Hello again. Sorry for the slight delay in the updating process, but the time before the holidays is always super busy, not to mention school finding a way to rape my hopes of free time at every turn. But here it is. Being that this is a story that implements my own characters, I do need some feedback on what you think of the kids. So please, read and review, or e-mail me and tell me what you think of the story and the development of the small people. It would help greatly.

Disclaimer: I own Lucian. Go me! But that's about it.

Soon the Moon Will Smoulder

Chapter 2: The Ward of Heaven

"We will conclude this Sunday's mass with the following message. Please open your Bibles to the Book of Genesis, chapter Thirty Seven."

There was a brief shuffling of paper and people within the Westminster Abbey Cathedral before it was again quiet enough for the Archbishop to continue. Nearly every noble family in England was congregated within the church that morning, and the Blakeneys were no exception. The king had called for a mass gathering of the lords and ladies of the court for no other reason then to have a large party.

To not attend a gala of this magnitude would be terribly unfashionable, and therefore, the most horrid thing imaginable, at least according to Percy Blakeney. So he quickly threw the wife and kids in the carriage and they were off to London to attend church and the party.

"Dad." Blake whispered, sharply driving his elbow into Percy's ribs. "I can't find Genesis!"

"It's in the beginning of the book, son."

"It's not here! I can't even read it!"

Percy looked quizzically at his son for moment before smiling softly and turning Blake's book right side up.

"Ah. Well, that certainly makes a difference."

"This tells the story of Joseph, the youngest son of Israel." the Archbishop continued regally. "The book says that Israel loved Joseph more then any of his other sons. When his brothers saw that their father loved him more then any of them, they hated him and could not speak a kind word to him."

The rest of the sermon was lost on Percy. Amazing how one passage could strike a man so! He quickly shot a glance at the golden child on the other side of his wife and his breath caught in his chest; Lucian was casting a vicious, sidelong glare at his oblivious brother, trembling slightly and breathing unevenly as with each passing second the boy lost himself to jealous rage.

Lucian quickly tore his eyes away from Blake and his gaze met his father's and Percy couldn't help but shudder; Lucian suddenly disappeared and Percy found himself looking into the falcon eyes of Agent Chauvelin, burning with all the absolute hatred they had possessed on that fateful night in Calais.

Percy quickly shook his head to clear his mind of the unwanted images and once again found himself looking at Lucian, trembling slightly with his eyes clenched shut and his hands clasped tightly before him.

"Join me in prayer as we reflect upon the lesson of Jacob and Israel." the Archbishop concluded just as Percy regained his senses.

Percy lowered his head and just before he closed his eyes, he heard Lucian groan, and out of the corner of his vision, saw the boy slide off the bench and on to his knees, eyes shut tight and the bridge of his nose resting on his tightly clasped hands. The child shuddered and gently rocked back and forth, muttering something incoherent between ragged, uneven breaths as tears slowly leaked from his closed eyes, and Percy himself could have wept at the sight of the child.

Percy shut his eyes tightly and prayed as hard as he could. Please, God. Give me the strength to be a good father to Lucian. Give me the courage to apologize to him for my trespasses. I've been less then kind to him. Forgive me.

The service concluded, and all of the lords and ladies began to file out of the grand cathedral. Marguerite laid her hand upon her transfixed son's head and gently ran her hand through his silken hair. "Come, Luc. Let's go."

Lucian stood up and silently filed out behind his mother. But no, he wasn't leaving. He wasn't done talking to God yet. He didn't have an answer and he felt completely abandoned; he would not leave this house of worship until God answered him.

As the Blakeney family merged into the masses of noble families walking down the aisle, Lucian slipped from behind his mother and, briefly losing himself in the crowd, ducked into one of the rows of benches and lay low to the ground, waiting patiently for the church to clear.

Lucian slowly peeked over the benches when all was silent; it would not be long before his mother discovered that he was conspicuously absent and came to look for him. He needed to talk quickly, make God understand his plight.

He quickly dashed out into the center aisle and ran the length of the church, slowing to a reverent gait as he came near the alter. He trembled slightly out of nerves as he carefully placed his foot on the marble platform of the alter; not even the Archbishop came this close to the place where God was revered, but Lucian was desperate.

He lightly ran his fingers over the marble and gold of the alter before he sunk to his knees and put his hands together in prayer. A minor panic gripped him as he realized a potential problem in his plan; why would God listen to an eight year old? His father didn't listen to him. Why would God? He quickly banished the thought from his head. He was in need; God would listen.

