I do not own "Fable 3" or any of its characters. Based on the 2010 XBOX game.
Rated M for Explicit Adult Content.
This story is based on a wonderful suggestion by Fallon-Idalia. We both want to explore the idea of a 'forced marriage' and here is one possible result in the Fable-Universe!
When the Princess begs her brother, King Logan, to spare the villagers and her childhood love, he decides to honour her request – but she must pay dearly.
Love By Decree
#7
This day was certainly taking the strangest twists and turns, Amaleigh thought, as she reclined in the pleasingly warm bathwater. Firstly, she had been instructed by Walter, or had it actually been Theresa, to slay bandits. She had not only slain them with battle skills she had not realised she possessed save for sparring, but then literally incinerated them utilising a frightening oddity encapsulated in her very being. When nausea and panic had swept over her at her newly discovered magical ability, her saviour had turned out to be none other than Major Swift, her husband!
He held her tenderly and whispered words of comfort until her sobbing ceased. Only then did he assist her to her feet and, one arm solidly around her waist, walk her to his home. She had barely taken in a glimpse of the entryway when he hastily instructed his valet to summon a maid and draw a bath for his wife.
The young maid, Shelby, was a sweet girl, barely sixteen years of age, but she was very skilled in being a lady's maid. She prepared the bath and all necessary sundries for Amaleigh within minutes.
The warm gardenia-scented water did not wash the fears of the day away, but it certainly helped her to relax. Amaleigh had allowed Shelby to wash her back and her hair, but then politely dismissed her. She wanted to be alone for awhile before joining the Major for tea.
This bathing chamber; was it hers? Did he want it to be hers? The young Princess looked about the room and noticed that it was every bit as functional and fashionable as her own. The towels were of the finest quality, every bar of soap and sponge was brand new, and the tub was large and comfortable. In fact, it was as spacious and comfortable as any in the Palace.
She had indeed, as Walter observed, underestimated Jack Swift, but she resolved to never do so again. Whether the man had the riches she was accustomed to did not truly matter, as it was clear that whatever he would have would be the very best obtainable within his means. Good taste and an eye for quality and efficiency were not traits that could be bought at any price, but Swift had them, and now Amaleigh was more than just a little ashamed that she had not given him the benefit of her doubts.
Amaleigh closed her eyes in pleasure and relief. He had even declared that her fear of him not wanting anything to do with her was nonsense! She did not know why that pleased her, but it did. For whatever reason, this man's good opinion was valuable to her. Hopefully she would not lose it by doing or saying something foolish when she joined him downstairs.
She relaxed in the comfortably warm bathwater until she was confident that her strength and composure were restored, and then she summoned Shelby to help her dress. It was a surprise to discover that the Major had custom-made clothing of all sorts waiting for her. From the half-dozen laying across the bed in the adjoining room she selected a simple day dress of pale green calico to wear and slipped white half-boots onto her feet. Shelby combed her unruly long red hair into shimmering silkiness and carefully coiled and fastened it at the back of her neck. When Amaleigh saw her image in the looking-glass she was taken aback at how lovely and womanly she appeared.
Womanly... she had never quite thought of herself as such. Being female and a young woman, yes, especially when she was with Elliot, but never womanly in the manner she felt now. Whether it was her time away from the Palace and Logan, or the very fact that she was married, consummated or not, or discovering that she was likely Albion's Hero, she did not know. She did know that she felt older and wiser, and these realisations pleased her.
She was no longer merely Logan's younger sister; she was a woman grown and a budding Hero. These thoughts bolstered her courage as she prepared to see the Major.
Her courage proved to be fickle, however, for as soon as she began to descend the stairs it wavered and faltered. She certainly knew that she was no longer a petulant child, but would Swift feel that way? Simply because she was his wife legally did not mean that he would think of her any differently than he had upon their awkward and unpleasant meeting at the house she had so blithely assumed he would live in with her.
Well, there was nothing for her now but to forge ahead. At the base of the stairs she could turn and enter the library, or she could head toward the dining room. The library tempted the nervous Princess, but she did not wish to be impolite and possibly allow the tea the Major was preparing for them to cool. The dining room it would be.
The Major rose from his seat at the dining room table and bowed deeply and formally.
"Amaleigh," he said smoothly, pulling out a chair for her.
She hesitantly seated herself and he pushed her chair in and returned to his own.
"You look beautiful," he said with a smile.
Amaleigh blushed. "Thank you, but I don't feel very beautiful. I feel... soiled. I feel tainted."
"I see, and I assure you that I understand," Swift said, taking up the tea pot and filling their cups. "I am not taking your feelings lightly. Are you well enough to take tea, or would you prefer to rest upstairs?"
The Princess ran her fingertip along the gold-rimmed top of her cup and inhaled deeply. The tea was light and had a pleasing floral aroma. Logan always took tea black, but Amaleigh preferred light teas.
"I am well enough, Major, thank you."
