Okay, wow, this chapter was such a menace. I have never struggled so much to finish a chapter before but this one would not cooperate. I think I rewrote nearly every scene except one and I'm pretty sure my brain is fried. Thank you so much for your patience and I'm really excited because there's only one chapter left of part two and I really can't wait until part three!
Also, to all my reviewers, thank you so much! I really love responding to each of you but I've been so swamped lately, I haven't had the time. Still, I want you to now that I really appreciate you guys taking the time to comment, it means the world! :)
I hope you enjoy!
roses are red, roses are white
part two
the thorns of lancaster
chapter three
to wed a prince
Unusually for these tense times, the chapel is empty when Madge arrives after supper.
The sun is low in the sky and shines weakly through the stained glass windows, their pretty colours barely touching the shadows stretching across the room. Smoky candlelight makes the gold crucifix against the back wall shimmer and Madge is surprised to find there is no one here. Her footsteps echo in the silence and ever since the boats had left, there has always been someone, often many someones, sequestered here in prayer. Still, Madge does not mind the solitude. There are always enemies around every corner; every moment to herself is a luxury. She reaches the altar and lights her own candle, the sweet scent of incense tickling her nose. She kneels down with her rosary beads wrapped around her clasped hands and bows her head. Every night she has come here to beseech God, the Virgin Mary and every saint she can name for news, for victory and for the lives of those she loves.
She is still waiting for an answer.
(sometimes, it seems all her life she has been waiting, waiting for word of wars won or lost, waiting to hear of her fate and whether or not the ones she loves are living or dead. She should probably be used to it by now.
She isn't)
Gale's locket is pressed between her palms and every day that passes feels like an eternity, the lack of word from England driving Enobaria's court half-mad. Everyone's eyes are haunted and their tempers short, for they know this is the last chance they will ever have. If they fail here they will not rise again. Cato is especially raw, his whole future depending on a war his mother will not allow him to fight. He prowls the castle halls with an ever present snarl, Clove scampering after him, and Madge wonders if she should attempt to approach him. He is clearly in need of a balm to soothe him, could she be it? Maybe, but she is far too anxious to focus the way she'd need to. She cannot afford any mistakes with him and anyway, if they win she will have plenty of time to woo him. If they lose…well, Cato will not matter anymore.
Madge waits and waits; waits yet again for news of a battle fought, and oh please, let this be the last time.
On the very last day of September, 1470, the Lancastrian forces land in England.
While supporters rally around their banner, the Queen disbands her army up in Yorkshire. She is victorious yet again, another rebellion handily put down and she has no idea what's coming.
By the time she finds out, it's too late.
("Get up! Get up Gale, get up!"
Gale jerks awake in confusion, his skin hot from a dream he really wishes hadn't been interrupted. He fights to untangle himself from his sheets as Katniss shakes him roughly, his mind still hazy with sleep.
"Come on, come on," she hisses and he glares up at her in annoyance. The room is too dark to make out her face and though he doesn't know it yet, that's definitely for the best.
"What?" he snaps and struggles to sit up.
"We have to go, we have to get out of here," she says and Gale finally registers the desperation in her voice with a shiver.
"What? Why?"
Katniss' grip on his arms tightens, her fingers digging so deep in his skin she is sure to leave bruises. She leans towards him and he can see her suddenly, even the shadows unable to hide her expression. Her eyes are wide, her lips thin and there is fear carved into every inch of her, a blast of terror blowing into him like cold wind.
"The Lancastrians have landed. They're on their way here.")
Katniss has no army, just a handful of ever loyal companions, and they are no match for the forces arrayed against them. It feels like a knife to the gut, but Katniss of York is no fool. If she wants to win, today she has to lose.
There is no great battle.
(at least not yet)
Katniss Everdeen, Queen of England, does the only thing she can.
She runs.
("We can't leave, we can't! Gale, stop!" Rory shouts as his brother hauls him up a gangplank and onto a shuddering ship. The wind is so cold as it blows behind him and Rory struggles to free himself from Gale's grip, his heart beating in his throat.
"We can't leave!" he says again and Gale grips his arms so tight it hurts.
"We have to Rory, we cannot stay here. Don't you understand? We don't have an army, if they find us, we're dead." His voice is tense and terrified and that only makes Rory's horror grow, his stomach so wretched he is sure to be sick.
"But what about Mum? And Posy and Vick? They need us, Gale, we can't leave them behind! Coriolanus'll go after them and Nella and Philippa, we have-"
"We can't, Rory! There's no time. If we don't leave now, it's over. Going back will not only doom us, but them as well. We have to go Rory, please."
Rory has never heard his brother sound so defeated and the pleading in his voice freezes Rory to the core. Gale isn't supposed to get scared; he's supposed to be invincible. Gale is the hero, the stupidly perfect knight Rory is determined to best one day (even if he secretly fears he'll never measure up), he is not supposed to be afraid or beaten. He can't be. Rory feels nauseous, feels like his chest is too tight and a clammy sweat starts to creep over his body. He shakes his head and tries to pull away from Gale, a horrible shaking starting in his hands.
"No, no, we can't leave them. How can you-"
"Rory, use your head!" Thom says from behind him and Rory turns back in shock. "If you love your family, you have to leave them. We are all condemned traitors now; the best thing we can do is stay as far from our loved ones as possible. Your mother is the smartest woman I've ever met; she'll know how to keep herself and your siblings safe. But only if she can plead ignorance and say she's had nothing to do with our rebellion. If you go back to her, you paint her as just as much a traitor as the rest of us."
Rory's eyes widen and Thom is right. Oh God, oh no no no no. Rory feels his breathing start to quicken and he feels lightheaded. All he wants to do is go home and curl up in bed, but there will be a price on his head now, he is a traitor to the crown. If he goes home…oh Mum, Vick, Posy, Nella, Philippa even…oh God what are we going to do?
He starts to sway and Gale pulls him against his chest, his arms wrapping Rory up like they used to when he was small and scared of monsters under the bed. "Hey, hey, hey it's going to be okay. I'm not going to let anything happen to you, I promise. We will be back and we'll see them again, but for now I need you to be brave, alright? I need you to be strong."
Rory nods even as tears begin to sting his eyes and he grabs onto Gale, his hands fisting in his brother's doublet. He pushes his face into Gale's shoulder and this is what he wanted, wasn't it? To be all grown up, to prove he was a man? He has to be strong, to be courageous like Gale, Papa and Katniss.
He can, he will.
He has to)
(but maybe Philippa was right, maybe fourteen isn't all that grown up after all)
It is Boggs, Earl of Pembroke that leads the charge to capture the runaway queen, but he is too late. By the time he reaches her last known location, she has already fled. The pace is furious, the flight desperate but soon she is aboard ship to Burgundy, joined by those most loyal to her cause. She stands on the edge of the ship, sees England's coast grow hazy with distance and I will be back.
I will not let Coriolanus mutilate England again.
Afternoon sun slants through the tall window and spills across the floor, catching on the silver thread of Madge's embroidery and making it glitter. Her fingers stitch with practiced ease but her mind is far across the Channel in England, so very, very desperate to know what's going on. The October chill settles on her bones and she shivers slightly, the heavy velvet of her gown doing little to keep her warm. The unease that has lived in her stomach since the Lancastrian ships sailed continues to bubble unhappily and she cannot help thinking that no news must mean bad news.
I'm so tired of this uncertainty. When does it end? When will we-
BANG
Madge leaps nearly out of her skin as the door crashes open and drops her embroidery, her heart seizing in her chest. For a moment she is nothing but panic, the feel of it swallowing her whole. So many awful thoughts swirl through her as her heart restarts with a vengeance that she hardly notices Annie tumbling through the doorway, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed.
"Madge, Madge, Madge!" Annie almost squeals as she lurches towards her, a wide smile blossoming across her face. Madge feels her eyes widen and her breath catch, because she knows what that smile must mean. But then, what about…
"I…I thought you were going to your room to fetch some thread," Madge says with a trembling gesture at Annie's empty hands. It is a silly thing to say, an obvious attempt to stall the inevitable, but Annie doesn't seem to notice. She only smiles wider and grabs Madge's hands.
"I passed the Queen's solar on my way and she's just received news from England! We are victorious Madge! We won!"
Madge had known it the minute she'd seen how bright Annie glowed, but it still breaks over her like a thunderstorm, her ears roaring and her heart pounding. It is like a bolt of lightning, every single inch of her crackling. All these years, all this time and Madge brings her hands up to cover her mouth. Tears spill down her cheeks and Father, Father, we've finally avenged you Father. Annie laughs and enfolds her in a hug, but Madge's arms feel too weak to hold her back.
We've done it, oh God we've really done it. We won. Lancaster has taken England. This is what I wanted; this is what I've been praying for.
But what of Gale?
"You needn't worry Madge," Annie whispers to her ear, "Katniss of York and Gale of Salisbury escaped to Burgundy."
(and there is a tiny, tiny part of Annie that stings with betrayal, but the greatest part of her understands)
(you cannot choose who you love but Madge has chosen Lancaster, and that's what matters most)
Madge gasps, her relief dizzying in its intensity. They're alive.
"We won," she says and those words sound so strange, "I've never been on the winning side before."
Annie squeezes her. "Me neither."
Madge finally finds the strength and wraps Annie in her arms, the two of them sinking to the floor in a mess of tears and laughter. After all these years, they are finally on the winning side. It feels like a dream.
(but mixing with the triumph in her blood is trepidation.
Haymitch has done his part. Now it's my turn)
In October, Haymitch, Duke of Clarence officially declares King Coriolanus restored and frees him from the Tower of London.
And just like that, it's over.
York has lost.
Lancaster has won.
(at least for now)
(Some Yorkists flee to Burgundy, but not all of them. Some are left in England to face the fallout)
(Prim is sitting in her solar when Darius comes in, his face somber. The morning sunlight shines behind him and Prim doesn't know why, but her heart starts to thump loudly in her chest.
"Darius? What is it?"
He kneels down in front of her and cups her face in his hands, the sorrow in his eyes striking through her like an arrow.
"Haymitch and the Lancastrians have driven Katniss and Gale from the country, they've won. They're on their way here to free Coriolanus."
The world around them seems to disappear, everything narrowing in on Darius and the horrid words he's saying. No. Her breathing stutters into shallow gasps and Prim shakes her head, because this cannot be true. It can't. Darius pulls her into his arms and this can't be real, oh God, this can't be real.
"I'm so sorry Prim," he says and she closes her eyes in horror.
"I can't believe this. Katniss, oh Katniss, she-"
"At least she's still alive. The King's forces haven't caught her," Darius says but it is poor comfort to the terror and despair filling her up. Her sister is in exile, a traitor wanted for execution. No, no, Katniss. Prim cannot stem her tears and a new fear begins to blossom within her, for it is not just Katniss at risk from this new regime.
"And what about us?" she asks, one hand jumping to the swell of her stomach.
"It's alright," Darius coos but she shakes her head.
"I am Katniss' sister and you turned form Lancaster to fight for us. Coriolanus will not forgive us; he'll be coming for us-"
"Shh, it's alright. I've taken care of everything," he soothes and she pulls back to look at him.
"What do you mean?"
He smiles and strokes her cheek, his thumb rubbing away her tears.
"I was afraid this might happen, indeed, I was sure it would. It wasn't hard to see that the tides were turning and Katniss was going to lose. So I made sure Coriolanus' stay in the Tower was as pleasant as possible. He has had the finest of everything and he knows it was me who provided that comfort."
Prim stands abruptly and shakes her head, her lungs unable to pull in enough air. "No, no you didn't. You can't have."
"I had to choose Prim, to go down with your sister or to rise with Lancaster. I chose to help Lancaster win, so we'll be safe. They will not seek vengeance against us, not when I am the reason they won."