He took a deep breath and turned his eyes toward Heaven. "Dear God. I know that you're really busy with ruling the world and doing all the other things you do, but I need your help." he said aloud, desperately, hoping beyond all reason that he had the ear of the Divine Father. "My daddy is Sir Percy Blakeney, but you knew that. I…I really like him. I do. But he doesn't love me. Not at all. He loves my brother instead."

Tears began to leak from his eyes and his voice raised in pitch as desperation overtook him. "Is it fair that he should love Blake and not me? What have I done to earn his disdain? I try to be good! I try to please him, but nothing I do is ever good enough for him!"

Lucian bowed his head, tears falling quickly down his cheeks. "I don't mean to be demanding, God," he said softly, "but I need an answer. I can see no love for me in my father, but perhaps you can. Please. I beg of you. Tell me if my father cares for me. Send me a sign that he loves me. Please."

Lucian remained on his knees, his hands shaking slightly, his head bent, and his eyes closed tight in concentration, trying as hard as he could to hear the voice of God tell him what he asked. So focused was he that he did not hear a brief fluttering through the air, and for a moment did not feel the fabric that fell over his hands.

He timidly opened his eyes and stared in disbelief at the beautiful satin material. He carefully unfolded his hands and ran gentle fingers over the tricolor banner, the flag of France, that he now held in his small hands.

A broad grin spread across his face and he turned exuberant eyes heavenward. God had answered him; he didn't exactly know what the sign meant, but God had answered him! Tightly clenching the flag in his hands, he bowed his head, trembling in joy. "Thank you, God! I cannot thank you enough!"

As the child knelt before the alter muttering thanks and praise, one of the priests of the church walked in and saw the boy praying. Smiling slightly at the young child's dedication to God, he slowly approached the boy and gently laid his hand upon his head.

Startled, Lucian looked up at the humble priest with wide, gold eyes, his countenance dropping as he was pulled back to the physical world.

"Is God answering your prayers, my son?" the priest asked the child softly.

"God is answering, but I'm not sure if his answers fit my questions." Lucian said quietly as he stood up, holding out the tricolor flag to the priest. "He sent this to me, but I don't know if he is answering me or directing me. Perhaps you can help me as well."

"God sent you this?" the priest asked awestruck. The boy nodded solemnly and the priest knelt before him, bringing himself to the child's eye level. "God has sent you a sign, my child. It's meaning may not be clear, but in time you shall discover its purpose. It appears that God has great things in store for you."

The priest stood and handed the banner back to the boy. "Come with me, child. What is troubling you?"

Lucian walked slowly beside the priest, looking sadly up at the man. "Sir, my father is Israel, my brother is Joseph, and I am the jealous brother. I asked God for a sign that my father loves me, and God sent me this. I don't know what to do."

"God works in mysterious ways. He has heard you, and I'm sure He will not abandon you. You are not alone. Just wait. God will show you that you have your father's love."

Lucian looked down at the ground and nervously clutched the flag to his chest; he desperately wished that the priest was right. His breath suddenly caught in his throat as he remembered something and looked excitedly up at the priest. "Please, sir! Can you tell me anything about the Martyr Chauvelin?"

The priest looked at the boy curiously; very few people outside the church knew about the soon to be sainted man and it struck him as odd that this child should happen to know of him. "It does seem as though God wishes you to know of France, and the martyr is important to French society. Come and I shall tell you what I can."

The priest sat on one of the benches in the front row and Lucian quickly sat beside him, looking up at the man with wide, curious eyes. "His name is Armand Chauvelin. He was the top agent of the Committee of Public Safety during the French Revolution."

"He was an agent?" Lucian asked in awe.

"The best in France. He commanded the best of the military, the secret service, and he was the ambassador to England."

"He spent time in England?" Lucian asked excitedly. If this was so, the English knew about him. Learning about this man was becoming a rather simple task.

"Yes, but the English did not think very highly of him. He was a Revolutionary, fighting on the extremist side to free the people from the monarchy, and the English never supported the Revolution."

"And that's where the Scarlet Pimpernel comes into play."

"That's correct. Agent Chauvelin was the Pimpernel's most fearsome and dangerous adversary. Chauvelin was killed in a fight with the Pimpernel. With the people's man dead, the Revolution went out of control. After Napoleon came and restored order, he had the church declare Chauvelin a martyr for dying in defense of the liberty of France."

"Wow…he really was something, wasn't he?"

