In the Rain – Chapter 4

Disclaimer: See first chapter.

AN: First of all, a sincere, huge, enormous, yelling 'Thank You!' to every single person who reviewed. You are all my heroes!

Please bear with me, awesomely loyal readers! I want this story to have a plot, and not to just be a fic that just says, "Mel saw the portrait. Gasp! Danric showed up for reasons unspecified. He read Mel's face. Mel knew she loved him. [Insert long kissing description.] End." Those fics are really quite enjoyable, but in this case I thought that because Danric did not court Mel in the book for specific reasons, him changing his mind in this fic would have repercussions on the plot, and I wanted to write about those, as well as the lovely fluff. Danric will talk about why he did not 'make a move' in the last chapter in his POV section.

Fair warning: Do not despair! Fluff will soon arrive. I have about 3 scenes containing major fluff planned for future chapters. This chapter, however, Does Not Contain Any Fluff Whatsoever! It is extremely Plot-Based! Sorry! (The next chapter, I promise, is the big fluff moment.)

Point of View: Vidanric! (For the first bit, then it switches to Mel.)

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I stood there staring at the fluttering tapestry she had disappeared behind. It slowly swayed to a halt, a strange contrast to Meliara's abrupt exit.

Trying to stifle melodramatic feelings and comparisons involving myself and the limp, wavering piece of fabric hanging in the doorframe, I turned and began the walk to my rooms. The long, narrow servants' hall was anything but grand, but it would take me directly to my chambers, and I cared for nothing more at the moment. At intervals I glimpsed runners waiting in shadowy alcoves, all of who bowed or made a sign of acknowledgement. Not that I was in any frame of mind to appreciate their loyalty.

Eventually I got enough control over my ranging emotions to consider the events of the night. Flauvic's surfacing attempt for power, if our suspicions were correct, seemed a mere nuisance to my lovesick spirit. I wouldn't deny it – except perhaps to the one it counted with – I was completely struck with Meliara. All my spies and troops and servants would be there to aid me in putting down a hostile takeover of Remalna's fledgling government – but no one could help me in the most important challenge of my life: gaining Meliara's love.

It had been pure coincidence that I had met her after my ride. I could hardly believe, smiling at her in the light of the setting sun, that fate had handed me such a precious gift. My second chance in weeks to be alone with her – to show her I wasn't the foppish, deceitful, avaricious scoundrel she had seen me as during the Rebellion.

I could almost believe she saw me differently now – I wanted to believe – but after so many months, it still seemed unreal that our companionship had flourished tonight.

Not that the more desolate moments of our time seemed faraway; they settled heavily in the pit of my stomach. She had exited so suddenly – did she regret her time with me? Life – why had I been compelled to hint that she was pushing away a (thankfully) unnamed type of knowledge with both hands? I hadn't wanted to part company on such a note, but I was never really in control of a situation concerning Mel. Her way of thinking was so free and intuitive; I was always wondering what she would pipe up with next.

My riding boots made a familiar tap on the stone flags as I tried to thrust my troubled thoughts away. I was probably being overly anxious, not to mention maudlin – as Russav helpfully pointed out on the occasions I sought his advice. To cheer myself I recounted some of the more gratifying events of the evening.

She had spent an entire candle in my company, alone, and in apparent contentment – a great leap from the distant exchange of letters I was usually confined to.

She had laughed, and smiled, and discoursed with me on all range of topics, including personal matters. Not that it had been exactly… pleasant… to hear a description of Flauvic enjoying an attempt to entice her. I had long been aware of his motives, but I hadn't known that his efforts had progressed to such lengths. The fact was even more galling when I compared it to my own abysmal record with her. It had been challenging to simply complete a whole conversation without an argument, let alone…

Still, tonight was a great improvement, I reminded myself. Rush things and she won't hesitate to put me in my place… as she did with Flauvic. I smiled crookedly at the thought. Returning to my recounting:

She had reached up, and well, groomed me in the stables. Close enough for me to feel her warmth, admire her rosy face. I doubted she realized that whenever she performed her two most habitual acts – laughing and blushing – I was utterly stunned by her beauty. It was not simply a love of her appearance, but also her spirit.