He stands and reaches for her but Prim steps back again, bile climbing up her throat. She backs into her chair and horror crawls over her skin, hot and prickling.
"How do you think they managed to catch her so off guard? This bloodless coup is because of me, because of the information I provided. Coriolanus will surely still despise me, but he cannot move against us. He owes me too much. Just as he has had to swallow his pride and accept Haymitch, he will accept me too. And you," Darius explains patiently and Prim covers her mouth with her hands, so furious and wretched she cannot even cry.
"How could you?" she whispers through her fingers. "How could you do this? My sister is in exile because of you!"
"Yes. I'm sorry," he says and his look of contrition stuns her to the core.
"Sorry? Sorry?" she nearly shrieks, so angry she can barely think and Darius sighs, his eyes tired and sad.
"Yes. I didn't want this Prim. In an ideal world none of this would have happened. But it did and I had to make a choice."
He steps closer and reaches for her again, his whole face pleading. Prim recoils in disgust and slaps away his hand.
"Don't touch me. You're a traitor, a faithless, selfish traitor! You chose yourself!"
Darius inhales sharply and clenches his fists. "Yes, I did. And I chose you and our son. Katniss was going to lose-"
"You can't know that," she interrupts and he glares at her.
"Yes I can. Just as I knew Lancaster was going to lose before."
Prim gasps, her eyes widening. "That's why you fought for York. Not because you thought we were right, but because you thought we'd win."
He nods. "Mortimer's Cross made it very clear that Lancaster had no hope of defeating Katniss. I decided I wasn't going to follow my father and grandfather to the grave."
"No, you decided to dishonor their memory instead!"
"I was sixteen, should I have died for a lost cause? Would that be better? Would that've made them proud? I shouldn't have to die for a war I didn't start. I don't care who rules this Godforsaken kingdom but I am not going to throw away my life for nothing!"
"So it was that easy then, was it?" she spits and he steps back as if struck, his eyes blazing with sudden rage.
"Easy? Easy? You think any of this was easy? I did…I did horrible things…terrible, terrible, to people I…I betrayed-I am not proud of myself and nothing has ever been harder, but I did what I had to do to survive. I have sacrificed everything because I was sixteen and I had to choose a side in this fucking war! Should I have died? Would that make you happy?" he bellows and Prim stares into his heated gaze and feels her heart shatter in her chest. Tears burn down her cheeks and how have we come to this?
"You are not…not the man I thought you were. You are…you are…" She cannot finish and Darius swallows, his eyes brimming with desperation.
"You and your family and your high ideals, what have they ever done for us?" he asks and Prim stiffens. "Have they brought us peace? Are they going to keep you safe? No, only I'm going to do that."
"I never asked you to!" she shouts and he flinches. "I don't want you to. Loyalty, honesty, goodness, that's what matters most, no matter the cost. I'd rather die than sell my soul to the Devil as you have," she sobs, fury mingling with terrible heartbreak in her throat. His mouth trembles and Prim cannot believe this is happening.
"I love you," Darius whispers brokenly, "you and our boy. I did this for us. If I had sided with Katniss there'd have been a war. A bloody, terrible war. I believe, I truly believe, Katniss would have lost it. I'd have died or been sent into exile and then we'd have lost everything. They'd have taken every bit of land, every coin and jewel and scrap of food; we'd have lost it all. And then you'd be locked up somewhere for the rest of your life and so would our boy. He'd be an heir to Katniss and Coriolanus would never have trusted him to go free. Now, now though, we can grow old together, we can watch our son grow up with his inheritance intact. Your Aunt Hazelle, Vick and Posy will be under my protection, I promise no harm will come to them. And Katniss, Gale and Rory, they're safe in Burgundy. Katniss is the Duke's daughter-in-law, she will be well provided for. I only wanted what was best for us. Can you not forgive me, my love? I only did what I had to, for us."
Prim can remember falling in love with Darius, can recall every moment since, but she does not hesitate. There are tears in Darius' eyes but Prim is not moved. However much he once meant to her, he is nothing now. He can't be.
"No, I will not forgive you. Not ever. You did an evil thing; you betrayed me and my sister, and all of England. Coriolanus is a monster and you have unleashed him upon our people for your own ends. I will never forgive that."
Darius starts to cry, hiccupping through his sobs and Prim hates him, hates him so terribly she cannot even think of the words. She cannot look at him, cannot bear the sight of him, and she turns, fleeing as far from him as she can. Tears blur her vision, pain wracks her body and she does not make it far before her legs collapse beneath her. She sinks to the floor and weeps raggedly, her world crumbling to dust around her.
How could this have happened?
God, oh God, what I am going to do?
This isn't right, this isn't fair)
(Gale sits with his head in his hands, the worried murmur of conversation around him a dull buzz. Peeta is deep in conference with his father the Duke of Burgundy and Gale waits with everyone else who managed to escape with them in a small chamber, miserable and disbelieving. The Lancastrians have taken England. We are in exile. How could this have happened?
How could you have done this, Haymitch?
"Gale," Katniss says softly and touches his shoulder. He looks up and her face is bleak, his stomach dropping down to his toes.
"What is it?" he asks, his voice oddly raspy. Katniss sighs and sits down beside him, her hands curling into fists on her knees.
"Peeta has just finished speaking with his father. The Duke is more than happy to shelter us here, but he does not think it wise to pursue a war with England or her French allies," she says and Gale closes his eyes. They'd expected that answer and Peeta had already promised not to give up until he'd convinced his father to aid them, but Gale cannot stop the lead ball in his chest from growing just a bit larger.
Oh England, forgive us
"There's something else," Katniss says so quietly Gale barely hears her. He blinks and looks at her, but she won't meet his eyes.
"What?" he asks and she bites her lip. She reaches for him and then hesitates, his heart thudding at the pity on her face. Has there been word from England? Has Coriolanus already moved against my family? Mum, Posy, V-
"The alliance between Haymitch and Enobaria is to be sealed with a marriage. Cato and Madge's marriage."
Gale stands without even realizing it, his wooden bench scraping along the stone floor. No, no no no no, this isn't…this can't be happening.
"Gale…" Katniss says softly but he can't stay here, he cannot do this, oh God, oh God. His feet start walking, carry him out of the room even as Katniss calls his name. He doesn't know where he's going, cannot think beyond the pain and suddenly he is outside, the wind biting into his face. His legs give out and he sinks to his knees in the mud and wishes he couldn't feel anything at all, but he can, oh God, he can. He pulls Madge's handkerchief out with shaking hands and his fingers burn where they touch it, its silver embroidery catching the sun.
I will return to you, Madge. You have my word of honour.
And I shall hold you to it
And when I return, we shall marry
I shall definitely hold you to that
Gale hunches over and buries his face in her handkerchief, the memory so sharp he feels for a moment as if he cannot breathe. He can see her standing there in Rochester's courtyard, her hair caught in the wind and her hands around the locket he'd given her, a promise of things to come.
Oh God, was that the last time? Will he never see her again?
Coriolanus has taken England, Haymitch has betrayed us, I am in exile, my family is trapped in England and Madge is soon to marry Cato.
Oh God, what am I supposed to do?
(Gale had sworn after weeping so many bitter tears for his father that the Lancastrians would never reduce him to such misery again.
But kneeling there in the mud as the sobs are torn from him, he realizes the Lancastrians have beaten him yet again)
(one day, Gale will remember the taste of hope)
(but today, today he is nothing but despair)
It has been a long, long time since the Lancastrians have had anything worth celebrating.
News of their victory in England lights the entire court on fire, joy and jubilation flooding the once dismal palace halls. It is as if a shadow has been lifted and people burst into tears when the news comes, erupting into dance and laughter and hugs. Happiness seeps through the stone and Enobaria plans a grand banquet to honour their triumph, the court's golden mood rising with the anticipation of returning home. Madge knows this is a chance she cannot afford to lose. The gay mood and plentiful drink will surely soften Cato; if ever she is to begin her seduction, now is the time.
The morning of the banquet she has the servants bring in a tub to wash in, but for some reason she can't explain she dismisses the maids who've come to help her bathe. They share questioning looks but leave with a curtsy and Madge turns back to her tub. Steam wafts from its surface and she knows she's supposed to wait until it's cooled down, but she doesn't. She slips out of her nightgown and leaves it to puddle on the ground, the cold air from the window making her shiver. The stone floor is icy against her bare feet and she steps gingerly into the tub, her toes curling at the heat. The water is far too hot but Madge does not get out, she clutches the edge of the bath and lowers herself all the way in instead. She sinks as deep in as she can and lets her hair spill over the lip of the tub, her skin already sticky with sweat. She melts into the scalding water and sighs. The skin beneath the surface is already an angry red, but Madge doesn't care. For a moment at least, Madge lets herself burn.
Her hand flutters to her chest where Gale's locket rests and she holds it tight. Perhaps it is foolish to wear it in the bath, but she sworn to never take it off. There are so many promises she'd made to Gale that she cannot keep, but this one she can. She thinks of him in Burgundy and allows herself to imagine him bursting through her door and kneeling beside her bath, his fingers in her hair and his lips on hers. It is a silly fantasy, but still, sometimes she likes to pretend happy endings are still possible.
She'll get to her washing soon, but for a moment Madge relishes in the heat and dreams of Gale.
She deserves that.
"Are you ready?"
Madge turns from her mirror and sees Annie in her doorway, looking lovely in silver with pearls in her hair. Madge offers her a smile and looks back at her reflection one last time, for she must be perfect tonight. She is wearing her most sumptuous gown, a golden kirtle, purple houppelande with pretty embroidery in silver and gold and maroon velvet at the cuffs and collar, and a matching girdle decorated with hearts made of pearls. The maids had rolled the front of her hair and woven a purple ribbon through it and she wears silver earrings and all her rings, Cato's so much heavier on her finger than all the rest. She has pink lips, rosy cheeks and she won't think of the last great occasion on which she wore this dress.
(Christmas, gale with a sweet smile, a heraldry book she reads at night to feel closer to him)
"What do you think? Do I look enticing enough?" she tries to joke but the words fall flat. Annie bites her lip and steps forward, stopping when she detects a familiar scent.
"Lilies? Really?"
Madge shrugs. "Well, it can't hurt, can it?"
Lilies are Clove's favourite scent and Madge knows it might not actually help her with Cato, but it is worth a shot. And who knows, maybe this will give her the leg up she needs.
"I cannot believe who have to seduce Cato of all people, he is a monster," Annie says miserably and Madge tries to soften her pain with a smile.
"Better him than Marvel. At least Cato is upfront about his foulness. Marvel is always trying to act charming, it makes me feel so dirty," she says with a grimace and Annie lurches forward suddenly to hug her.
"I'm so sorry," she breathes and Madge blinks.
"Sorry? For what?"
"I don't know, I…I wish I could marry Cato instead."
Madge inhales sharply and feels tears prick her eyes, her arms coming up to hold Annie back.
"You couldn't. What about Finnick?"
Annie shakes her head, her voice thick with tears.
"He'd understand. He worries for you like I do. If I could spare you this-"
"I'd never let you," Madge interrupts, her heart so full it might burst. "I would never let you give up your happy ending for me. Just…promise to make me godmother and I'll be happy, alright?"
It's not quite as light in tone as she wants it to be and Annie squeezes her tight and nods. "I will, I promise."
Madge knows they should leave now, but she doesn't pull away. For a moment at least, she wants to remember that she is not in this alone. Even if she has to suffer Cato, at least she will have Annie beside her.
(Glimmer sweeps through the castle's halls and can barely stifle the laughter bubbling in her throat.
All these poor fools think they've won.