"Yes. That he was."

"What else?" Lucian cried excitedly.

"Well, let's see…he was quite intelligent, some say a military genius. He was a remarkable fencer."

"He was a sword fighter?"

"Oh yes. He was the best in France, possible the best in Europe. Some say that he could fight better with his eyes closed then most could with both eyes open."

"Lucian!" Percy cried as he threw open the massive doors of the church and rushed down the aisle, quickly looking down the rows for the boy.

"Your father?"

"Yes, sir."

"God is with you."

"Thank you, sir." Lucian slid off the bench and slowly walked into the aisle, quickly folding the flag and slipping it in the inside pocket of his coat.

Percy threw his arms around the child and held him close, frantically kissing his golden hair. "Oh, thank God, Lucian. We were so worried about you."

Lucian was taken aback by his father's actions; never in his life had he shown worry or concern for him. Lucian cautiously relaxed, a part of him keeping his guard up, waiting for some cruel joke or trick from the man. Yet Percy only held him tighter. A slight smile slid across Lucian's face and he snuggled against his father.

Percy gently picked Lucian up and held the boy against him, softly kissing his cheek. "Let's go. Your mother is worried sick, and it would be cruel to keep her ignorant of your safety for any longer."

Percy nodded slightly at the priest sitting on the bench. "Thank you, father, for caring for my son."

"It was my pleasure."

Percy turned to leave, but the priest called for him and he turned to face the man of the church once again.

"Tread carefully around your son. A heavenly being has taken an interest in him."

Not knowing quite what to say, Percy nodded and left the church to deliver Lucian into the arms of a perfectly hysterical Marguerite.

After his mother had finished fussing over him, which was a long, tedious routine that he had grown quite used to, Lucian was free to run up the stairs of the mansion in London that Percy had rented for their family's use before the royal ball.

He quickly dashed into the room that he claimed as his own and threw himself upon the bed; perhaps going to this cursed social function would not be as bad as he previously thought. After all, the morning had been more then off to a good start, complete with some brief martyr education, messages from God, and such.

He slid his hand in his coat and gently ran his fingers over the neatly folded tricolor banner. God must have sent the flag as a signal that he needed to learn about the French martyr. An agent, an incredible fencer, and killed by the Pimpernel; that in itself was about the coolest thing ever. The man must have been astounding.

Lucian quickly sat up and lightly bounced on the bed; he was going to learn how to fence. This Chauvelin was far more impressive then his father had ever been. His father, the aristocrat, the fop, the man who had barely loved him, or Chauvelin, the hero, the Revolutionary fighter, the man who had died for what he believed in; the choice seemed clear to him of who was the better man, the one he should strive to emulate. Lucian smiled slyly. He would learn to fight, he would be an agent, he would defend the liberty of the people, just as the martyr had done.

A sharp knocking at his door pulled Lucian out of his revere and, slightly irritated, called out "Yes?"

Percy slowly opened the door and stepped into the room, outwardly calm, but inside he was fidgeting nervously. "Lucian. How would you…umm…like to…" Percy mentally slapped himself. This shouldn't be so hard; the boy was eight years old, for crying out loud! "How would you like to take a walk with me?"

Lucian looked at Percy slightly coldly. "Thank you, father, but I must refuse. I would rather spend as little time with Blake as it is humanly possible."

"No, Lucian, you miss my meaning!" Percy said urgently. "Blake won't be coming. It's…it will just be you and me. Not your brother, you sister, or your mother. Just us two."

Lucian looked at his father in shock. This was most unlike him. He was never willing to spend time alone with him unless it was to punish him, lecture him, or tease him. His shock melted into a timid smile and he gently whispered, "Very well, father."

Percy smiled happily; for a moment, he thought the boy would refuse; after all, he had reason enough to absolutely hate him. He held his hand out to the boy and Lucian slid off the bed and gently wrapped his long fingers around his father's palm, and Percy led the child out of the mansion.

"Where are we going, father?" Lucian asked softly, looking up at Percy in admiration with a slight smile on his face as they walked down the streets of London.

"The gardens around the king's palace are absolutely splendid. Since you're so fond of the gardens around our own estate, I thought that you would like the king's personal grounds."

"Are we allowed on the king's property?"

"Lucian, son. We're Blakeneys. We're allowed everywhere."

"Really?" Lucian asked excitedly, his golden eyes filling with wonder.

"Oh, most defiantly." Percy responded with laughter in his voice. "You're part of an important family, Luc. Can I call you Luc?"