She had even let me hold her hand as I told her about her mother's death, and I had kept it firmly clasped in mine all the way back to the Residence. In the garden all I wished was to draw her to me as she cried, enfold her tiny form in my arms, and kiss every tear from her face.

But the logical part of me couldn't allow this. She had been in enough emotional turmoil for one day. It simply felt predatory for me to draw her out into the darkness of a silent garden, swoop in on the heels of several unsettling experiences, and play savior with my lips. And, supposing she wouldn't have succumbed hazily to the only form of comfort available, I would have added one more bad memory to her already wearying day. Not to mention summarily ending any chance of winning her acceptance, or love.

No, I had made the right decision to keep silent, for now. She would still not even call me by given name – I had just received solid proof of that particular barrier. Her formality stung just a little, but I hoped that it was perhaps simple habit.

Nearing the end of my walk, I surprised myself by chuckling aloud to the deserted hall. Though Meliara was one of the cleverest people I knew, despite her lack of formal education, she could be incredibly naive. She saw our two intervals alone together as merely friendly – if that – outings. Everything a courtship encompassed had been there tonight – time alone, laughter, the sharing of thoughts, problems, and food, even physical contact (albeit pure hand-holding). Everything except Mel's recognition.

I was courting her, through letters, and now, though I was careful not to indicate it overtly to her, through any chance time alone together. My only regret (aside from our many past misunderstandings) was that my advances now seemed to be pulling Mel into the path of danger. Now my duty was not only to gain her love, but also to protect her from the harm that steadily approached.

I reached my rooms and entered; seeing my arrival, my personal servant jumped to attention. "No need for formalities now," I directed him, descending into my sober reality. "I need you to deliver several messages as soon as I pen them. There's much to be done."

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Point of View: Meliara

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I stayed abed late the next morning. After waking unwillingly, I lay half-dozing, listening to Mora bustle around the room as I thought about the previous night's events. All the emotions from yesterday that I had avoided in sleep came crowding back: confusion and helplessness in Flauvic's presence, sorrow at learning the unfair reasons for my mother's death, and a whole batch of fluttering feelings when I regarded my time with Shevraeth. There had been moments, when we had both let down our guard down, that being near him had felt…

I sprang out of bed, harnessing my suddenly jangled nerves into productive energy. After asking Mora to bring a big – and very late – breakfast up to my rooms, I hurried through my bath and dressed quickly. I picked a gown of light green, with intricate silver stitching decorating the bodice and wide floating sleeves that fluttered in the scarcest cool breeze. I slipped on my lovely sapphire ring out of habit, and added a silver bracelet to complete the motif.

Mora returned shortly with a tray filled with fresh food and drink, but put it aside and bade me sit while she combed and dressed my hair. She deftly twisted and secured two small sections behind my ears with jeweled pins, leaving the rest to hang free. Retreating to the bedchamber to tidy up, she left me to dine alone in the sitting room, feeling a great deal calmer thanks to her efforts.

As I slowly made me way through the food, the only thoughts I allowed myself were guilty pangs – I had missed a planned breakfast with Nee and Elenet. I was listlessly popping the last sweet berry into my mouth when a soft knock sounded at my door. Nee poked open the tapestry with a hesitant finger, then smiled when she saw me, looking relieved.

"I thought something worrisome might have happened," she smiled, coming to sit next to me on a cushion. "I hadn't seen you all yesterday, then you missed breakfast with Elenet and I."

I winced. "I'm sorry if I made you fret," I sighed. "Elenet wasn't offended that I overslept, was she?"

"She was quite understanding; I wouldn't expect anything less from her. When I stopped earlier Mora told me that you didn't return from Remalna-city until late and that you were still sleeping. Did it take a dreadfully long time to hire the musicians?"

"No, the musicians will be lovely for your Adoption Ball! As soon as I heard them, I hired them straightaway," I assured her. Then I continued, in as factual a tone as possible, "I returned late because I met Shevraeth at the stables and spent the remainder of the evening with him."

Her eyes widened by a marked degree. "Vidanric?"

I groaned. "Yes, him. Please, don't look at me like that."

She blinked innocently, reminding me of an alert kitten. "Like what?"

"Like you're jumping to conclusions. I admit, he's not as bad as I made him out to be, but you can't possibly think anything like that."