"Very well, then we shall talk, but first tell me if your maid and bath were satisfactory."
She dropped her gaze to her steaming cup. "Yes, Major, very much so. Thank you."
"You are quite welcome. Now, take a sip of that tea, look me in the eyes, and listen to this old man tell you a story or two. You may feel better afterwards."
His tone was so kind and understanding that Amaleigh felt her reservations slip away. She was beginning to see that Jack Swift was a man she could talk to and confide in.
"You aren't so old," she said, raising her eyes. For the first time she studied him; really studied him. His face was tanned and a little careworn, but not unseemly. In fact, he was quite pleasing to look at. His face was open and comely; handsome even. His dark brown hair was thick and full, and the curling wave on the right side of his head was almost entirely white, but rather than age him, it lent him a rather dashing look.
He was obviously not a young man, but neither did he seem so old as to repulse her as she had initially feared. His figure was lean and firm, and if the muscles in his arms as he held her earlier were any indication of his strength and fitness of body, then he was in prime physical condition. She also suddenly recalled that being a Major was not the highest rank in the Army. He had years yet to serve and to earn promotions if he so desired.
He was looking intently at her, obviously aware of her scrutiny. His eyes were a deep chocolate brown and filled with care and concern. He also apparently did not mind her perusal and remained silent while she processed her thoughts regarding him. His eyes softened as she continued to study him. He was obviously not offended and was prepared to give her all the time she needed.
His eyes spoke the words his lips did not. Those dark eyes... Were they like Elliot's? No, his eyes were darker than Elliot's and did not have the look of warm honey she had become accustomed to. Still, Jack Swift's eyes had their own unique appeal, although Amaleigh could not yet determine precisely what about them appealed to her.
"No, you are not so old," she repeated softly. She knew that his years were easily double hers, but the man before her did not seem such an old man, but rather a seasoned and mature gentleman and officer.
"You are kind to say so," he chuckled, "but we both know that I am old enough to be your father. However, that aside, how do you fare?"
They both knew what he meant, but Amaleigh took a sip of her tea and returned it to its saucer. Its heat soothed her throat and warmed her belly.
"Good," she replied, but the Major knew she was referring to the tea in her reluctance to respond, and so he gently pressed her.
"You are an incredible young woman, Amaleigh," he said, placing a gloved hand on hers. Then he seemed to catch himself and withdrew it quickly. Did he fear her censure?
And why was he wearing gloves indoors? They were black close-fitting gloves of soft kid and did not hamper his movements, but still, to wear them in his own house? Amaleigh frowned and was about to ask him about them, but the Major spoke on.
"You had your first taste of real battle today, Princess, and you not only survived, but came out of it stronger."
"Stronger?" she whispered. She had not considered that. But here she was; bathed, clean, and above all, alive, if that was what he meant. "I... I suppose so, said in such a way. My blood has my mother's magic, but other than that, I fear I do not comprehend your meaning."
"Do you not?" Swift asked her, leaning forward in his chair. "Amaleigh, examine the facts, and then we'll move on to your feelings on the matter. The facts are that you took on fully armed and undeniably dangerous men. You confronted them, defeated them, and now sit across from me stronger and more formidable than ever. You have, in a word, flourished."
"Flourished? I feel as if I'm now just another killer!" she retorted hotly. Where had ill temper suddenly come from? Because she knew that he was correct and she did not want to admit it? Because she feared that by acknowledging these facts, that would indeed be soon responsible for all of Albion?
"A killer?" Swift responded. "I suppose so, but aren't all soldiers and heroes killers? Do you not realise that killing is necessary at times? Do you not know how many lives you have saved by slaying men who have made robbing and murdering a career?"
Amaleigh knew that he was right and there was no denying it. Her own family history was more than enough to verify that.
"My mother would have said the same thing," Amaleigh conceded with a sigh. "But to be honest, I don't know if I can ever come to feel as comfortable with killing as she did."
"Did she tell you she felt comfortable with killing?" Swift asked, a brow quirking in curiosity.
"Yes," she replied. "She told me that she killed when she had to and that was that. I asked her if she was ever haunted by nightmares or guilt. She was very calm and adamant when she told me that she never felt any such things. She said she would take a life and simply move on." Amaleigh met Swift's steady gaze. "My mother was not an evil or unfeeling woman, Major. Why is it that she killed and felt nothing? I feel horrible, even though I know that you are right. I know those men were murderers, but when I killed them, and so easily at that, I felt as if I hadn't the right to! I felt as if I were an evil, odious thing, and my magic made it all the worse! Those men didn't have a chance against it!"
"But it was either them or the innocent citizens of Millfields, Amaleigh," Swift went on. "What would your choice be; to have the bandits die, or the people they prey upon?"
"Well, the bandits of course." Her fingers toyed nervously with the handle of her tea cup.
"And today it was also either the bandits or yourself. Do you believe you should simply have allowed them to slay you? They would not have hesitated, woman or not."