They have no idea)
Annie and Madge reach the banqueting hall hand in hand and though there aren't many Lancastrians left in France, that doesn't mean the gathering isn't a lively one. Enobaria has gone as all out as her limited funds will allow and it shows. Silk banners hang on the walls in Lancaster blue and white; two tables on the left side of the room below the windows stand heaped with all manner of foods from pork in cinnamon sauce to fruits powdered with sugar to stacks and stacks of pies garnished with rose petals, their fillings ranging from egg to vegetable to poultry; a great wolf in marchpane wolf holds pride of place in the center of the room and serving boys weave through the crowd with platters filled with goblets of mead, wine and ale. Musicians play from a corner and every guest sparkles in their finery, dripping in jewels and velvets and silks. There are no stately bassedances but only lively, energetic dances, laughter echoes through the room and even Madge feels affected by the obvious joy here, her spirits somewhat buoyed by the sheer excitement in the hall.
She scans the room and finds Enobaria in a gown of deep plum, her crown sparkling on her head. She sits on a gilded throne against the back wall with all her ladies crowded around her, even Clove, which is exactly what Madge needs. If Clove is occupied, it will be that much easier to make a move on Cato. Her eyes find him next, a tankard already in hand and crumbs on his doublet. After all these years, it appears he still has awful table manners. Charming. He laughs raucously at something someone says but Madge knows she cannot approach him just yet. There are too many people here and unless she wants to be labeled a wanton, she must find some privacy. Unfortunately though, she cannot wait too long. While she wants him made merry by the celebration, she does not want him inebriated. She wants him completely in control of his faculties and fully capable of remembering this tomorrow.
She accepts a cup of wine but only sips from it, for she cannot afford a blurring of her own senses either. She needs to be in tip-top shape if she is to succeed here. Annie heads to the tables to get food and Madge accepts an invitation to dance, her eyes never leaving Cato. She must be ready to strike at the perfect moment and she will not miss her chance. He guffaws loudly and Glimmer swans over in a striking ruby gown and flutters her eyelashes at him, her hennin draped with gauzy veils that float around her face. Her slender fingers rest on his arm but he hardly seems to notice and stuffs his face with cherries, their sugar coating left clinging to his lips. Madge smiles privately at the frustration on Glimmer's face and is glad to see her glide off to find a new target. There must be no competition and no distractions tonight, just Madge and Cato.
Madge dances with every man who asks but thankfully it does not take long for Cato to give her the opening she's been waiting for. He sets down his tankard and heads to the door and Madge knows she must go now or risk losing her chance. She excuses herself from her current partner and heads straight for Cato, one eye still on Clove with the queen. He ducks out into the hall and Madge follows her stomach queasy with nerves. She exits the hall and he is not too far away, though he hasn't seen her yet.
Well, this is it then. Now or never.
(Cato leans back against the wall and sighs.
England has been retaken, his birthright reclaimed but not by him. He is seventeen and yet still his parents treat him like a child. He can fight, he should've gone with the invasion but instead he has been left here with the women. Edward the Black Prince was winning battles at the age of sixteen, but Cato is always denied the same opportunities. It isn't fair. He should be making a name for himself, on the tiltyard and the battlefield, but instead he is to be coddled like a baby. Worse, he cannot even celebrate Lancaster's triumph with Clove. His mother keeps her chained to her side and not even ale can lessen the sting of these double blows.
I am to be king one day, so why must they treat me like this?
"Are you alright, my prince?"
Cato pushes off the wall abruptly and turns, hot fire spurting up inside of him. It is Madge, infernal, ghastly Madge and he clenches his hand around his coronet. She curtsies and the torchlight catches her golden hair and makes it shine, her jewelry glittering.
"What are you doing here?" he demands and cannot keep his voice from shaking in anger. If he cannot be with Clove, he is sure as hell not going to spend this evening with Madge. She rises slowly and looks up at him, her face the perfect mask of concern.
"I saw you leave and I just wanted to be sure you were well," she says in a soft, earnest little voice and Cato desperately has to resist the urge to reach out and grab her by the throat. He wants to feel her pulse quicken in panic and then stop, wants to feel her struggling as he squeezes, wants to see that infuriating light in her eyes go dim.
"You must keep your temper in check Cato; we cannot afford the dishonor your beating of Madge Undersee will bring us."
He breathes out fury and grips his coronet tighter, the metal biting into his skin.
"I'm fine," he growls, because as much as he wants to hurt her, he knows he can't. "I just needed some air; it's very hot in there."
"Indeed," she agrees and takes a step closer. He narrows his eyes and she smiles. "I'm glad; I would not want you to be in any distress."
"The only thing that distresses me is you. I've not had nearly enough to drink to enjoy your company," he spits and the words are harsh, stinging, but Madge does not appear fazed, rather she smiles and that inflames him all the more. Why can he not rattle her? It is like smashing a stone wall with his fists, all it brings him is pain and frustration, but never results.
"And yet I find you more charming tonight than ever before," she says sweetly and he frowns deeply. She sounds sincere, she flutters her eyelashes but Cato will not be fooled. She is mocking him, she must be.
"My mother says I'm not allowed to beat you. She thinks it will reflect poorly on the House of Lancaster if my betrothed should appear bruised and battered. So you can thank her for any added civility," he tells her because he won't have her thinking she has won any kind of ground. Madge merely nods and keeps her bright smile in place.
"I surely will. And I shall leave you, if that's what you want," she says and he scoffs loudly.
"You'll really just go?" he asks because there is no way she came out here just to ask if he was alright. She must be up to something.
"Of course. I know we've had our difficulties, but I do not want there to be a war between us any longer. I had hoped we could talk, but-"
"Talk? Talk about what?" he says in disbelief and she bites her lip, teeth sinking in and he knows full well what she's doing. He won't look even though she must want him to. He won't be seduced.
"Us," she says softly and a bubble of hot rage bursts within him.
"There is no us!" he snaps and Madge nods. She bites her lip again and looks down for a moment, looking back up with a shy sort of hope in her eyes.
"I know that, but I hope…one day, there might be. You are handsome, brave, strong and everything I could possibly want in a husband. Can we not be happy together?" There is a very gentle pleading in her voice and she steps closer again, the intoxicating scent of lilies flooding his senses. He inhales deeply and feels his blood stir. Clove always smells of lilies and he thinks of her, his desire starting to rise. Madge takes another quiet step closer and that finally wakes him up, for he is not with Clove but someone far worse.
"I already have someone who makes me happy," he growls and she nods, so close now they are almost touching. Cato nearly drowns in the smell of her, is sure he can feel the heat of her but he will not be moved. She is clever to use Clove's smell to arouse him, but that will not be enough. If she is not Clove, he does not want her.
"I know. But I am to be your wife, not her. We are to have a lifetime together Prince Cato, would it not be better for both of us if you at least gave me a chance?" she asks and he is quick to answer.
"No," he says stubbornly and she bites her lip, looking at him with sad, sad eyes.
"What is the point in us being miserable?" she asks and reaches for his coronet. Cato stiffens, but Madge does not touch him, instead she eases the coronet from his grasp.
"I know you do not like me and I know how you feel about Clove. I do not want to take her place; I just want to make you happy. Can you not let me try to please you?" she whispers and gently places the coronet on his head. Her fingers are light and they flutter through his hair, the feeling pleasant even though he wants it to be anything but. He growls low in his throat.
"You could never make me happy," he says and Madge drops her hands.
"You don't know that. Why can't we be allies at least? Is Clove so awful she wants you to spend the rest of your life miserable?"
"Don't you dare insult her," he says and Madge sighs.
"You know Prince Cato; I came out here with a plan of seducing you. I thought I'd try every trick I could to make you want me, but I can't do it. I have no stomach for trying to inflame your desire. I don't want to be the one that breaks you and Clove apart. I hoped we could discuss this like adults and agree to work together. I have no illusions that you're going to fall madly in love with me, but why can't we get along? Can you not see how pointless it is to fight with me for the rest of our lives?"
Cato steps closer to her, so close they are nearly touching and glares at her. She does not recoil or even blink and he hates her, God he fucking hates her.
"I will never work with you. Never."
Madge holds his gaze and he is so focused he does not even hear the approaching footsteps until Clove is upon them.
"Get away from him," she hisses. "You little slut, you tramp, stay away from him!"
She grabs Madge's hair and yanks, her nails digging into Madge's scalp. Cato laughs and Madge's hands leap to her head.
"See, I have no need of you," he says but Madge does not wilt or cower as she should. Just like that day when she'd first confronted them, her eyes are cold and even in obvious pain, her tongue seems to be made of iron.
"Yes, you do. You need me Cato. You need my money, my lands and the children I will bear you. You are going to marry me Cato, whether you like it or not. These cruelties will not change that, nor will they break me."
Her voice is hard like steel and Cato should be angry, but he is something colder instead. Clove tugs a little harder and starts to speak, but Madge continues over her.
"I am going to be your princess and then your queen; you shall never be rid of me. You think you're so impressive? You're nothing. I have survived wars, exile, the Yorkist occupation and a Channel crossing in the most violent of storms. You think I cannot win you? Please, I made the Earl of Salisbury fall in love with me and there is no one who despises the Lancastrians as he does. I arranged this marriage, I won Katniss of York's confidence and I turned my abandonment by you into endless opportunity. You left me a prisoner in England and now I will be queen. Do not think for one moment that you will ever beat me."
Madge holds Cato's eyes even as footsteps come nearer and she does not flinch. She is some sort of demon and he does not want her to be right, but she is, isn't she? She had managed to wrangle a promise of betrothal out of that whoreson Hawthorne, she had become lady-in-waiting to the Yorkist bitch and indeed, she'd lived a far more luxurious life than he had. He had run and what had it gotten him? Nothing but exile and a dependency on charity. They had abandoned her to the Yorkists and somehow, she had thrived. And here she was again, about to become Princess of Wales. Clearly, Madge has made some sort of deal with the devil to flourish no matter her circumstances.
(he does not, will not, admit it, but somewhere deep down he starts to think maybe we can't win this fight)
He looks at her and he wants to snap her neck, wants to kick her until she bleeds but there is something holding him back, not his mother's warning but…fear. When they make it back to England, his father will side with Madge. No one will pick Clove or even him, it will always be Coriolanus first and Madge is right, they need her fortune. If he fights with her, she might try and have Clove sent away, far away. What will he do then? If he cannot rid himself of her before they return to England, he will not only be stuck with her, but he will lose Clove too.
What am I going to do?)
The footsteps grow louder and Cato grabs Clove's arm and pulls her away, but his expression stays burned in Madge's mind.
He is afraid of her.
Good.
(but he is not the only one. The longer this goes on, the harder Madge feels herself become, the more she scares herself. She wants to survive, she wants to save the ones she loves, but she cannot lie. She is terrified of what it's costing her.
She is terrified of what she's becoming)
("What the fuck Cato?" Clove shrieks when they finally reach his room. He shuts the door but does not turn to look at her, the sight of his back infuriating her all the more.
"Clove-"
"What the fuck were you doing?" she continues and shoves him as hard as she can. There is an awful anger in her, but worse is the weeping misery, the heartbreak so stark she cannot bear it.
"Clove," he says again and finally turns to face her. There is still a hint of flush to his cheeks and his yellow hair is mussed, mussed as if hands had been running through it. Clove feels as if she's been set aflame and she cannot let him continue, cannot even think of hearing him speak.
"You promised me she wouldn't get to you; you promised you'd be faithful!"
"I know that-"
"Then what the hell were you doing?!" she screams and he slaps a hand over her mouth. He looks back at the door as if afraid someone might hear, but Clove does not care. Let the whole world hear what a whore he is. She kicks him hard in the shin and he jumps back with a curse.
"Fuck, Clove! I wasn't doing anything with her, you fucking harpy!" he bellows and she starts to shake, her whole body vibrating.
"What were you doing then? What?!"