Nee opened her hands her hands in a placating gesture, though I thought I noticed a smile tugging at her mouth. "Of course not. I'm just glad you're getting along – I wouldn't insinuate 'that.' And I certainly don't mean to pry. But…?" She looked desperately curious. I wanted to snort – What could she see as so interesting about Shevraeth and I being friends?

"We just talked about a few… political matters," I said, not feeling up to explaining the whole Flauvic incident. I wasn't at all sure what to say about the secure information Shevraeth had privileged me with. I continued lightly, "I managed to embarrass myself a few… dozen… times in the process, of course. And then… well, it turns out Shevraeth was able to learn the reasons behind my mother's death, and he told me."

Nee gasped softly. "Oh, Mel…" Her eyes looked pained and rather helpless.

"It's okay," I said, quietly but firmly. "She's been gone a long time now. Knowing the whole story helps a little, I guess. Knowing that she was trying to aid Remalna. Anyhow, Shevraeth told me very kindly. Lent me a handkerchief, one of those spelled ones from Renselaeus. I'll have to remember to give it back to him."

"Does Bran know… what you learned?"

"Not yet. Shevraeth hadn't told anyone except me, and I haven't even seen Bran since then."

She reached over and patted my hand. "If you want to tell him now, I'll help you round him up, and then you two can spend the afternoon together."

I stood up, relieved to have something to busy myself with, even if it was sorrowful. "Thanks," I said gratefully, then glanced back at my bedchamber. "Hold a second, I want to nab that besorceled handkerchief so I can return it to Shevraeth if I see him."

Nee followed me into the now tidy, deserted bedchamber. I frowned, looking at the empty spot where I had dropped the cloth on a bureau. "It was here… maybe Mora put it away with my others." I fumbled with the handles of the bureau, eventually finding my pristine, unused collection of handkerchiefs in a shallow drawer. Brushing my fingers among them, I plucked out Shevraeth's and tucked it under my bracelet. Covering it all with the long sleeve of my gown, I turned to go.

Nee hesitated to move, looking at me with an odd expression. "Mel, how exactly did you know which one it was?"

I paused, then pulled the handkerchief out again. "I don't know. This one is different from all mine."

"But… they're all plain and white, finely made. All clean, too, because the besorceled one never gets dirty."

"They must be woven of different fabrics then. Different textures."

She reached out and fingered a handkerchief from the drawer, then the one in my hand. "They all feel the same to me," she said, perplexed. I copied her motions. The other cloths felt smooth and fresh, just like the one in my hand, but lifeless. The one I knew was Shevraeth's almost seemed to hum when I touched it. Why couldn't Nee tell the difference? It seemed straightforward to me, even if I couldn't exactly explain it.

"Here," I said, and wiped a berry-stained finger on the cloth in my hand. The colored juice promptly faded back into a crisp whiteness. I shrugged, tucking the handkerchief away again. "Shall we go hunt up Bran?"

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My brother was soon located, banging about his rooms after refreshing himself from sword practice. Nee exited quietly once her aid was complete, fearing intrusion on our old grief. I then slowly relayed the events of so many years ago to Bran. The words came easier than I had expected. He had always been easy to talk to – or argue with, as the case sometimes was. We both made it through the emotional maze well; I only resorted to my borrowed handkerchief once this time. Bran hugged me tightly afterwards, drawing himself up in his role as elder brother, which I supposed helped him keep his solidarity.

"I'm proud of you," he said finally, after measuring that my ribs had been sufficiently crushed. "You've the strongest will I know – and stubbornness comes in mighty handy at times like this. And you even made your peace with Danric!"

I nodded and shrugged, then reminded him of my offer to show him the portraits of our Calahanras ancestors in the gallery. As I couldn't remember their exact location, they took a while to find, but we passed the time reminiscing about Tlanth and planning things to do once we returned. Bran thoroughly enjoyed the portraits, when we finally stumbled upon the right gallery row, though he wasn't nearly as awestruck as I had been. Still, it was fun watching his reactions as he peered at the ancient faces, comparing them to our own before remarking on the old-fashioned hair and clothing depicted.

Just before we parted company in the late afternoon he voiced something I had overlooked. "So… If Mama was learning sorcery, does that not mean you might also have a lick of talent for it? Mages – they're mostly women, aren't they?"

"I suppose so," I murmured.

