan will come, Madeline Lynn, Colin McRae, Paris Gellar, Louise Grant, Henry Cho, and the king's cousin Stephanie Mullin." Nick stood and began stretching his arms, "They're arriving next week and will stay for a week."
Rory nodded slowly, switching arms, "And why does this interest all the men?"
"Because-" he rolled his neck in a circle, glancing up at the clouded sky, "-the king was supposed to be married on his twenty first birthday, but he refused the bride his mother and advisors picked for him." his gaze went over to her, "The men are hoping that's why he's brought his friends. To make the announcement that he's finally found a bride." Rory still gave him a strange look and he grinned, "Every loyal subject is interested in getting a new queen."
Rory sighed heavily, allowing her arm to fall limply by her side. She could no longer feel her hands or feet. The rain beat down on her back and lightning tore through the sky. When it had started raining, the men assumed that they'd spend the day indoors. Apparently not, though. The guards had told them that it was perfect to practice in the rain. . . .especially since it was so bad. They had to be prepared for anything. It was impossible to make out the faces of the men sitting in a ring around them through the rain. She narrowed her eyes, but couldn't make out who'd risen from the circle to go against her next.
She rolled her neck in a circle, trying to relieve the tension. Why did she always have to be the one that never got a break? She'd already fought twelve men in a row, and hadn't lost once, by the way. Even though she was exhausted and they were fresh, she easily won each round. The man in front of her held up his sword and she touched the tip of hers to it lightly before they both got into stance. She stepped right and so did he, circling each other slowly. The rain prevented her from seeing the muscles of his arms or hands clenching, meaning she couldn't predict his movements. Suddenly he lunged to her right, but she quickly deflected it, knocking him off balance. He slipped slightly, not yet used to the wet ground. She, however, had been standing for nearly an hour and knew how to shift her weight on the soaked grass. She took full advantage of his weakness and delivered three quick blows. The first, which he blocked easily, disoriented him further. The second, which he prevented from meeting it's mark as well, pushed him to the ground, and the third left him on his back, her foot resting heavily on his chest.
The two guards acting as supervisors clapped quickly, breaking them up. Rory removed her foot from his chest, not even breathing heavily this time. Easy. It was almost to her advantage that the men still thought of her as weak. They underestimated her and almost never had their guard up when fighting her. Of course, most were beginning to realize that she could kill them if she were so inclined. Those were the ones who started to fight harder.
"We're heading in. This lightning is getting dangerous." one of them yelled out to the group. The men stood, mumbling about finally getting out of the rain. The guard rolled his eyes and looked over at Rory, nodding, "Good work, Danes."
She nodded slowly, silently despising all of them for forcing her to prove herself over and over. They all did it, even the guards didn't think anything of her. "Thank you, sir." She actually didn't mind this guard much, though. What was his name? Mark? He was one of the good ones. One of the ones that didn't judge her for being a woman. A few of the guards and men had actually made. . . .lewd comments towards her in the beginning, but had suddenly stopped two days ago. She'd heard two guards talking about it, and apparently the king had gotten wind that she was being disrespected. He'd punished the guards and given a strict warning to the new men that if he ever heard of any of his guard disrespecting a woman again, they would pay dearly.
She pushed her hair out of her eyes and followed the men towards the castle. They'd only been a few yards from the side entrance that led to their portion of the military wing. It surprised her that the king didn't like men disrespecting women. Besides the fact that his sexual escapades were known throughout the kingdom, he was rumored to be like his father, who she knew for a fact didn't have the slightest respect for women.
"So you really are the best?"
Speak of the devil. She looked over to her right as she stepped into the doorway. Tristan was leaning against it with his arms folded, having watched their practice. "What?"
He smirked, pushing himself off the wall and holding the door open for her, seeing as she was the last one to enter, "You can beat any of them."
She rolled her eyes, "And it seems as if that theory is being put to the test."
His smirk turned into a grin as he fell into step next to her, walking down the corridor towards her room. "You'll have to prove yourself more than any of them."
She looked over at him, her mouth open in mock surprise, "Really?" he smirked, beginning to reply, but he was cut off.
"You highness." a man was kneeling in one of the doorways they passed, and Tristan looked over, rolling his eyes. Rory turned to look at the man, and he raised his head once Tristan couldn't see him anymore and shot Rory a dirty look. God, did they have to hate her?
He turned to her and opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off again, "My lord." another new soldier.
The king didn't even try to hide his annoyance as he stopped and turned to the man Rory recognized as McKellin, "What?"
"What did you think of our practice?"