"I was telling her to fuck off because I'd never love her like I love you! I am not going to betray you Clove, never!" he says in frustration and Clove shakes her head. She wants to believe him, she does, but she cannot get the sight of them standing so close in the hall out of her eyes. Cato sees her hesitation and roars.
"I hate her! I hate her Clove, I wish she was dead! I don't fucking want her!"
Clove has never heard Cato sound so angry before and whatever doubts she'd had disappear. She wilts as the jealousy drains out of her and Cato softens, his own rage cooling. He opens his arms and she walks into them, pressing her face into his chest.
"I love you Clove, with everything I am. There will never be anyone else," he says and she nods.
"I know, I'm…sorry. I don't want to feel like this anymore," she admits and hates the way her voice breaks. "She's making me crazy. I'm so angry and I want her gone, I want her dead."
"We will get rid of her, before we get to England. I won't let her break us apart. We'll figure something out."
Clove nods and pulls back, one arm still snug around his waist. She reaches up with the other and touches his cheek, his eyes closing as he leans into her hand.
"Kiss me and make me forget all about Madge Undersee," she says and he presses his forehead to hers.
"With pleasure.")
(Two and a half years after Katniss had paraded triumphantly through London for the first time, Prim watches Coriolanus do the same.
It is a warm day for October, the sun bright but Prim cannot feel its heat. Ice trails fingers over her skin, disgust and dismay writhe within her and she is not sure if she wants to scream or sob. This cannot be happening. Every citizen of London seems to be out today, lining the swept streets and hanging from bannered windows and Prim wants to beg them to go home, to reject this wicked, evil king. She watches them with desperate eyes as they wait, red roses in their hair, in their pockets and their hands, and thinks she might be sick with the horror of this moment. Crimson petals flutter all around her and this must be a nightmare, it must be.
(though she cannot help but wonder if they are pleased at this readeption, or if they are too afraid to be anything else)
Music weaves its way between London's buildings and Darius reaches for her hand, bile rising in her throat as his fingers brush hers. Prim jerks her hand away and his hangs there for a moment, empty and alone in the space between them. He pulls it back, his breathing stuttered and Prim cannot feel sorry. He did this to them, not her.
Their street begins to rumble with hooves and roars of welcome and Prim places a hand against her stomach. Her baby squirms and she can understand their unease, her own pulse starting to race.
It's okay baby, we'll be okay
(daddy's made sure of that comes Darius' voice in her head)
(maybe she hisses back, but at what cost?)
A chestnut horse trots into view and Haymitch sits astride it, his face lined and his shoulders slumped in his finery. Jewels glimmer from every inch of him, his chains of office glint in the sunlight and Prim feels such a wave of loathing at the sight of him that she nearly collapses. Haymitch is sorrow eyed and grim and it makes her want to scream.
You betrayed us! You don't get to look so miserable, so wounded! This is your fault! How could you?
Marvel trots just behind his father but there is no sadness in him, only arrogance and an obnoxiously smug smirk. As much as she hates Haymitch's obvious despair, she hates Marvel just as much for showing none.
We are your family Marvel; do you really feel nothing at betraying us?
Other great nobles follow, each one splendidly dressed and waving, and Prim feels her eyes start to burn. All these men would rather Coriolanus than Katniss, but why? She has made mistakes certainly, but Coriolanus, really? Whatever Katniss' sins, they cannot be so grave as to make Coriolanus the better choice.
And then, finally, he arrives.
Even as old as he is, Coriolanus does not look decrepit or frail as his horse carries him through the streets. He sits tall and proud, the sun on his golden crown positively dazzling. He is heavy with rings and precious gems, his mantle rich and costly with velvet and ermine. His eyes are dark and endless as they sweep over the crowd, his parchment skin lined and wrinkled. There is blood in the corner of his mouth, so red it looks unreal, and Prim feels a sudden flash of cold fear. She tightens her grip on her belly, unable to tell now if she is feeling her baby or terror moving in her stomach.
It's okay baby, it's okay, we'll be okay
Coriolanus looks in their direction and Prim cannot be certain he sees her, but when his winter black eyes turn her way, she cannot defeat the feeling that he does. As improbable as it seems in so large a crowd, she knows he does. And somehow, she knows he recognizes her. She cannot remember ever meeting him but his puffy lips pull back over his teeth in a cadaver's smile as he looks her way, and she knows.
We should never have come)
(this time, she does not pull away when Darius reaches for her hand)
Annie looks out the window with wistful eyes and sighs as she gazes across the foggy Channel.
"I cannot believe it," she says softly. "It's over. Soon we shall be home in England and we will never need to worry about this wretched war again."
Madge offers a smile to her back and sets down her embroidery. She rises from her stool and moves to Annie's side, their shoulders pressing together. The sky outside is a mottled gray, the Channel below it a steely blue.
"I have not been home in so long, it feels almost a lifetime. I don't even know if it's still standing," Annie continues and Madge nods, wondering the same about Bedford Castle. Who knows what the Yorkists have done to it.
"Well," Annie says, a smile warming her mouth, "if it is, you must come visit us up at Dunstanburgh. I insist."
Madge feels her heart warm at Annie's obvious cheer and grabs her hand, squeezing tight.
"I'd love to," she promises and Annie squeezes back.
"After all these years, it's finally over," she says in wonder and Madge nods.
"It really is."
Later that night though, a terrible thought occurs to Madge.
What if it isn't over?
She'd been so caught up in ensuring Gale and Katniss' safety; she hadn't bothered to imagine what they might do after their loss. Will they really just give up? She thinks of Katniss the warrior queen who defied every custom and tradition to continue her father's war; thinks too of Gale her brave and angry knight; and knows the answer.
No, they will not give up. As long as there is life in their bodies, they will strive to bring Coriolanus down.
The war isn't over.
And it won't be, not until one side is dead.
(If there is one thing Darius fears more than anything, it is seeing Finnick again.
The King should be his greatest cause for concern, because even with all the help Darius provided, the King is not known for his gratitude or his logic. Darius should be worried about reprisals, about Coriolanus punishing rather than forgiving, but all he can truly focus on is Finnick. Finnick, the one person Darius has always admired above all others. Finnick, the man Darius always wished to become.
Finnick, who will never forgive him.
Darius is no fool. He knows Finnick must hate him now, knew it even as he was doing the very things that would forever tarnish their relationship. He tries to tell himself that he had no choice, but he knows that will never be good enough for Finnick. Annie will always be first in Finnick's heart and what Darius did to her will never be forgiven, it does not matter his reasons. He knows all this, tells himself he is prepared to feel the force of Finnick's loathing, but he isn't.
Oh God, he isn't.
It is late, the King's grand reception for all his loyal nobles winding to an end and even though Darius has spent all day avoiding Finnick, he cannot avoid him forever. He slips outside for a momentary breather, his skin flushed and head swimming from a little too much wine and Finnick follows, his eyes hard and smoldering. Darius breathes in fresh night air, blinks up at the fall moon and I did the right thing. Our family is safe now; our son will grow up happy and provided for. Prim will-
"Darius."
The voice that says his name is as cold as February frost and Darius turns, his heart stopping as he takes in Finnick standing half-bathed in shadows. He swallows, his chest aches and Finnick steps forward, his whole body shaking with rage.
"Finnick," Darius begins but never finishes, Finnick's fist cracking against his jaw. He is not expecting the blow, even though perhaps he should be, and he falls, his body colliding painfully with the stone walkway.
"I'm sorry," he whispers through the pain and Finnick grabs him by the front of the doublet and shakes him.
"Sorry? You're sorry?" he demands, red and livid in a way Darius has never seen.
"Yes," he whispers and he knows it doesn't matter, knows Finnick will never, ever forgive him.
"I should kill you," Finnick hisses, his furious face leaning in close to Darius'.
"I didn't want to," Darius tries to explain, tears gathering in his eyes, "but I had no choice."
"Yes you did," Finnick growls, "you had every choice. You chose yourself, you sel-"
"Fuck you," Darius interrupts, misery and rage blending together in his throat. "If I hadn't gone, someone else would've. At least I cared enough to keep Annie safe from my men, you should have heard what they said about her, what they wanted to do to her."
"Shut up!"
"No," Darius snaps and struggles to his feet, his hands wrapping around Finnick's wrists. "I never wanted to hurt her, never wanted to betray you but I didn't have a choice. Lancaster had lost, if I'd joined them I'd have either died or been exiled. Why should I have had to give my life for a cause I never believed in? I don't care who rules England!"
Finnick shoves him hard against the wall and lifts him slightly off his feet, his gaze full of fire.
"Don't play the martyr Darius, you selfish piece of shit. You care about nothing but yourself. We were your friends and you betrayed us. You chose yourself above everything else."
"Yes, I did!" Darius bellows. "And I won't be ashamed of it! This isn't my war and I'm not going to die for it. I never wanted to hurt you or Annie, but I had to make a choice. The war was lost, anyone could see that. I could either die with you or live, and I chose to live. I won't apologize for that. I am sorry for Annie; I will always hate myself for that. But I would do it again and again and again. Just like you chose to side with Coriolanus even though you hate him. We do what we must to survive, even if we despise it."
Finnick sinks a fist into Darius' gut, all the air driven painfully from his lungs. He folds up with a gag and clutches his stomach, Finnick gazing down at him in disdain.
"We're not the same Darius, not at all. I've done terrible things to protect Annie and make it through this war alive, but I would never stab my friends in the back. You did."
"That's easy for you to say, you've never had to make that choice," Darius croaks and Finnick shakes his head in disgust.
"I'd die before I betrayed anyone," he spits, his voice thrumming with conviction and certainty.
"I did what I had to," Darius repeats and Finnick is just like Prim.
"Well then congratulations Darius, you're alive," Finnick says scathingly. "I hope you're prepared to live that life alone."
His voice drops to freezing and then he leaves, his disgust still hanging over Darius like a shroud. Darius curls up and weeps, because none of this is fair. Are those really the only two choices? Dying loved or living hated?
"I did what I had to. Why don't you understand? I had to, I had to….")
Madge stares blankly at the book she's meant to be reading, not one single word registering. She blinks and tries again, but her mind is so far away she reads the same line over and over without retaining any of it. All she can think about is Gale in Burgundy, Gale who is so close but still so far, Gale who will never stop fighting.
Better to die for freedom than live for oppression, she can hear him saying and now what is she supposed to do? She has yoked herself to the Lancastrians to save him; if he defeats them she will be ruined. At the same time, he will only admit defeat when he is dead and that is the last thing she wants. What am I supposed to do now?
Stay the course. Protect yourself, Annie, Finnick, your mother and all the Hawthornes and pray, pray, pray that Gale will abandon this fight.
(even though you know he never will)
"Lady Madge?" a soft voice calls from the other side of the door and Madge startles from her reverie.
"Yes? Come in," she calls and the door opens to reveal one of Enobaria's ladies-in-waiting, the Dowager Countess of Ormond.
"The Queen requests your presence," she says and Madge feels herself tense. She cannot let it show so she smiles and stands, forcing her trembling hands to steady. The Countess of Ormond does not smile back and Madge tries very hard not to let that frighten her. Enobaria must want to talk about the banquet, specifically her altercation with Clove, and Madge carefully plots out her defense as she follows the Countess down the hall. She has barely spoken to Enobaria since she joined the Lancastrian court, she must pass this test. It is time to win Enobaria to her cause.
"This way," the Countess of Ormond says when they reach the door to Enobaria's presence chamber. Madge steps through with head held high and back straight, her face impassive and not alight with the nerves eating her alive. The other ladies-in-waiting give her mournful looks and Madge ignores them, she has to if she hopes to keep her courage.
"The Lady Madge," the Countess presents and Enobaria looks up from the papers she'd been leafing through. Madge curtseys low and Enobaria looks her over with cold eyes, her tongue running over the points of her sharp teeth.