He bid me farewell with another fierce hug, and a kiss on the top of my head, then darted off to snatch up Nee for a quiet dinner. I declined to join them, electing to explore the rest of the gallery instead. Not expecting to stay in Athanarel much longer, and possibly never to return, I knew I owed it to myself to experience everything possible here in my last days.

Walking slowly up the wide halls, I took note of the care and artistry that had gone into every part of the gallery. The magnificently tiled floors and high ceilings were enduring monuments to the creators' skill and workmanship. It was hard not to feel small, looking up at the priceless works displayed on the walls; for a time I was lost with a sudden sense of my own insignificance in the vast realms of history.

Most of the paintings were portraits, with a few landscapes and renderings of important historical events interspersed. The largest portraits were huge, grandiose affairs, the subjects even larger than life size, and it was one of these that brought me out of my reverie. I had been walking a random, winding path, enjoying the color and shadow and realism of each ancient scene. The simple pleasure of beauty suspended any need for higher analysis – until I turned a corner and found myself staring into a pair of familiar gray eyes.

I blinked and squinted – it was hard to believe those eyes were not as real and alive as my own. They were painted to glint and captivate and they stared at the observer wherever he walked. From the eyes my surprised gaze widened to the impenetrable face, and from the face to the rigidly posed body of a stately, middle-aged lady in the dress of several generations past.

The prickly feeling of a half-forgotten memory crept over me. Why is this painting so familiar? Wait… This is the portrait Shevraeth paced by silently on my first visit to the gallery!

Intrigued, I took a step back and lifted my chin to survey the whole picture. The woman wore a voluminous gown of muted lavender, painted before the background of a blue-gray window hanging that edged the pale sky beyond. Some miniscule engravings on the gilt bluewood frame caught my eye, and for a moment, my gaze left the woman to read the tiny curling words, which told her rank, and name, and family. I glanced quickly over them, then faltered. With a sudden jump of my eyes, realization jostled its way into my crowded, standstill mind.

Renselaeus. So this woman was an ancestor of Shevraeth's!

The portrait's eyes seemed to glint down at me in amusement. Same expressions, then. Perpetually laughing eyes and a face as blank as rice paper. Wish I could have inherited something useful like that, not just a quick temper and no height. At least I got Mama's hair. And maybe what Bran said about Mama passing down her magical ability is true…

My eyes drifted idly over the picture, traveling from the lady's stiffly styled hair, to the intricate embroidery lavishing the bodice and sleeves of her gown, to her lightly folded hands, finally resting on the shining ring on her finger.

If I could say that I realized immediately what the importance of the ring was, and where I'd seen it before, and how everything fell neatly into place in my mind, I would. In reality, I simply stared absently for a long, pointless moment, pondering the cut and the glitter and the sapphire color. I wasn't anticipating a revelation.

Of course, just a bat of an eye later, one came anyway.

Not even, mind you, one of those slow, pleasant conclusions one feels gratified to have discovered. It was more akin to being wakened from a cocooned slumber by a torrent of drenching, glacial water. As the hurtling comprehension struck my mind, my eyes darted between the ring on my finger and the one in the portrait, never quick enough to end the reeling in my head.

I lifted my shaking hand and held it unsteadily next to the lady's. My ring, and this woman's ring, were identical. So my ring, at one time owned by the Unknown, was once also owned by this woman... There was no other explanation; I knew that family rings were unique, passed down as treasured heirlooms through the generations. This woman was a Renselaeus, so she would of course pass it down to…

I gulped, trying not to sink (or crash, more like) to the floor. Shevraeth.

Being caught by the ankle in a steel trap was one thing. This was entirely more intense – akin to what I imagine being blindsighted by a galloping charger is like. It certainly didn't help that the small, denial-free part of my mind was screaming that everything now made perfect sense, that I was a fool for not guessing.

That's why he didn't point out this picture. He was the Unknown – and probably the only man I never suspected.