"I think you need to work harder if you want to survive in an actual fight. Less than five of you would even be of any use to me at the moment. The other thirty five would simply be cushion in an attack." The man's eyes were slightly wide, surprised by the king's acidic and slightly sarcastic tone. "Any other questions?"
He shook his head, swallowing hard as he looked down. Tristan didn't say anything, and he began walking again. Rory followed him and they walked in silence. "You're mean."
"What?" he didn't even bother to look at her.
"You're mean to the men."
"I'm not mean, I just don't appreciate flattery that means nothing." he glanced over at her,
"There's a difference between someone asking an honest question and someone trying to get on your good side."
"But you're nice to me." she said slowly, watching him as they walked. He glanced over at her,
but didn't say anything. "Don't you like them?"
He shrugged, "I don't know them."
"You don't know me either. So why aren't you like that to me?"
"Maybe you don't annoy me like everyone else."
She laughed, "Maybe?"
He smirked, "Maybe." Funny, she'd thought she drove him crazy. Suddenly he stopped walking, "This is your room, isn't it?"
"Oh." she looked at the closed door, "Yes, it is. Thanks for walking me." she turned the handle and started to push the door open.
"Have a nice dinner, Mary." Rory smiled and turned to comment, but he was already walking down the hall.
Rory laid on her cot that night, laughing and talking with her three room mates. She actually liked them. The other two were cousins from a village on the opposite side of the kingdom from Stars Hollow. Dorian was seventeen and Callum was nineteen. They were definitely the comic relief of the new wave of soldiers, offering playful insults and the obvious shortcomings of all the men to lighten the mood of their merciless training.
"Okay, so anyway, McKellin is more of a woman than you. I swear he was so mad that the king was walking with you through the hall. Personally I think he's just jealous, and I told him that he needed to stop being so interested because the other men who sleep in his room were starting to get nervous. That was when he-" Callum was cut off as the door opened and torchlight cut through the pitch black of the room.
"Leigh Danes?"
She sat up, "Yes?"
"Come with me."
The three men sat up as Rory slid out of her bed, "Where are you taking her?" Dorian asked quickly. They'd all become rather protective of her in the past week.
"Don't worry about it." the man stepped into the hall, allowing Rory to exit the room. "Get some rest you'll need it for tomorrow." The three began to protest, but the door was shut with a clean click. He turned to face her, and she recognized him as Brad Langford, one of the assistants to the general. He didn't actually fight, of course. He was more of an errand boy. She was surprised he'd spoken to them like that. He'd always seemed to be scared of everyone.
"Where are we going?" she asked as he led her up some stairs.
"I'm not supposed to tell you." he answered, not looking at her.
She wrapped her arms around herself, glancing down at her nightclothes. They weren't proper, of course. Some of Nick's pants that he'd brought from home, which she'd stolen because they were like a pair of Jess's that she used to fight him for, and a thin top of Callum's that had ripped and wasn't fit to wear anymore.
They came to a door on the second floor of the castle and Brad pushed it open, nudging her in. She blinked rapidly, holding her hand up to block out the sudden light. "What the. . . . ." she trailed off, looking around. The room was light and very feminine. It reminded her of her mother's powder room in their old Hartford mansion. Sconces lined the walls, holding at least a dozen torches. A large vanity rested against one wall with a stately mirror. Another full length mirror adorned the corner. A wardrobe and changing screen were at one end of the room and in the center there was a bathtub filled with water and soap. She glanced over at it, her eyes wide. She hadn't seen a tub since the night she left the city. No one owned one in Stars Hollow.
There was a muffled shriek from the corner, and that was when she realized an older woman was in the room. Rory turned to look at her and saw a horrified expression. "Dear God!"
Rory's eyes widened, "What?"
"Child, what is wrong with your hair?" she cried, walking quickly over to the door and pushed Brad out, closing it behind him before circling Rory, "And your clothes? And your face? Filthy"
she began poking at Rory's body, "Dear Lord, and I hear you've talked to the king like that? Oh my, heaven have mercy."
"Hey!" Rory began to protest, but she was cut off as the woman began bumping her forward.
"Go on, into the tub. Go. It'll take at least one change of water to get you clean." she rambled, pulling Rory's clothes off as she went. The girl protested loudly, but was no match for the experienced maid. Her grip was like iron, but her hands were warm. By the time they'd crossed the fifteen feet to the tub, Rory was stark naked. "In! In! We don't have all night."
Rory got in quickly and the woman immediately pushed her head under. Rory flailed awkwardly, not having been forewarned. As her head broke the surface and she started sputtering, the maid's strong fingers began working Rory's hair into a lather of soap. "Excuse me!" Rory said loudly, but the woman ignored her, shoving a stiff sponge at the girl.