"Leave us," she commands with a dismissive wave of her hand and all her ladies scramble to do just that, Madge's heart pounding just a bit louder. The door shuts behind them and only then does Enobaria permit Madge to rise.
"You may stand," she says and Madge does, breathing slowly. You can do this. Enobaria narrows her eyes and stands, looking down her nose at Madge.
"I have heard a curious rumor Lady Madge," she begins in a tone that does nothing to reveal her mood. "According to gossip, you had an…issue with one of my ladies during the banquet, Clove Clifford if I remember correctly. I am not a fan of tittle-tattle, so I thought I would go straight to the source. Tell me, what is the truth in these whispers?"
Madge knows she must be careful with the words she chooses, knows what she says here could make or break her relationship with Enobaria. Proper decorum dictates that she should deny any issue on her part and say nothing of Clove, for it would be horribly improper to cast aspersions on anyone. On the other hand, if Madge has learned anything these past few months in Enobaria's court, it is that the Queen has a keen fondness for seeing others disparaged.
"I can promise you, your Majesty, that I have no issue with Clove Clifford. Though it does appear she has one with me."
"And why do you think that is?" Enobaria asks with a hint of a smile. Madge cannot be sure she is right (though God she prays she is), but such a reaction suggests that Enobaria has little fondness for Clove. If she did, she would not look so eager, she would be angry. Indeed, it makes sense for her to be less than pleased with Clove. Clove is not just a danger to Madge but Enobaria too. The Queen will likely outlive her husband, but any influence she hopes to have over her son while he is king will be usurped by Clove. If Madge had to bet, she'd say they both consider Clove the enemy.
"She seems to resent my coming marriage to the Prince of Wales and is apparently of the opinion that if she is belligerent enough, I will abandon my hopes of being his wife."
Her mother would be horrified to know Madge was speaking so openly of Cato's affair with his mother of all people, but the light in Enobaria's eyes tells her that she has made the right choice.
"And are you tempted to give up on my son?" Enobaria asks and Madge is so relieved, she can barely keep down her smile. Enobaria is opposed to Clove, which gives Madge a leg up she definitely needs. Now to prove to Enobaria that they are kindred spirits in more than just that.
"Of course not, your Majesty. I would make a rather poor Queen of England if I should be swayed from anything by the likes of Clove Clifford."
Enobaria smiles fully this time, her stern expression melting into one of smug joy.
"Indeed," she agrees and sits back in her chair with delight in her eyes. "I must say I underestimated you, Lady Madge. What do you intend to do about my errant lady?"
"I intend to do nothing. I am a lady of royal blood, soon to be Princess of Wales. Clove Clifford's petty jealousy is of no concern to me. She shames herself and her family by such scenes; I shall not allow my dignity to be similarly impugned. I am a descendant of kings; I shall not be broken so easily."
Her condemnation of Clove is harsh, harsher indeed than Madge is truly comfortable with, but hard choices must be made. The ever growing smirk on Enobaria's face tells her she has done what she needed to, no matter how uncomfortable it makes her.
"Join me and my ladies tomorrow Lady Madge, I think it is time we got to know each other better."
Madge smiles and curtseys again, victory bubbling in her veins.
"It would be my honour, your Majesty."
She has not won, not yet, but she is closer now than ever before. Enobaria does not love her, but she does respect her, at least a little. It is enough for now. She has learned the way to woo Enobaria, it is only a matter of time now before she has her.
And when she has Enobaria's love, Cato will not be long in following.
(Madge leaves and Enobaria hums happily to herself.
Oh Clove, it looks like we've finally found someone willing to take you on. Whoever would have guessed it? Of course, she hasn't actually proven herself capable yet and she does come with Haymitch, but perhaps I discounted her too quickly. She has the money, land and royal blood my son's bride should, maybe she even has the drive and strength I have been looking for in my successor.
We shall have to test her and find out)
"What are you doing here?" Clove demands when Madge arrives at Enobaria's chambers the next day and as much as she knows it's wrong of her, she cannot help being somewhat smug.
"The Queen asked me to come," she answers with her friendliest smile and Clove's eyes flash with fury. The ladies blink in shock and even Clove knows what a gain this is. Up until now, Madge has been the outsider, without any allies at all. Finally, the tides are changing. Clove grips her embroidery frame so tight Madge fears she may break it and the other ladies all watch, eager to see what happens next.
"Might I sit here?" Madge continues and gestures at the empty seat beside Clove. Clove stands abruptly and throws her embroidery frame to the floor, her skin red and angry.
"I'll not sit next to you," she spits and stomps off, no doubt off to find Cato and complain. Madge does not mind. Let Clove be rude and awful.
It makes it that much easier for Madge to win.
(Cato would be lying if he said his mother's new interest in Madge didn't worry him.
When they were united in their hatred of her, he could still conceive of the betrothal being broken off. But if Enobaria falls under Madge's spell, he is doomed. He may one day be king, but for now, he is still ruled by his parents.
Worse, he remembers the night of the banquet all too clearly and the Madge he faced that night is not the Madge he had thought he would have to fight. He had convinced himself she was ambitious but weak, a foolish girl with good breeding but no steel to worry him. He knows now that she is vicious, ruthless and far too angry to be pushed around.
Margaret of Scotland had been easy to cow, but Madge will not fall so easily. She is out for blood.
So yes, he is afraid)
"I hear you've made a favorable impression on the Queen," her mother says as she and Madge break their fast together and Madge smiles in weary triumph.
"Yes, she doesn't think I'm entirely worthless anymore," she jokes and her mother reaches out to pat her hand.
"It was bound to happen eventually. And I am sure it is only a matter of time before Cato sees your merits as well."
"I certainly hope so," Madge says and her mother opens her mouth to say something else, only for a hacking cough to come out instead. She brings up a hand to her mouth and Madge cringes at the awful wet sound she makes, her breath coming out as a struggling wheeze.
"Are you alright?' she asks and her mother nods, even as another cough shakes her.
"Yes, yes, I'm fine. You needn't worry about me, darling. It's all the wet weather we've been having; you know how that always affects me."
Madge nods slowly and fetches her mother a glass of wine, her unease not quite smothered.
"Are you sure? Do you want me to send for the physician?"
"Oh no, that's not necessary. I'll be alright, I always am. And anyways, you have much more important things to concern yourself with now," Margaret says as she accepts the glass of wine and Madge frowns.
"Promise me you will see the physician if this cough gets worse."
Her mother laughs weakly and pats her cheek. "Alright, I promise. Now, tell me more about your meeting with Enobaria."
"Well, I daresay we have similar opinions on Clove, which is really what got my foot in the door I think."
(and if Madge spends the rest of their time together watching her mother closely, who can blame her?
She has already lost one parent, she cannot lose the other.
Not yet, please not yet)
"What's it like?" Annie asks her after she returns from another day spent in Enobaria's company and Madge pauses to think.
"Like standing on a narrow ledge. One wrong step and I'll be finished."
(Madge is going to marry Cato, Madge is going to marry Cato, God, how can loving someone hurt this much?)
(and yet even with the pain, Gale keeps her handkerchief tucked beside his heart where it belongs)
October becomes November and still they do not sail for England.
"Winter is not the time to sail. The kingdom will keep until spring," Enobaria says dismissively when Madge asks and she can feel her whole body sink. Spring. She wants to argue, wants to insist that it is not yet winter, but only autumn, but she knows there is no point. Even if Madge could prove leaving now was the best possible decision, Enobaria will not change her mind. Her decisions are final, no matter what anyone else might say.
It is frustrating, but Madge knows she cannot let it show. Enobaria is always watching, listening, always judging and reevaluating. Madge has made the first step, but if she falters now she will not regain her footing. She must always be on her guard, must carefully think through every word she says and every action she takes. She misses England with a deep ache, but she can do nothing but grit her teeth and bear it, just as she must bear everything else. She cannot crumble under pressure and she won't, she can't. Her mother's frail health is a concern as it always is and anxiety about Gale's fate in Burgundy torments her daily, but she mustn't let is show. If only I could get a message to him, she thinks nightly in bed but she knows she never could. And what would she say? As soon as the dispensation arrives from the Pope she will marry Cato, they have no future. Sending her love to him would only be a cruelty now. And it is not as if she could ever convince him not to try and retake England for York; there are no words of hers that could possibly sway him from that path.
On top of that is Clove, whose venom grows more potent by the day. She is wise enough not to say anything when Enobaria is present, but the hostility in her eyes follows Madge everywhere, promising dark and dangerous things. Whenever Madge attends the Queen, Clove is there with fury in her gaze, the vile feel of her anger driving a further aggravation into Madge's already troubled mind. It takes a herculean effort not to snap at Clove, but Madge knows she must rise above. Had she not assured Enobaria she would?
Soon we will be home in England.
I need hold on only a little longer.
soon
(Margaret knows her time is running out.
She has been sickly her whole life, but never like this. She is so weak, so tired and food is so hard to swallow and even harder to keep down. The physician can do little to alleviate her symptoms and when the blood comes with the coughing, she knows she does not have long left. She hides it as best she can and thankfully Enobaria has little interest in her, which gives her plenty of time to rest. She does not breathe a word of this to Madge, for her daughter has far too many cares already and Margaret refuses to add to her burden.
Please let me make it home to England at least, let me see Madge properly settled.
If I must leave her, please let me see her safe and cared for)
Madge has never wielded a sword or battle axe, so instead she goes to war with needle and thread.
She carefully embroiders a shirt for her soon-to-be-husband, meticulously decorating the hem, collar and sleeve ends with shiny red roses. She sends it off to him with her "enduring affection" and does not let it bother her that he sends her back a note promising to burn it. She moves next to a silk handkerchief and uses golden thread to sew in the Prince of Wales' motto, used by every one since the famed Black Prince. Ich dien, German for 'I serve', and she makes sure to embellish it with curlicues in sparkling silver. He receives this one with a promise of her everlasting devotion and growls like a dog, stabbing at it with a knife until it is nothing but tatters. The messenger who tells her this is horrified but Madge is not daunted. He will have to do better than that to force a surrender from her.
She buys him a new purse made of costly velvet and stitches the three feather badge (also used by every Prince of Wales since the Black Prince) upon it, sending him this one with a heartfelt missive filled with her hopes for their future. He tears the letter to shreds and means to toss the purse out his window, but hesitates. It is fine craftsmanship and he is currently lacking a purse, would anyone even know this one was from Madge? He mulls it over for half a day and gives in, fastening the purse to his belt. He lies to Clove about where he'd gotten it, knowing she would never understand and tries to forget just whose handiwork has produced such a nice gift.
She is still abhorrent, but maybe not entirely useless.
(it is a small victory to be sure, but it is a victory all the same)
(The sun outside Annie's window dips below the horizon and leaves her room painted in every hue of red she can name, from crimson to scarlet to rose. Burnt streaks of orange and saffron blend in to shade her walls in beauty and Annie should be entranced as she slips inside, her fingers shaking as she latches shut her door. Normally, she would be but today there is something far more important to absorb her attention. She hurries to the stool she keeps by the window and sits down, hands fumbling to open Finnick's latest letter. She unfolds it carefully, her eyes drinking in the sight of his handwriting and perhaps she is imagining it, but she can almost swear she smells him against the parchment.
My dearest darling Annie,
I cannot stop thinking about you. I say this so often you must be sick of it, but I miss you. I miss you terribly and the ache grows worse every day. I wish I could sail over and bring you home, but the weather grows worse every day. As eager as I am to be held in your arms again my love, it is not worth risking your life.
But enough of sorrow, you will be eager to hear of England I am sure. It is much the same as my last letter, though that might be because I send them so often. Uncle Boggs tells me that no lady wants to be drowned in affection and that my incessant letters are indeed a flood liable to drown you, do you feel waterlogged? He suggests too that sending them less often would make them both longer and more interesting, as more things will have happened to me since the last, but I cannot stop myself. Your letters are my greatest joy and perhaps it doesn't make me a particularly manly man, but writing to you is the best part of my day. If Uncle Boggs is correct though and my overabundant affection is causing you to get bored with me, I apologize. I am rather annoying, aren't I? Forgive me, fy annwyl un, I am such a menace.