Lucian didn't say anything, but with eyes cast at the ground, he nodded ever so slightly.

Percy smiled slightly to himself; this was a definite improvement. Perhaps he could still salvage his relationship with Marguerite's illegitimate son. They walked the rest of the way in silence, but it was quite unlike the tense, nonverbal moments they often shared. As they walked, Lucian gradually drifted closer to Percy, and by the time they reached the gates of the king's palace, his head was resting on Percy's forearm, squeezing his father's hand affectionately.

After briefly speaking to the guards, the gates opened to admit Percy and Lucian into the sprawling gardens of the king. The two moved throughout the gardens, careful to stay out of the way of the servants who were busily setting up for the party that night.

They found an isolated, quiet spot by a large pond and Percy led Lucian to an elegant marble bench on the banks of the water. They sat in silence for a long while, Lucian's pale yellow eyes filled with admiration as they scanned the gorgeous landscape of the gardens, seemingly at peace with everything in the world.

Percy, on the other hand, was fidgeting nervously, often times opening his mouth as if to speak, but never saying anything. He had so much he needed to tell this silent child, but he had no idea of how to go about saying it. He had never had a serious conversation with Lucian's father; most of the time he had spent with Chauvelin had included taunting and aggravating the man relentlessly, and Chauvelin getting so fed up, he would leave immediately leave or attempt to seduce Marguerite. And Lucian was so like Chauvelin. How was he to speak to this child when he didn't understand him or his father?

"It truly is beautiful here, just as you said, father." Lucian said gently, awestruck and spellbound by the verdant atmosphere, radiant and elision like a piece out of Heaven.

Percy breathed a sigh of relief; this huge pressure had been lifted from his shoulders as the burden of breaking the awkward silence was no longer his. And the fact that the silent Lucian had been the one to disturb the quiet was astounding; perhaps he, too, was attempting to breech the impenetrable wall that the years had built between them. After all, children are so often more willing to forgive and forget then adults.

"That it is." Alright, now or never, Percy. "Umm…Lucian? May I…may I speak with you?"

Lucian didn't respond, but looked up at Percy with wide, inquiring eyes.

"Listen, Lucian. About the other day. I'm…I'm sorry for teasing you, and I'm sorry if I hurt you. That certainly wasn't my intent." No response. Percy clasped his hands in front of him, trying very hard to avoid displaying any signs of nervousness. What else could he possibly say? Still no word from the child next to him. Dear Lord, what if Lucian didn't accept his apology? What if he already hated him so much for all that he had done that he could never build the sort of relationship with Lucian that he had with Blake? The silence was nearly deafening, and Percy could not stand it a second longer.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Lucian said softly in that sweet, calm voice of his "Dad? May I ask you a question?"

"Of course, Luc. Anything." Percy breathed another sigh of relief; perhaps Lucian did forgive him.

"You are not an idiot, father. Why do you act like one?"

Percy couldn't help but laugh slightly. For an eight year old, the child was remarkably perceptive. "Well, when I was a child, I had all of these ideas running through my head, but I could never properly articulate them. So though I may have understood something, when I tried to talk about it, I couldn't express my ideas coherently, so I sounded awfully stupid. My professors, my peers and just about everyone else took it as a lack of understanding and they quickly deemed me an idiot. It wasn't long before I was known throughout England for being completely daft."

"But you weren't!" Lucian cried. "Why didn't you fight to prove them wrong?"

"Because for a while, I believed it myself. I acted like an absolute moron, because that's what they expected me to do. After all, I was known to be the biggest fool in England. When I finally learned to voice my thoughts properly and intelligently, acting like the worst of fops had become a habit. And it's endlessly amusing."

"So, you just do it because that's what people expect?" Lucian said slowly.

"Yes, that's about it."

"But why? You can change it!"

"Yes, but…here's what I've learned about people. They believe what they want to. Once they have an idea, that notion sticks. If someone does something out of the people's expectations, they just don't see it. And so my reputation as a brainless fop stays. May as well play along."

"I…I really don't think you're stupid, father." Lucian said quietly as he lightly leaned his head against Percy's arm. "May I ask you another question, father?"

"Yes, of course."

"Why do you love Blake more then me?"

Percy tensed; the child was terribly blunt, and it hurt to hear the question. How could he answer something like that? "I don't love Blake more then you, Luc." Percy finally said after a long period of silence. "I…I understand him better, I suppose. He has the same problems I had as a child. He's smart, but he can't express himself like you can, so he acts the idiot just as I did. He needs more help then you do. He's much more dependent then you ever were. I do tend to spend more time with him, but I love you just the same."