"Here. Scrub." was all she said, and as Rory's complaints gradually subsided as they fell on deaf ears.
Fifteen minutes later she was pulled roughly from the tub, the woman's wizened pincers gripping her arm and dragging her up. Rory looked down, she was covered in suds. Luckily they covered her thighs and her crest. But God, all the rubbing had left her feeling completely raw. The last time she'd had anything that resembled a respectable bath was when the new men had arrived and they'd been washed down with lye to kill any bugs on them. "Come, come. Hurry." she threw a large terrycloth around the girl and dragged her from the tub. "Dry off quickly. We don't have all day." She forced Rory to the chair of the vanity quickly and rubbed her head with another towel in an attempt to pull some of the water from her hair. She rubbed the strands between the towel and once the old wench was satisfied she grabbed a coarse toothed brush and began running it through Rory's hair.
"Ow!" she yelled, ducking her head.
The grey haired drone grabbed her chin with an iron claw and held her in place, "That's the price of beauty, dearie. Now hold still!" She raked it through, getting all the kinks out. By the time she finished, Rory hair was nearly dry and she swore that half it was gone and her scalp had open wounds. But at least she could finally run her fingers through it. "Now, behind the curtain is your nightgown. Go put it on. Quickly now."
Rory stood, her eyes narrowed, "What's going-"
"Now!"
The girl sighed, rolling her eyes as she waltzed behind the curtain. She emerged a few minutes later, the nightgown in place. "I'm not wearing this. What the hell is going on?"
The old woman walked over to her and began lacing up the back tightly, forcing all the breath from Rory, "Not the time for questions." her skilled hands finished the job quickly and she grabbed the girl's arm, leading her to the vanity again and forcing her to sit in the chair, "And you will wear it."
"No, I-"
"Look at me." When Rory didn't cooperate the woman grabbed her chin and forced her to.
"Geez, fine. Let me go." Her chin was released and Rory faced her as the woman began to powder her chest. She couldn't believe she was wearing this nightgown. It was white, with small cap sleeves and a very low, square neck line. Very thin cotton covered her chest and three buttons ran down the center. It corseted beautifully down the back, shaping and defining her figure and pushing her chest up. It was fitted to her hips and then flared slightly, flirting around her knees. It was gorgeous and she could admit that she filled it out very nicely, but was also the most immodest thing she'd ever worn in her life. She wondered what in the world was going on.
Rory sneezed violently and the woman rolled her eyes, "Are you done?"
She rubbed her nose, shaking her head quickly to clear it, "I don't know, are you?"
"No." the woman grabbed pink rouge, but Rory ducked her head.
"No. I hate that. I'm not wearing it."
"Oh yes you are."
"No!" Rory stood quickly, her hair that had dried into gentle waves fell around her face, framing it in a halo, "I let you put your damn powder on me, but I will not wear that."
The woman rolled her eyes, "Your mistake. You need to go anyway."
"Go where?" but the woman was already pushing her towards the door. "What in the world"
the door opened to reveal Brad.
"Are you ready?"
The woman shot her a dirty look, "As ready as she'd going to get."
Rory looked between the two uncertainly, "Wha. . . . ."
"Go." the woman pushed her and shut the door with a snap.
Brad sighed and grabbed her elbow, leading her down the corridor, "Come on."
Tristan sat in the lounge of his suite, reading The Praise of Folly. He'd never really been able to concentrate on the book, but now he wasn't having so bad a time about it. He was sitting sideways on the large couch, leaning against the arm with his feet planted firmly on the cushion.
Suddenly he heard movement out in the hall on the other side of his door. He closed his book, sitting upright and listening harder. There was a dull crash, a muffled scream, and curse before his door was opened and someone was pushed in, the door snapping shut quickly. His eyes widened as they fell on Leigh. She stood three feet into the room, her hair slightly messy from an obvious struggle and her mouth open slightly in surprise. Her eyes were wide as well as she watched him sit perfectly still.
He looked over her face and at her hair. It was clean, wavy and full like he hadn't seen it. It'd always either been wet or up. Her skin had a soft glow to it, she'd obviously had a bath. Her lips looked plumper and her eyes were clear and large. Tristan grinned inwardly as her look of shock turned to one of contempt. She bit the insides of her cheeks and lowered her head a fraction, crossing her arms over her chest to preserve a last shred of modesty. She looked amazing covered in dirt and sweat. But when she was clean. . . .she radiated a mix of seduction and innocence. His eyes trailed from her face down her body. Dear God.