You will be unsurprised to hear that my mother continues to make poor Plutarch miserable. boasting on and on about how she was right to side with Lancaster and how lucky he is to be married to her, after all, he fought for York, he should be dead right now. Can you imagine ever saying that to someone, let alone your husband? I don't know how he stomachs her. I know she is right, being married to the King's one-time sister-in-law does have its advantages, but she needn't lord it over him so much. It has been months since her connections won him that pardon, you'd think she'd have tired of the topic, but alas, she hasn't. Poor Plutarch. She also feels the constant need to remind everyone she is the highest lady at court at the moment, being Coriolanus' relative by blood as well. Not a day goes by when she does feel the need to mention she is his first cousin once removed and as you can imagine, no lady in England is enjoying herself much under Lady Alma's reign. I think they are looking forward to Enobaria's arrival with almost as much enthusiasm as I am yours.
And what of you cariad aur? Tell me everything. I hope the weather has not made you ill, as it has so many people here. I almost feel as if I am the only man at court not sneezing after every word. It is warmer in France though, isn't it? I hope so, at least. I shall send you as many warm thoughts as I can, maybe that will help.
Someone who isn't ill is the King; he seems in good health and even better spirits. This readeption has made him positively joyous and the effect does not seem to be wearing off even a month later. I am glad though, his good moods are much easier to deal with than his bad. Speaking of bad moods, how is my dear cousin? Has he fallen passionately for his betrothed? No? How shocking. I am flabbergasted. And Madge? I hope she is well and that Clove is not being too troublesome. Send her (Madge I mean, not Clove) my love please and assure her that my offer still stands. If Cato is to be ungallant, I am more than happy to show him the errors of his ways. I think of her often, and I cannot help feeling awful about her coming marriage. Some men are not meant to be husbands and Cato is certainly one of them. She deserves much better. I only wish she could have it.
Speaking of the belligerent bridegroom, he has begun flooding me with letters, can you believe it? Each one is a badgering roast that outlines in no uncertain terms that I am awful, embarrassing and not at all the sort of representative the royal family needs right now and then segues into a rather rude and petulant demand to know what's happening at court here, because apparently neither of his parents care to inform him. I don't know if I enjoy the fact that he is so entirely dependent on me now or if I'd prefer never to hear from him, as there are only so many insults one can bear in a day. Oh, who am I kidding? I hate hearing from him. He is a horror. I probably shouldn't write that, should I? What if someone reads this letter? Oh well, Cato needs to be told. He's awful. I think I'll write that in my next reply.
I have not yet gone back to Dunstanburgh and as much as I miss it, I'm glad the King still has need of me in London. I do not want to go home without you. Still, I am anxious to know if Gale Hawthorne did anything to it in my absence as it turns out he was gifted it by Katniss of York following my exile. I hope not, I do not want us to go back there and find he has ruined it. I hear he spent most of his time with the Queen though, so hopefully that means he did not have the time to make any significant changes. I want it to be just like how we remember it so we can marry and retire there without worry. I cannot wait to show you Wales as well. Uncle Boggs has visited both of our properties there and he says they are all in good standing. You will love Wales I am sure. It is truly a magnificent place, fy nghariad.
In better news, the executions of those deemed traitors by the King have finally come to an end. The last was William Herbert, the man Katniss of York made Earl of Pembroke during our exile. He has a wife, Anne Devereux, and many children, but they are not to be punished for Herbert's loyalty to the Yorkists. I am glad. This war has seen too many innocent victims already. Hopefully, with the executions over we can finally put the war behind us. I could write more, but as it would only be long odes to my love for you, I shall end this letter here.
I love you, I love you and I cannot wait to hear from you.
Ever yours,
Finnick
Annie smiles and wipes the tears from her eyes, her heart swollen and beating for him. Only Finnick can make her laugh and cry all at the same time and she can hear his voice in every word, can almost imagine him here beside her. Except that she cannot throw her arms around him and shower him in kisses, cannot tell him that if his love is a flood, it is one she would happily drown in. She sighs and presses his letter to her heart, her chest warm with her silly, lovely, adorable boy.
Oh Finnick, how I miss you my love
She goes back over the Welsh he has peppered into his letter, translating it into English as she goes. He has been trying to teach her Welsh sporadically since their betrothal and she is determined to be fluent one day, so she can help him pass it onto their children. Fy annwyl un, that means my dear one, cariad aur means…oh! precious darling and fy nghariad means, it means… my darling. Oh Finnick, you silly romantic. Her fingers itch to write him a reply but she knows there's no rush. It will be days before he gets it and even more until she'll receive a reply. For now, she will simply bask in him and dream of the future that is so close she can almost taste it. Annie closes her eyes and smiles, only for a knock to sound at her door. She opens her eyes and stands, setting Finnick's letter down on the window ledge.
"Yes?" she asks and maybe it is the shadows starting to stretch along her walls, but Annie cannot help a sense of foreboding.
"Can I come in?" It is Madge's voice but quiet, flat and Annie feels that foreboding rise up into her throat. It smothers any answer she might give and she moves to the door instead, unlatching it with hands shaking not with joy any more, but something worse. The Madge that walks into Annie's room is haunting in the fading sunlight and Annie shuts the door behind her in silence, that foreboding becoming a chilling fear.
"Madge?" she manages, her fingers reaching out and just brushing Madge's sleeve.
"The dispensation's arrived from the Pope. The wedding will be any day now."
Madge does not look at her and Annie sucks in a breath, her terror rewarded. Oh Madge. Annie walks over and enfolds her in her arms, knowing full well that there are no words to remedy this aching sorrow. Madge leans into her embrace, her voice choked even as she tries so hard to keep it steady.
"It's alright you know, I knew this was coming. I wanted this. You shouldn't cry.")
(and if Madge is the one crying, well, Annie will let her pretend)
In the end, it takes a month to prepare for the wedding.
Unlike her betrothal ceremony, Madge's wedding will be a grand affair. Or at least as grand as a wedding hosted by a court in exile can be. Enobaria and Margaret are put in charge of the festivities, leaving Madge to watch as her wedding is planned around her. The castle is scrubbed and swept, as many flowers as can be bought are hauled in and menus are planned and replanned, all without any input from bride or groom. Madge doesn't really mind. She trusts her mother and she is tense enough, she does not need this extra burden.
(she had dreamed of her wedding to Gale and she'd have been furious to have been cut out of those preparations, but this marriage is quite the opposite)
(the less time spent thinking about it, the better)
King Louis offers her a new gown as a wedding present and Madge spends many a day in fittings, but even this is stressful. This new stress is due to Enobaria's gift, which is far more unwelcome. As Madge is soon to be Princess of Wales, Enobaria decides it is high time she have ladies of her own to attend her. There are few choices while in exile, as most men did not bring their wives or daughters with them, so Enobaria carefully selects a handful of French noble women to fill in. Madge knows it is an honour and a mark of status to have so many ladies in waiting, but she cannot say she enjoys this pack of strangers following her everywhere she goes. They clearly do not think all that highly of her and treat her with a frosty politeness, their eyes ever judging. Madge is starting to understand why Katniss refused to have them. The only balm to this irritation is Annie being assigned as her head lady-in-waiting. Not only is this a blessing for Madge, but it also a very prestigious position for Annie (though perhaps a little less so than usual with so little competition). Unfortunately, Madge is not so lucky in her only other English lady. She cannot be sure is this is a cruelty or a test, but Enobaria sends her Clove as well.
Clove, true to form, is rude, insolent and shows none of the courtesy or respect one would expect from their lady-in-waiting. Madge is not Enobaria, she does not want or need her ladies to grovel beneath her feet, but she does expect some common courtesy. Even this though, is apparently beyond Clove to accomplish. She comes and goes as she pleases, she ignores Madge's summons whenever she feels like it, she does not curtsy, makes many a snide remark, and generally acts like a complete nuisance. She is also fond of letting all the other ladies known just who Cato prefers between the two of them. It is outrageous behaviour, entirely inappropriate, but Madge has little choice but to bear it. She has no powerful allies at court and losing her composure will only reflect badly on herself.
I must rise above
(of course, that is much easier said than done)
(Clove knows Enobaria has always hated her, but even she cannot believe Enobaria would assign her to attend on Madge.
She is gleeful when she relays the order and Clove knows what she wants. She wants Madge to grind Clove into dust, but that will never happen. If Enobaria wants a war, Clove will give her one.
And she'll win it)
It is early December and the very last fitting for Madge's wedding gown when the straw that breaks her fragile control lands. The dressmaker steps out for a moment and Clove, as always when the opportunity presents itself, seizes the chance to be a nasty little troll.
"I don't think that's your colour," she says and the soft chatter of Madge's other ladies comes to a scandalized (and yet thrilled) halt. Madge breathes deeply.
"And what colour would you recommend?" she asks through clenched teeth and Clove smiles. She makes a show of considering it and then smirks, her teeth gleaming in the window light.
"I don't know. I'm not sure any colour could make you look good."
The ladies gasp, Annie stands in outrage and Madge closes her eyes, her composure hanging by a thread. "Well, remind me to never put you in charge of my wardrobe then," she manages with a strained laugh and Clove's eyes darken.
"It won't matter who you put in charge of it, there's no one who could make you look good."
Madge closes her eyes and feels a great torrent of angry words rise within her, but she does not get the chance to say them. Someone else beats her to it.
"Shut your mouth, Clove," Annie snaps and the answering silence is profound. Madge's eyes pop open and she stares at Annie, bright eyed, red cheeked and clenching her fists. Clove turns to look at Annie with a face torn between rage and surprise, all the other ladies avidly watching to see what comes next.
"What did you just say to me?" Clove demands with a dangerous edge to her voice and Annie inhales sharply.
"I told you to shut your mouth. No one here is interested in hearing your bile," she says and Clove's eyes widen in outrage. She takes a threatening step towards Annie and suddenly whatever composure Madge has been hanging onto completely disintegrates. She should keep her peace, she knows that, but everyone has a limit and hers has been reached.
"I'll make you pay for that, you-" Clove begins but Madge does not allow her to finish.
"What part of 'shut your mouth' do you not understand?" she demands. "Either bite your tongue or leave my service, for Lady Anne is right, we have no interest in your foul attitude here."
The French ladies gasp and cling to each other, Annie sinks down into her chair in surprise and Clove turns to Madge with fire in her eyes. Madge cannot seem to care. This is reckless, this is foolish but Madge has had enough.
"Prince Cato might care what you have to say but he is the only one, I can assure you. You clearly have absolutely no concept of dignity, courtesy, manners or any other act of decency and I am beginning to believe you never will. You are a putrid little hobgoblin and I will not tolerate your behavior any longer. You will not threaten Lady Anne; you will not speak to me with such wanton rudeness and you will learn some manners or get out."
"How dare you-" Clove starts and Madge feels herself shake with so many months worth of anger.
"No, how dare you! Your affair with my betrothed has clearly given you a false sense of your own importance, so allow me to remind you of your place. I am to be Princess of Wales; you will do as I say. Now shut your mouth or leave, but trouble us with your envy no longer."
Madge has never been so rude in her life, but for this moment at least, she does not care. She turns from Clove in a dismissal as obvious as it is humiliating and all her ladies look at Clove with wide eyes, waiting to see what she'll do. Clove burns under their gaze, burns and burns and burns until she can stand it no longer. She rises abruptly and leaves without permission, her angry footsteps heard stamping down the hall.
