New chapter! Sorry for the gap, life got in the way and I had rewrite this chapter several times before I was satisfied. Please R&R and let me know what you think :) If you want to scream at me, join me on my tumblr - erikablair
Marianne Ethier died. The air in the Ethier-Black household was stifling, eyes red and voices hoarse. Hadrien, five years old, never shed a tear. Despite the solemnity of the situation, there was also the sharp sting of relief. She had been killing Hadrien.
Her self-cannibalising magic eroded her mind, leaving her with only a thought. To seek and consume, to satisfy its insatiable hunger. Hadrien blistered with power, with magic. An incandescent flame the beast could not resist. Stalking his tendrils of magic, she hunted him. Coveting his company and closeness, she always sought to touch, hold, and breathe him in. Crushing him to her chest, lips lingering on his skin – a want to take until there was nothing left.
She was sick. It was like a dark cloud had descended, with the only light being his son – Hadrien. But it had dulled; the ray once blinding became a whisp. Shielding him within his shadowed robes, Alphard protected him against the predatory gazes of the European heads. The funeral was well attended, prominent European families paying their respects to Lord Marius Ethier, Marianne's father. Their eyes skirted over him as if he weren't there, under the impression he descended from an unimportant lower house rather than the upper echelons of British society. Alphard did not seek to correct them.
A hush fell over the crowd as Marius took his place on the ancient stone dais, runes carved intricately into the uneven stone slab. Raising his hands, a slow chant rose from the crowd – guttural, spitting, and archaic. Magick, raw and primal, undulated amidst the guests; caressing, squeezing, dancing.
Marianne's body, adorned with hyssop, chrysanthemum, and purple hyacinth, her naked skin painted with blood runes, lay adjacent to the platform on a patch of grass surrounded by various flora. Sibilant whispers turned to cacophonous shrieks, vines sprouting from the ground to wrap around Marianne's corpse. Thunder cracked, and the ground beneath her fissured; she descended into the Earth, reclaimed by Tellus and Lady Magic. Blooms of purple lisianthus burst from the ground, marking her grave. Distinctive among the other plots, baby's breath, heliotrope, and protea among them. All once a childe of magic, now a permanent imprint.
Hadrien trembled all the while, not out of grief but fear. Embracing his son, feeling his tremors, Alphard nearly collapsed under the guilt. Marius descended the dais, striding towards his son-in-law and grandson, his face etched in sorrow. Years of suffering, of heartache, had reached an end. She was finally free. But her family held the consequences of her madness, the destruction of her son. Ever since she was a girl and her core cracked, Marius had been expecting this day. She lived longer than expected, even gifting him with an heir. The reality, however, was crushing.
It didn't seem so long ago when he had been here last, the exact chant and gestures performed for his wife and son's passing. The only reprieve being it was before Marianne's accident. She would have been devastated seeing her daughter's agony. Childbirth, the birth of their second-born – a son. Initially, he was ecstatic, but there were complications; she had lost too much blood and didn't survive. Neither did the baby.
Watching Tellus swallow the tiny body had been heart-wrenching. Seeing his wife's absorption almost crippled him. He wished he could have kept her, preserved her somehow, but there were inescapable laws that could not be broken. Not without grave consequences. What was taken must be given back—an unending cycle of life and death. An ancient primordial force ruled their world, and those who attempted to conquer, to tame it, were punished.
Seeing Hadrien's petite figure, he could not help but compare his countenance to Marianne's. Marianne had been bawling, attempting to escape her father's grip to run to her mother. An act he forbade, lest she be taken under too. But Hadrien's eyes were tearless, wanting to escape the procession rather than stop it. Alphard prevented him from running. Marius sighed; considering the events that had led to this, he could not blame the child. Marianne had become wicked.
Besides a small whimper, Hadrien remained stoic through the interment – a reaction that bore both pride and grief within Marius. No amount of preparation could prevent the sheer terror such an event elicited, especially his first. It was when they understood undeniably how tiny they were.
Folding Hadrien out of his robe, Alphard knelt before him. Tracing his cheeks, his arms, anywhere to educe a reaction other than fear. Love and care were imbued with every touch, a promise to protect. Feelings of safety bloomed, and Hadrien smiled, small and reserved. Alphard knew the gift his son was bestowing him, a second chance.
"She was beautiful," Hadrien whispered reverently.
"Your mother?" Marius asked, "Yes, she was."
Hadrien shook his head, "no, the woman standing over her."
They paused.
"What did she look like?" Alphard questioned; his voice strained.
Hadrien furrowed his eyebrows, "I'm not sure. She looked young but old. Loving but terrifying. Beautiful yet ugly." Hadrien shook his head in frustration.
Marius and Alphard shared a glance, flecks of dread reflected at the other. Hastily bundling Hadrien into his side, Alphard apparated back to Ethier manor. Marius following after a few minutes, having had to thank and see off the guests. Alphard rubbed soothing circles on Hadrien's back, waiting for the waves of nausea to subside. His son's body struggled to acclimate to all forms of magical transportation – bar flying.
Hadrien's body swayed with exhaustion, blinking tiredly at his father, lip jutted out in a plea. Sighing in exaggerated resignation, Alphard carried Hadrien to his bedroom, his slight figure curling into him seeking shelter. Tucking him into bed, Alphard reassured him he was alone. There was no one skulking in the wardrobe or hiding beneath the bed. The monster was gone.
Alphard consigned himself to staying until Hadrien fell asleep, his hand raking through his son's messy curls in a steady, rhythmic pattern that his breath gradually matched. Asleep now, Alphard moved to the door realising how much he had failed him. Hadrien was fearful within his own home, his own room. Stealing into his space, snatching hands and biting toes, Marianne had been the monster under Hadrien's bed. His dreams were not even a reprieve from her ravenous gaze.
Entering Marius' study, Alphard held out an expectant hand, accepting the customary tumbler of scotch. An action that had long become habitual. Settling into his familiar chair, Hadrien let the emotions bleed into his features.
"How is he?"
Shaking his head wordlessly, Alphard took a large gulp of the amber liquid before placing it beside him. "I don't know what to do," he revealed, his voice breaking. "He's scared that she'll come back, that she was never gone. That she was lurking somewhere in his room, disguised in the shadows, waiting to devour him. What kind of father am I? I should have shielded him from her, but I couldn't look at who she was now without remembering the woman I married. I didn't want to acknowledge her condition."
"I-I should have done more as well. He is my blood, my heir. But seeing my daughter's declining state – I only wanted to see my darling girl," Marius revealed.
They shared a few moments of silence, the weight of their admittances swinging precariously above their heads, like the blade of a guillotine, only waiting for the executioner.
"Now that he is the sole living heir to the Ethier line," Marius began, switching topics, "he will need to be trained appropriately. Rebuilding our alliances with the other European families is our highest priority behind Hadrien's education. News of the new heir will surely bring interest and opportunities for us. I know you insist on Hogwarts for his magical education, but while he is in France, he will be trained and act as a French heir would."
Nodding graciously, Alphard accepted Marius' words with little dispute. "I would expect no less. As he is my heir, I will also begin instructing him on the appropriate behaviours of a Black. Even if it is not publicised, the knowledge from both our sides will prove invaluable. Britain will be dangerous for him. We need to prepare him before going North."
Flower meanings:
Hyssop – sacrifice
Chrysanthemum – death
Purple hyacinth – forgiveness
Purple lisianthus – beauty, rising above the hardship, appreciation, everlasting love
Baby's breath – purity, sincerity, compassion, trust, innocence
Heliotrope – eternal love
Protea – Daring, Transformation, Courage