"Oh God." He stood and grabbed his robe from a hook on the wall and threw it to her, forcing himself to look away. Covering up that body was a crime. She caught it easily and slid her arms into it, cinching it around the waist tightly. Once it was in place she blushed, looking away from him.
She stood awkwardly, glancing around the room. Once she was decent, Tristan looked back over at her and sat down again, his hand over his mouth to hide his amusement. He looked at her neck where her skin was brushing the robe and saw a minuscule white patch. Powder. Damn it she looked angry. He glanced away awkwardly, not sure of what to do. "Uh, did Brad just scream?"
"Oh," she glanced toward the door she'd just been shoved thorough, "Um, yeah. I threw him into the wall."
Tristan laughed and Rory exhaled heavily, chewing on her bottom lip, and they sat in silence for a few minutes. "So," she said slowly, "These are your rooms."
He nodded, relieved that they now had a conversation piece. "Yeah. The sleeping chamber is through that door-" he pointed to his left, "-and there's a dressing room attached to it. Over there is the study-" he pointed to the opposite wall, "-a sitting room, a door to the nursery, and a powder room."
Rory smirked, momentarily forgetting the situation, "I always figured you used a powder room."
He pursed his lips, eyebrow arching, "Oh you're hilarious. It's for the queen."
She grinned, "And a nursery?" she was actually surprised about that one.
Tristan shrugged, glancing over at the door, "My father insisted that it be turned into one when I was born."
Rory nodded slowly, looking around the room as she chewed on the insides of her cheeks thoughtfully. "So, do you mind telling me what this is about?"
"What what is about?" Rory turned and gave him a pointed look. He grinned innocently, "Oh, you mean you being shoved into my room in the middle of the night in that wonderful outfit?"
She rolled her eyes, "Yes, I believe that would be in the forefront of my mind."
Tristan smirked, leaning back, "I said something to a friend and guess it was taken literally."
"Ahh." her eyebrow arched, but she didn't say anymore, and took a step deeper into the room, looking around. She made her way over to a small table and looked over the array of books littering the top.
Tristan watched her sift through the titles and smirked, standing from his seat and walking over to her. He leaned down to whisper into her ear, "See anything you might be interested in?"
Rory jumped slightly, not having realized he was behind her. She turned quickly, her eyes wide at his closeness. She could feel the heat radiating from his body. Suddenly a warm sensation spread through her stomach like wildfire; it was like he was crawling under her skin. She took a step back, swallowing, "Actually, I've read most of them."
"Really?" he took a step closer, and she took a step back, "You're very well read for a commoner."
Rory stepped back again, this time further away than the previous two, "Thank you."
This time he didn't step forward, but stopped, smirking, "Are you scared of me?"
She stared up at him, her voice wavering slightly, "No."
Tristan smirked and leaned closer so that their faces were mere inches apart. She flinched lightly, but he ignored it, "You know, Mary, for all the things I see in you, I never took you for a liar."
She swallowed hard, blinking to ward off her lightheadedness, "Huh." she said breathily, her eyes fluttering. It was a feeling she'd never experienced before, like just from his mere presence he was forcing his was inside of her. "I never took you for a Christian."
He smirked slowly, a throaty chuckle escaping from his lips. She blinked again, her skin crawling as his warm breath danced over her bare collarbone and throat. "You're witty." his eyebrow arched, "Cute."
Rory inhaled deeply to steady herself and took a step back, "I try." His smirked widened and he licked his bottom lip absentmindedly, sitting down and leaning back in his chair as his eyes studied every inch of her body. She tightened his robe around her and his smirk just widened before he looked away from her. They sat in a tense silence for several minutes until she broke it, "So what did you say that your friend took literally?"
He looked over at her slowly, obviously trying to think of a way to put it that was suitable for a teenage girl to hear. "Whenever there's an attractive new servant, she's sent to me within the first few nights of coming." he fell silent for a moment and her eyes narrowed dangerously, but he began again before she could speak, "The first night you came here I said something to my cousin about it, but that was before I'd met you."
Her mouth was open, she was just waiting for her rage to finish building. She couldn't believe this. She had actually talked to him, let her guard down and joked with him. She couldn't believe he was exactly like his father. She felt stupid. Stupid and ignorant. It was common knowledge that he could talk any woman into bed, make anyone believe anything he said, but she'd thought she was smarter than that. He'd almost made her forget he was exactly what everyone said he was. Finally she was able to speak, "I'm not your servant."
"I know-"
She cut him off, ranting acidly, "I was forced here to be in your guard. I didn't want to come, and I still don't want to be here. If your life is in danger, I'll fight for it. That is the only thing that will happen between us. I will never sleep with you."
He held his hands up in surrender, obviously not offended, "Fine."