Gossipy ladies will certainly spread this story far and wide and neither Cato nor Clove will let her get away with it, but Madge cannot bring herself to care. Not today, at least. She has been pushed too far not to push back. Clove wanted a fight, so fine.
Madge is ready to don her sword.
Even as she waits for punishment, there is a decided benefit to her lashing out at Clove.
There is a definite thaw in her French ladies and Madge is glad that she has found at least one positive in what is sure to be a painful disaster.
(not that she really regrets snapping at Clove. Madge wishes she were always kind and compassionate, but sometimes she is petty and vindictive)
(this is certainly one of those times)
Madge is ready for retribution, but strangely, it does not find her.
She waits for Cato or Clove to come and punish her but neither does, such fortune welcome but unexpected. They seem to be content to fix her with furious glares in the hallway and spew vicious rumors about her behind her back, but that is nothing in comparison to what she'd been expecting. She remains on guard of course, she knows better than to put all her trust in sudden blessings.
Still, whatever the reason, Madge has won this battle.
(Madge had won the battle and it was Enobaria who'd decided she needed a reward.
Her own ladies had told her the tale of Clove's humiliation and Enobaria cannot remember ever being so delighted. She has always despised Clove, always resented her influence over Cato and any opportunity to see her knocked down is one to be relished. Enobaria knows Cato and Clove will seek revenge but she won't have that happen. She is too pleased to see Madge punished for this.
She summons her son and tells him in no uncertain terms that he will not cause Madge any harm over this, no matter how much Clove may goad him on. He is, predictably, infuriated. Enobaria cannot fathom his attachment to Clove, who is not beautiful or rich, but nor can she ignore it.
"Listen very closely Cato. I hate Clove Clifford and if I had my way I would banish her from court forever. Your father on the other hand thinks a little sexual promiscuity will do you good, hence why she has been allowed to remain. But let me make one thing very clear. If either of you so much as say one cross word to Madge over this situation, I will have your little slut flogged and shipped as far away as I can send her. Is that understood?"
Cato's face turns red, his fists clench and Enobaria knows he hates her. She loves her boy but she is not fool enough to think the feeling is mutual. He loathes her, but that is fine. One day he will realize that everything she has done has been for his own good; until then, she will suffer his hatred.
"I said is that understood?" she asks again and Cato breathes heavily, rage smoldering in his eyes and all across his face.
"Yes," he grinds out and Enobaria smiles. Cato may want to tear Madge limb from limb, but he knows Enobaria is the one with the power now. Moreover, he knows that his father will never vote in Clove's favor. Coriolanus will side with Madge over Clove, and he will not merely threaten if he finds out a member of his own family has been disgraced by or for Clove Clifford. He will punish first.
Cato leaves, crawling back to that awful Clove and Enobaria smiles. Perhaps having Madge Undersee as a daughter-in-law will not be so terrible after all)
(Cato and Clove make their own plans, for Madge's slight cannot go unpunished.
If they cannot use fists or words, they will use something else. Something that will ruin her and this marriage for good.
It has taken them over a month, but finally they have found a way to be rid of her)
Madge had known this conversation was coming, but when it does, she still wishes it hadn't.
Her mother comes to her room the day before her wedding and sits them both down on the edge of the bed. She takes Madge's hand between both of hers, her grip tight and her eyes somewhat pained. Her smile is thin and Madge waits, knowing what's coming and dreading it all the same. Every girl has this talk before their wedding, it's inevitable and useful, but still, Madge cannot say she hasn't enjoyed ignorance.
(or at least partial ignorance)
"One of your primary duties as Princess of Wales and later as Queen of England will be to ensure the succession. The kingdom will expect princes and princesses, both to inherit and to forge new alliances. How they receive you and how much influence you have will depend a great deal on how well you fulfill this obligation," her mother begins and Madge nods, knowing this all too well. If she is barren, she will be ruined. Some men might overlook a barren wife, but not Cato. His throne is too precarious not to have an heir and worse, he already hates her. If she cannot give him a child, he will not be kind or forgiving. Her mother pets her hand and Madge knows the worst bit is coming, all those intricacies of an act she has only had mere glimpses of. She thinks of Cato and Clove, her legs around his waist and his hips thrusting up beneath her skirts, thinks of Leevy begging "faster, Gale, faster", thinks too of Prim and her mortifying tale of blood and tears and even thinks of her own back against a wall while Gale pressed up against her, his hands everywhere and his lips caressing her throat. Her mother takes a steadying breath.
"Your wifely duties will most likely hurt the first time, but it is not an agonizing pain and it will pass. There will be discomfort and most probably blood, but do not be alarmed by this. It is natural. After the initial consummation, it should become more comfortable and indeed, it may well become pleasurable," she says, sounding slightly short of breath, and Madge nods even though she does not believe it. The act itself might be enjoyable, she does not doubt that, but she knows Cato will never let her enjoy it. He will want her to be uncomfortable, pained, he will relish it. If she wants to be able to enjoy the act, she will have to woo him. Clove will never give her a chance before the wedding, so at least that consummation will be an awful one. She will just have to hope it will be the only one.
"The act itself requires Cato to…to place his male member inside of you. I know that might sound frightening, but it is very natural. There is a space for such a purpose between your legs. I am certain Cato knows where it is."
Madge almost laughs at that because yes, he certainly does. Her mother bites her lip and it is strange to think that Cato will be inside of her. Madge cannot quite picture how that works, but then, maybe she doesn't want to. The thought of intimacy with Cato turns her stomach and no matter how much she tries to recall the sweet flutterings Gale had conjured within her, all she can feel are the worms Cato sends crawling beneath her flesh.
"If you have any questions, you must ask me," her mother says and Madge nods. Suddenly, her mother pulls her into a tight embrace, her whisper harsh in Madge's ear.
"Find out what it is he likes best and you will be that much closer to winning him. Make his pleasure complete and he will need not look elsewhere for it. Ensnare him my Madge, make him mad for you. If you can be queen of his desires, you will be that much closer to being queen of his heart."
Shock floods her at her mother's words, not because she's wrong, but because Madge never expected her mother to say such a thing. What a world this is, that this is the advice I receive the day before my wedding. Madge clutches her mother and closes her eyes, willing herself to be brave and see this through.
You know what kind of woman he likes; it is time to use that against him.
Annie crawls into bed with her that night, her last as an unmarried woman, and Madge has never been so glad to have her. Annie holds her, lends her all the strength she can and says the only words of comfort Madge would ever believe.
"You are not alone in this Madge. You have Finnick and me, always. We are with you no matter what."
(Clove stands by the window in Cato's bedchamber, her eyes stuck to the sliver of silver moon in the distance. The sky is clear, each tiny star a bright white jewel and Clove tries to count them, every single part of her desperate for a distraction. The breeze is stiff, the chill kissing goosebumps into her skin but she does not move away, her mind fastened on her task.
Maybe, if I count enough of them, they'll grant my wish.
"Clove."
His voice is quiet as he comes into the room and she nearly loses it in the heavy sound of the door being shut behind him, but Clove does not turn to look at him.
"Eighty-two, eighty-three, eighty-four," she whispers, her voice a faint puff of smoke on the wind. Cato drops a hand to her shoulder. She sighs.
"You made me lose count," she says and he turns her around gently, his other hand tucking flyaway hairs behind her ear. She had blown out all the candles, so there is nothing but moonshine and starlight to illuminate him, his skin, clothes and hair veiled in every possible shade of silver. She reaches up and traces his face with her finger, running the tip over his eyebrow, his cheekbone, along his jaw, around his chin and up the other side. It burns, like touching hot iron, and I wonder, can he feel it too? He pulls her close, his hands shaking as they knot in her hair and the silk of her dress, his face buried in the crook of her neck. His lips move against her cold skin and she can feel each word as he says them, soft and sincere like his sweetest caress.
"It does not matter what happens tomorrow, my heart is yours Clove. I do not care what my mother says, what the Pope or even God says. I am yours," he vows and she leans into him, her quavering arms holding him near. She breathes him in and it is almost enough to bring her to her knees, because soon, soon he will smell like Madge. He kisses her shoulder and then her neck, her jaw, each one more desperate than the last. He does not cry, for King Coriolanus' son never would, but there is an ocean in his eyes, one she can feel overflowing in her chest.
"You would defy God for me?" she asks and he nods, his grip somehow tightening.
"Yes. Yes, Clove, yes. I won't let anyone pull us apart."
Hope is fragile, but for this moment at least, Clove's feels as solid as stone.
"Marriage means nothing. We belong to each other," she says and lifts up his head so they can look at each other properly. He rests his forehead on hers and they stay like that, steady and warm in each other's arms.
Soon, tomorrow will come and he'll marry Madge. But for now, while the night sky shines above them, Cato and Clove hold each other and pray for a future they both know they'll never have)
(Darius might call her a fool, but Prim will not give up hope.
Katniss will return, Coriolanus will be defeated and this time, they will do things right. They'd made mistakes last time, but they won't fail England again. Coriolanus is wicked and cruel; his evil cannot be left to run unchecked. They will bring peace and prosperity to England and an end to war and the bloody divisions that have plagued them all so long.
Darius has tried to convince her many times that her father had sought to depose Coriolanus for his own selfish ends and maybe that's true. She knows what her father said were his reasons and maybe that was the truth or maybe he was lying. It doesn't matter. Katniss is not doing this for ambition and she will free them from Coriolanus because it is the right thing to do.
You and your family and your high ideals, what have they ever done for us? Have they brought us peace? Are they going to keep you safe?
No, they hadn't, but Prim knows that isn't the fault of their ideals. They failed to uphold those ideals last time, but they will not do so again. This time, they will do right by England.
She believes that, she truly does, and it does not matter what Darius says.
York is not yet done)
Madge wakes early on her wedding day and does not know whether to laugh or cry.
The sun is just crawling its way up the sky and she cannot help but think of all the almosts that led her here. I suppose they were right, third time is the charm, she muses and that thought is such an awful one she can barely stand it, for this is no charm. Third time's a curse. She stands, too restless to lie abed, and goes to the window. Her hand encloses Gale's locket without thought and she leans on the sill, staring out at the Channel below. At least I will be home soon. At least I will have real power now. The sun climbs higher still and Madge thinks of Gale, Windsor and a promise that will never be fulfilled.
I've never watched the sun rise. I think I'd like to, someday
Maybe I'll join you
Madge closes her eyes and presses her hands to her heart, the pain almost unbearable. The sea breeze is brisk on her face, the tears sting her eyes and she wonders if Gale mourns for them as desperately as she does. He will not be coming to sweep her off her feet as he does so often in her dreams, but that's better. She has chosen this path and she has done it for a reason. She cannot let heartbreak be enough to deter her.
By the time her ladies (without Clove, thankfully) come to ready her for the wedding, Madge is smiling and happy, a blushing bride without a hint of melancholy. They bathe her in a tub full of sweet oils and Annie's eyes on her are full of sorrow, but Madge pretends not to notice. She is a girl of stone; she will not be moved by anything today. They towel her off and brush out her hair until it shines; others pluck her eyebrows and still more smooth creams over her skin to ensure it is soft and as blemish free as possible. Annie chooses her jewelry while Madge is laced into her new dress from Louis, a vermilion kirtle and houppelande of cloth of gold. The girdle around her waist is made of pale yellow silk and patterned with glittering red roses, the colour and cuffs of her gown a wonderfully soft velvet. Annie places her pearl headband from Katniss on her head and what a strange feeling, to be wearing a Yorkist gift at her Lancastrian wedding. On go her rings from her grandmother, father and Henry, joining her hated betrothal ring from Cato. Gold earrings dripping with pearls are hung from her lobes and as a final touch, Annie offers her a familiar brooch. Madge stares at that gold and enamel heart, remembers the words so carefully etched on the back. I am yours wholly. Her fingers ache to reach for it but she shakes her head. It is time to accept her fate. Gale is lost to her. There is no longer a point in pretending otherwise.