"I... no." Amaleigh scowled, perplexed. "Why do you make so much damned sense? I killed them with magic! I don't even know how I did it, I simply did! It was as if I just wished them dead and it happened. How am I to live with that? As despicable as those men were, weren't they also men who perhaps had families? Lives apart from their chosen... ah... careers?"
"That is good question, and one that sets you apart from the sort of men and creatures that plague Albion," the Major responded confidently. He took a drink of his tea, set the cup down, and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. "Amaleigh, when I killed for the first time, I'll admit that I did not feel terribly remorseful. I was, as I still am, in the service of Albion. I shot and killed a bandit just outside of Bowerstone. I saw the act as my duty to serve and protect. However, there came a day where I did not find it so easy to put a man's death behind me."
Amaleigh stared into Swift's eyes. "No? You felt remorse?"
Swift nodded. "I did. Well, to an extent, at any rate. The man was a bandit, yes, but this time I found a picture that had slipped from his coat pocket bearing the image of a woman and a young girl. I presume that they were his family. It was then that I realised I had rendered that woman a widow and the girl fatherless."
"Yet you are still a soldier," Amaleigh said softly, hoping that none of the men she had killed had families. "Do you now have difficulty taking lives?"
"No, not really," he replied with bald honesty. "But I will admit that sometimes I reflect upon that day, and over the years have shed a few tears over the fact that I took a man from his family, and likely have done so many times. But life goes on, Amaleigh, and so does duty. As long as there are bandits, monsters, and creatures of evil, slaying them will remain an inevitability. It does no good to dwell on what may have been or allow yourself to wallow in sorrow and doubt. You will only harm yourself, my dear, and that will do no-one any good. Besides, if a soldier allows himself to feel for every death he must commit, he would go mad. It is a simple truth that we must not allow that to happen, Amaleigh. We must focus on duty and protecting those who cannot protect themselves. To do otherwise is to blithely court disaster."
Amaleigh swallowed nervously but silently agreed with him. She could not allow herself to sink into despair. If she had to kill, she did not have to kill thoughtlessly and needlessly. She would only battle those who needed to be battled and no more. She would not be like some of the earlier Heroes of Albion who killed mercilessly and for the glory of being feared and dreaded.
"I do not need to be an evil Hero, if indeed a Hero I am," she reasoned softly. "I will not become as some of the dreaded Heroes of old."
"And you shall not," Swift said with conviction. "I do not know you intimately, Amaleigh, but I can see enough in you to know that you are good and righteous. I do not think Albion could have a better Hero than you."
She felt her lips curve into a smile. "Sir, what if your judgement is impaired? What if I am the opposite of what you believe?"
"Then I think I would have invited a blood-thirsty woman into my home who would not have wanted either a bath or tea," he teased her in return.
Then his smile broadened and the laugh-lines around his eyes made his face appear all the more handsome and amiable. "And I doubt that you would be such delightful company for a man who sorely needs it."
Amaleigh felt her face flush but his compliment pleased her. Did he truly find her company pleasurable?
Swift cleared his throat and folded his hands in his lap, clearly ready to change the subject.
"Amaleigh, I must return to Mourningwood Fort on the morrow. If you wish, you may dine with me tonight, or you may return home. But if you choose to leave now, I want your word that you are physically and emotionally ready to do so. Also, if you wish to depart, I shall personally escort you to your home. I refuse to allow you out of my sight until I am satisfied that you are safe."
The Princess stared into her half-drunk cup of tea and pondered. She was ready to depart, but she found that she did not wish to. She felt safe with the Major, and his company and presence were more pleasing and comforting than she had anticipated. Besides, Walter would only interrogate her on her bandit encounter and she was in no mood to discuss it, nor to be alone after he left for another of his nightly pub crawls.
"Amaleigh?"
"I... I may remain?"
"Of course. Why would you doubt such a thing?"
She swallowed thickly and met his gaze squarely. "I would like to dine with you, Major. I do not wish to leave just yet."
She did not say that she was stung by the fact that he did not refer to this house as hers as well as his. Still, she loved Elliot, so why should she care? She did not love Swift, nor he her, but his house felt like so much more of a home than hers. It had a warm and inviting air that hers sorely lacked.
"Amaleigh, you are welcome here any time," Swift said softly, attempting to decipher the meaning behind her words and her hesitation. "You may remain as long as you wish. You may also come here at any time, whether I am present or not."
"Thank you," she replied. "You are very kind."
Swift nodded and stood. "I will see to our dining arrangements. In the meantime, you may wish to peruse the library. I know that it can be nothing compared to the one at the Castle, but still, you may find something to interest or amuse you."
"Major?"
He turned to her and raised a brow.
"Why are you wearing gloves?"
He hesitated for several long moments before responding. "I am wearing them so I do not inadvertently touch you with my bare skin, Princess."
Amaleigh sat speechless and mortified as he bowed stiffly and left the room.