Now images spun through my mind: the Shevraeth of the Rebellion, his face bland but never scornful; the long black riding cloak and yellow hair flying beside me on our race to Lumm; the Unknown's many letters to me hidden away in the box in my bedchamber; his face last night, full of laughter and tenderness and…

My feet abruptly started moving. I couldn't take any more suspense, any more mysteries or closed faces or hidden feelings. Paintings flashed by in a blurry world unconnected to my own – all I cared about was finding him and finding what all this meant to us. My slippered feet darted across the tiles, heavy air billowing back my gown and hair as if to thwart my steps – but in a flash I stood in the library, before the tapestry to the memoir archive. Only my thundering heartbeat convinced me that all this was real, not some absurd dream.

I hesitated, then blazed through the tapestry barrier, unplanned words about to spill from my mouth – when I nearly choked in surprise.

I was staring at a stout, middle-aged man who looked vaguely familiar. Dressed in the fine servants' garb of the Renselaeus family, he adeptly smothered his surprise at my entrance with a bow and a polite, "Countess." Pausing in the act of arranging a stack of papers, he deferred his full attention to me. "Do you require anything, my lady? If not, I will leave the archive to you."

"I – Might you know where I could find the Marquis?" I rushed, stumbling over half the words in my confusion. Where could he be?

The servant's eyes seemed to glint for a moment before deepening soberly. "My lord is inaccessible at the moment," he said in an undertone – so low that I thought he suspected eavesdroppers. Something in his voice seemed to hint of regret, and then he paused again, waiting intently for any further requests.

I shook my head, nerves rattled and confusion mounting. I just knew I couldn't stand here gaping at this intent, receptive man anymore – my skittering thoughts all wanted to tumble from my lips into the ear of the nearest listener. Instead, I clamped them tightly within me, willing myself to take leave of this meeting with normalcy. "Could you – he lent me this handkerchief," I explained, pulling it from my sleeve and holding it out. "Could you please see that it is returned to him?"

The servant nodded and took the handkerchief and I was soon alone again, weaving through the halls to my rooms. I barely noticed where I was headed, my mind again suspended in chaos, my stomach twisting like a pit of snakes. Is this what one is supposed to feel like when in…? I swallowed, not even able to put the name to my feelings.

The small part of me that wasn't consumed in turmoil was reserved for the one whom I would either adore, or blame, for initiating all this. A single question repeated over and over in my mind: Where is he?

My rooms had never looked more like a sanctuary as I batted aside the tapestry and entered the familiar surroundings. I was about to retreat to my bedchamber and sink into the undoubtedly fitful slumber that awaited me – when a distinctly unfamiliar paper on my writing desk caught my eye. In a quick movement I had caught it up and seen that it was no letter from my "Unknown." It was unsealed, written on my own paper in a familiar slanting hand. Though the writing was somewhat scrawled, my heart leapt with recognition, and I carefully read the few lines.

Meliara –

Your help has proved invaluable.

The latest reports have invoked my presence – I must depart with haste and discretion. Please relay my sincerest apologies for my absence at tomorrow's festivities.

Stay alert. And please – stay safe.

There was no more, not even a signature, but everything I needed was right there in that short note. I realized that he had probably come to tell me the news while I was in the gallery with Bran; we had just missed each other. He couldn't leave all the details on this note, nor did he have much time, but he had still made sure to pen me a short goodbye.

Though all I knew were these few facts, and my head buzzed with other questions and worries, a small, warm calm descended in my middle. I knew one thing for certain, something I realized he might have been hinting at the night before. I smiled to the empty room and embraced this new reality with a soft, sure whisper.

"Love."

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AN: First, thanks to my awesome reviewers! I formally thank you all, listing your names here as an eternal testament to your greatness: Queen's Own, Squirrel Maiden of Green, Danric-Lover, Autumn Faery, Dumbledore's Heir, Wake-Robin, Mooseyfate, Maria, FelSong, legofiance, Black Rose25, Aeriel Ravenna, Margery, Sherlock, StarGirl98, I-Love-Sev, Iyoku_chan, and Anonymous (x3! Sneaky!).

Next, sorry if this chapter was a letdown. I hope it wasn't, even if it didn't contain any fluff. That's next chapter, I promise. I hope you liked Danric's thoughts, and Mel's as she had her big epiphany. That was important for me to write well. I'm afraid I have to admit that I have Absolutely None of the next chapter done! Gah! Obviously, I have planned what will happen, but it is not written. So I can't torture you with review demands this time (though reviews are extremely encouraging, hint hint). Ahem: I solemnly swear I will update ASAP! -Shannon