(so why then, does she keep his locket on?)
"How do I look?" she asks and twirls, all her ladies oohing and aahing.
"Magnifique," one coos and the others are quick to agree, sighing and swooning. They shower her in compliments and Madge accepts them all with pink cheeks and a rosy smile, her eyes steadfastly looking at everyone but Annie. She needs no reminder that today is a day for misery.
"Let's be off, shall we? I'm so aflutter I can't possibly wait!"
Her ladies giggle and Madge follows them out into the hall, her steps far surer than any of the rest of her. Garlands line the way to the chapel and Madge walks steadily on, courage mounting with every footfall. I can do this. I've worked too hard to bow out. I am going to be Queen of England one day and I will be a queen for peace, for unity, for mercy. I will see an end to all these wars, to revenge and retribution. Lancaster will no longer be a byword for pain and suffering and evil. If this is to be my life, I will make it a great one.
Her mother is waiting for her just outside the chapel and Madge does not let her mask slip even now. She beams and squeezes her mother's hands, fills herself to bursting with excitement and shy eagerness. Her mother strokes her cheek, her smile terribly sad but Madge cannot acknowledge that, could never survive today if she did.
"Do you think Cato will find me pretty?" she asks and her ladies giggle to each other, their eyes fluttering and hands pressed to hearts. Her mother breathes deeply, her eyes closing in a brief moment of pain.
"Of course darling, how could he not?"
Madge presses her hands to her cheeks and ducks her head, her heart pounding in her throat as the doors are opened by liveried guards. Now, it's really now. She takes a final steadying breath as her mother takes her arm, the two of them walking in side by side. All the guests stand to attention as she enters, the whole chapel hung and garlanded with flowers of every colour. Cato is waiting beside the Archbishop and Madge smiles at him, hopeful and enchanted by how handsome he is in the white and blue of the House of Lancaster. He scowls with his eyes, clearly not buying her act but it isn't for him. Today she charms the court. He offers her his hand as she reaches him and she takes it, ignoring the way her bones seem to crunch as he squeezes too tight. They kneel down before the archbishop, Clove glares a hole in the side of her head and this is it.
Goodbye Gale
A few words, a kiss and just like that, Madge is Princess of Wales.
The wedding feast is a grand one; after all, it is not every day that the heir to the throne gets married.
Cato leads Madge up to the head table and they sit side by side in the center, a happily wedded couple at last. Or at least that is the vibe Madge attempts to give off, though it is far from easy. Cato ignores her entirely and Madge herself is queasy with thoughts of the wedding night to come, which makes it difficult to convince their guests that they are happily in love. Thankfully, most of the guests seem far more interested in the food than they are the newlyweds. Enobaria has put in a great deal of effort to ensure they have scrumptious fare for this feast, from puddings to honeyed fruit to a vast array of meats, vegetables and pies. It must have cost a fortune, or at least a fortune in credit, and Madge is beginning to think all her wealth is going to be used just to pay back all the debts Enobaria and Cato must have incurred here. Musicians have been hired too and they play softly from the far side of the room and Madge is not cheered by their tune, nor is she moved by all the tasty platters placed before her. She pushes her meal around her plate as her stomach ties itself in knots, her thoughts focused on Cato and what they will have to do tonight. She can feel Annie's eyes on her but does not look up to meet them, her wine tasting sour on her tongue. Her mother sits to her left and holds Madge's hand under the table, the pressure clammy but welcome. Clove glares at her too, her eyes black and furious, but Madge is long used to ignoring that.
The music picks up in tempo and now it is time to dance, tables pushed out of the way and eager pairs filling the floor. Madge takes a deep breath and smiles, but contrary to custom, her new husband does not ask her to dance. He asks his mother for that honour and Madge beams form the high table, because she cannot do anything else. She cannot act as though this is an insult even though it is, must be pleased and sweet and loving. Her first dance ends up being King Louis' brother the Duke of Aquitaine, which is a good match to be sure, but still not her husband. It takes four more dances before Cato deigns to partner her and Madge fears her smile is not very convincing as he pulls her onto the floor. She tries to look adoringly at him but he grips her too tight, his childish slight is stupid and frustrating, and her queasiness only gets worse with his proximity. There is a violent light in his eyes as he drags her around the floor, wrenching her arms and stomping on her feet. Tears sting her eyes but she does not say a word, will not give him the satisfaction.
"I wonder, wife, do you know what is expected of you tonight?" he hisses in her ear as he draws near. She does not know what answer to give and he laughs cruelly, the sound chilling her skin. "I cannot wait to show you."
He pulls away again but the promise in his voice is clear. She looks up at him and he smiles, his teeth flashing in the torchlight. He spins her too fast and Madge knows the revenge she's been waiting for is finally here.
He has bided his time but tonight, tonight she will pay.
(Cato sees the terror in Madge's eyes and feels a flare of triumph. He knows what she must be thinking and he laughs, because she has no idea what's coming. She probably imagines he is going to be bestial tonight, that he is going to force himself on her and make her bleed.
Cato is no rapist and anyway, he must think of the future. He wants to be rid of her as soon as possible and forcing himself on her would do nothing to help him reach that goal. No, Madge need not worry that he will make her suffer physically tonight.
He and Clove have planned something much better)
The feast winds down and finally Madge and Cato are both led from the hall amid cheers, ribald jokes and naughty songs.
Madge wishes she could blush or look bashful, but all she can manage is mild terror, her skin draining of colour and her hands pressing hard into her tossing stomach. Most of the guests are too drunk to notice but Clove certainly does and she smiles as Madge passes, the mocking curl of her mouth sending ice spilling through Madge's veins. Whatever Cato is going to do, Clove and he have planned it together.
He cannot do anything that will leave a mark, for Enobaria forbade that long ago. So what is he planning?
Cato, his squires and Enobaria head off to Cato's bedchamber to get him ready and Madge is taken to her own, her courage flagging. Cato's words haunt her and though she knows she should, she does not take off Gale's locket. She presses her hand to it for bravery as her mother and Annie help her out of her gown, the hearth doing little to melt the ice in her chest. Annie brushes out her hair and her mother dabs her with rosewater, rubbing sweet scents into her skin from her toes to her head. They help her into a fine white nightgown with delicate lace and then she is ready. She climbs into bed and sits up beneath the covers, breathing deeply to steady herself.
Cato will want this to be quick; he will not want to linger here. Clove will not want him to linger here either. What punishment can he possibly have in mind for so short a time?
Annie and her mother hover by the wall and they wait, for before the consummation must come the blessing. The Archbishop that performed the wedding arrives and soon Cato and Enobaria join them. Cato is dressed in a robe and nightgown and he does not look at Madge as he climbs into the bed beside her. His foot brushes hers and she gasps, every inch of her tightening. Cato sneers. The Archbishop begins to speak in Latin and Madge cannot hear his words, her heart beating so loud it drowns him out.
Stay strong, you can do this
The Archbishop sprinkles them with holy water and "Amen," she whispers with everyone else. Her throat feels dry and with his job done, the Archbishop leaves. Madge closes her eyes and does not watch Enobaria, her mother or Annie follow him, focuses instead on remaining calm. It's okay, it'll be okay. The door closes and she knows it's time, but she cannot look at Cato, cannot open her eyes. Let it be quick, oh please let it be quick.
Cool air rushes against her side as Cato throws off the covers and she flinches, her eyes opening in surprise when she hears his feet hit the ground. She watches in confusion as he strides to the door, his hand reaching for the handle.
"Where are you going?" she asks and he turns to her with a look so disdainful she is momentarily stunned.
"I won't lower myself to bed you," he says and Madge feels her eyes widen. Cato smirks, his eyes gleam and then he is gone, the door slammed shut behind him. Madge stares at the door and then the empty space in the bed where he should be, her heart in her throat.
He's gone.
He's really…gone.
He will not bed me.
I suppose this then, is his revenge.
(Cato's bed chamber is chilly even with a hearty fire and Clove snuggles deeper under the many blankets, goosebumps tickling her bare skin. Candlelight flickers on the bedside table and she watches shadows dance on the ceiling, waiting and waiting for Cato to come to her. He had promised he would and she has to believe he will, this first night of the rest of their lives.
I will not doubt him. Cato will not be tempted.
He is mine as I am his.
He is coming.
And he does. The door opens and Clove sits straight up, so relieved she does not even notice the way her skin jumps at the cold. The blanket falls uselessly down to her waist but she does not bother to pull it back up, every part of her far too focused on Cato grinning at her from the doorway. She beams and holds out her arms, her heart so large with love it might burst. Cato discards his robe as he strides over to her, his nightgown pulled up over his head and thrown aside. He leaps onto the bed like a child, laughter bubbling from her lips and he slips beneath the blankets with her, pillowing his head on her breasts as she enfolds him in her arms.
"God, it's cold. Isn't France meant to be milder than England?" he says and she laughs again, her fingers stroking his hair.
"Perhaps we brought the weather with us," she teases and he snorts, one of his hands caressing her thigh.
"However will we keep warm?" he asks and she hums in thought, tangling her legs with his.
"I might have a few ideas."
"Oh, do tell," he says and kisses her breasts, his hand sliding between her legs. Clove grins and closes her eyes, all her fears melting away. Madge is no threat, not to us)
(there is ecstasy with him inside her, but a far greater ecstasy in the knowledge that Cato chooses her.
Madge Undersee might be beautiful, rich and drowning in royal blood, but it is Clove he clings to that night, Clove who hears his whispered I love yous, Clove who shatters him with pleasure.
Madge might have his ring, but I have his heart
That's all I need)
Madge lies in the too big bed alone and knows she should be furious.
After all, it will be humiliating tomorrow when the whole court finds out her own husband would not bed her and even worse, it threatens everything she has worked for. Without consummation her marriage could easily be annulled and every sacrifice she has made will count for nothing. But she feels no anger, at least not tonight. Tomorrow the rage may come, but honestly, right now all she is is relieved. One hand smoothes over Cato's empty side of the bed and the other clutches Gale's locket, her heart beating so hard it feels almost like it might burst from her chest. She has been spared for tonight and she cannot be sorry for that, even if maybe she should be.
Tomorrow she will have to come up with some way to lure Cato into her bed, but that can wait. Let Cato and Clove have tonight, let them believe they've pulled off some marvelous coup. Madge knows she should care, knows this is a setback and an outrage, but she just cannot bring herself to feel anything but happy. She knows she needs to seal this marriage, knows she needs to produce an heir to ensure she remains secure but she will not worry about that now. The marriage will keep until they reach England at least and that will not be until spring. She has months to bed Cato and she must believe she will be able to do it. After all, all those things she said to Cato after the banquet were true. She has survived exile, an occupation, that horrid Channel crossing and this never ending war. She was a prisoner and now she is Princess of Wales. She has time still and you know what? She deserves a break. Tomorrow she will have to throw herself back into all these schemes, but tonight she will relax as she has not in so very long. She has earned that.
Madge snuggles beneath her covers, presses a kiss to Gale's locket and for the first time in too many months, she falls asleep with a smile.
(and if her dreams are filled with a different man than her husband, a better man, she will not be sorry)
(Cato will have her body, her children, her future)
(but her heart will always be Gale's)
(Gale knows that he should have learned by now not to cling to foolish hope, but he is stubborn, he has always been stubborn.
I'll have you Gale of Salisbury, forever. I love you too
York had lost the fight, but he is not giving up yet. He will not abandon England or his family. Madge is out there waiting for him too and he will not break his word to her.
I swear to you Madge, we will be together again. We are going to retake England, we are going to stop the Lancastrians and we are going to be married. I love you; I am yours wholly, totally, entirely. Please just wait for me a little longer.
I'm coming for you Madge, I swear)