She sighed heavily, her jaw set forward in disgust as she shook her head slightly, "So I assume they were all virgins."
His face didn't change, the bored expression etched into it, "The servants, yes. But if you're asking whether I've only ever slept with virgins-"
She cut him off, "God, you are disgusting. I can't believe that. I mean, I've heard of things like that but I never-"
He cut her off, still speaking lazily. He seemed unaffected; she had no way to know that her being disgusted with him was cutting him deeper and deeper every time she opened her mouth. God, why did it hurt to have her think so little of him? "Look, it's just what happens, okay? If you're not interested then I'll keep my hands to myself." She just snorted and rolled her eyes. His eyebrows arched and his head cocked back, "What?"
She glanced over at him before shaking her head, "Nothing."
"Out with it."
"It's nothing."
"You know, you can speak your mind. I don't care if women give their opinions on things, even though I'm sure it wouldn't stop you if I did."
She rolled her eyes again, "It's just, I'm sure the fact that I'm not interested wouldn't stop you from getting what you wanted."
He stilled and his eyes narrowed dangerously, "Excuse me?"
She shook her head, "It wouldn't stop you."
He stood up quickly, glaring at her, but his voice was calm and quiet, "I have never forced a woman into my bed. How dare you accuse me of that."
The atmosphere in the room was different. Dangerous and taught. He'd changed, become harder and colder. She could practically feel his anger pulsating through the room. It amazed her that the single thing that had ruined both of their lives and families. . . . .the very thing his father had been guilty of, seemed to repulse him more than any other insult she could have some up with. Rory looked over at him, almost pityingly. She could tell he really hadn't, at least, not in his mind, ever forced himself on a woman. Her head shook gently, "You're the king. No woman would tell you she didn't want you."
He stayed frozen, his eyes never changing, but his silence told her that he was thinking over her words. "Get out."
She sighed, not wanting to leave him with only that. She hadn't meant for it to sound to cruel, "You're the king, and you're not a bad person, but no girl wants to lose her virginity to someone who doesn't care about her. You-"
He cut her off again, "I said get out!"
Rory cringed, closing her eyes. Her head bowed and she whispered, "Yes, your highness." before turning around and opening the door just enough for her to squeeze out. She closed it softly behind her, and not ten feet down the hall she heard something hit the closed door and a muffled curse. She hadn't meant to upset him so much that he'd begin throwing things.
It worried her, though, that she didn't want to hurt him. It worried her that she was beginning to care. She was supposed to hate him. When had she stopped? Rory shivered against the night air as she shuffled down the chilly corridor with bare feet. When had she stopped hating the man who'd murdered her family? Had it been that afternoon when he'd joked with her and called her Mary? Had it been when she'd seen the nursery and the way he would obviously care for his children? When she'd realized he was human? It took her nearly the entire walk back to the guards' quarters; which was a considerable distance, and a lot to say since she was a very intelligent girl.
It'd been when she realized he would never wittingly take away something from a girl that she didn't want to give him. When she saw that he would have been repulsed by what his father had done to her mother and sister. It was when she realized that he wasn't his father. He wasn't heartless. Of course, part of her still hated him for what he'd done, but wasn't that the way it was always taken are of? If a man murdered the king, wasn't it custom to have his entire family killed?
Rory sighed heavily, pushing open the door to her room and making her way to her cot silently. The other three were still awake, and she heard their covers rustle as they sat up. "Leigh? What was that about?"
"Nothing."
"Leigh." Callum said, not believing her.
She got under the covers, curling up, "The king just wanted to make sure the men weren't making lewd comments anymore. You know how mad he got when he found out."
"Mmm." they obviously didn't believe her, but they were tired, and the four soon drifted into silence. Rory laid back, sighing heavily. She couldn't sleep. He wasn't who she'd thought he was. There was something in his room, when he was playing with her. His eyes had been different. Her thoughts trailed to his life, and she realized that he must be lonely if talking to a peasant girl who refused to sleep with him and all but accused him of forcing himself upon virgins, brought him joy.
She settled into bed and relaxed, just now noticing that she still had on his robe. She pulled it tighter around herself, wondering why she found it comforting. Slowly relaxing, her mind wandered back to his eyes when they'd changed. He really was different than his father. Maybe he hadn't wanted her family dead, but had been forced to it because of tradition. Or maybe he had wanted them killed, but now regretted his rash actions. After all, it had been within three days of his father's death that he'd ordered all the Gilmores and Haydens murdered, and he'd only been twelve. He wasn't even the same person anymore. She sank deeper into his garment, breathing in his scent. Maybe she had been wrong about him after all.