"You brought him to France even though I wanted to go. Why?"

Oh Great. How do I answer that? "Blake needed to spend some time with me, and your mother likes to have you near her. In all honesty, I don't have a legitimate excuse for that, Luc."

Another moment of silence. These were getting increasingly more tense, and Percy wasn't sure how many more of these he could take. Lucian never spoke, and Blake never shut up; why couldn't he have a normal child?

Lucian laid his head down on Percy's lap and scooted in closer to the man. "Blake's not the only one who needs you, father." he said quietly, his normally even voice quivering slightly as he fought tears.

Percy's heart broke as he watched the child. He had seriously misjudged the boy; he often forgot that Lucian was not just Chauvelin's child, but Marguerite's as well. His silence, his cold demeanor, were probably just defenses and protection for this terribly sweet side of him that Percy was witnessing now. Percy knew this side all too well; Marguerite was exactly like this.

He gently gathered the boy into his arms and held Lucian's head to his chest, running his fingers through his golden hair and softly kissing the top of his head. "Forgive your foolish father, Lucian. I do love you."

Percy took this moment of silence as acceptance and held Lucian tighter; he may have just torn down the wall between them and went so far as to believe that he may have begun to thaw the ice that the introverted child had built around himself. It wasn't Lucian's fault that his father had been Percy's worst enemy. He had been a terrible father to the illegitimate child, and it seemed as though it nearly destroyed the boy; he'd be damned if he let something like this happen again. He owed this to Marguerite and to Chauvelin's memory; after all, it was his fault that the agent was dead and his son was robbed of his father. It was his responsibility to be a father to Lucian, as he had stolen his real one from him; he would not renege on his duties again.

"Father, may we do this again sometime?" Lucian asked timidly but happily.

"Of course, son! Anytime you wish."

"Really? Can…can we do it every week?"

"And more often if you like. But I think we must be off. After all, we do have a party to get ready for, what?"

Lucian smiled shyly up at his father and nodded slightly. Percy gently picked the boy up and gently placed him on the ground. "Come along now, Luc." Percy said as he slowly made his way across the spacious lawns toward the front gate.

Lucian stood still for a moment and looked at the receding figure of his father in adoration before he quickly dashed to Percy's side and threw his arms around his waist, stopping the man immediately. "Thank you, father!"

Percy smiled down at the elated child and took him up in his arms again, gently kissing his cheek. "It is I who should be thanking you, my boy."

Again the boy did not respond, but no words were needed. Percy and Lucian had come to an understanding, an inexplicable peace that suddenly came into existence through all of the tension and pain that once existed between them. The two returned to the family, both smiling happily the whole way back.

The talk with his father had put Lucian in a better then average mood. Despite the fact that the second he stepped through the doors of the king's palace he was immediately surrounded with people, he remained remarkably amiable. And no one enjoyed this blatant change in Lucian more then Allison. He didn't step away when she came near, he didn't glare at her when she followed him, and he actually spoke more then two words to her. The world could have ended right then and there, and Allison Ffoulkes would have died happy.

After dinner had been served, everyone retired from the dining room to engage in conversation with friends not seen for years, or congregated in the ballroom, dancing to whatever tune the orchestra played. And as the night moved on, as so commonly happens at formal gatherings, the children became bored.

The Blakeney, Dewhurst, and Ffoulkes children were lazily spread out across the king's spacious library, draped over various pieces of furniture and doing nothing at all. "There must be something we can do." Tony's six-year-old son, Acton, whined.

"It's the king's palace, Acton." Ellison Ffoulkes said tiredly. "That means no causing trouble, and no breaking anything. And what does that leave us to do?"

"Absolutely nothing!" Blake said in frustration.

"You're forgetting something, boys." Lucian said quietly. "We can do anything we want, provided that we don't get caught. If they don't see us, it doesn't count."

"Capital idea, brother!" Blake shouted much louder then necessary. "What shall we do?"

Lucian stared blankly at his brother for a long moment before turning away and heading toward the hallway, impassively saying "I have no idea."

"Ugh! This is damned useless!"

"Brother, watch your language." Helouise scolded, shaking her finger menacingly at the older boy.

"We have to do something!" Acton shouted.

As the room erupted with the shouts of the terribly bored children, Lucian was struck with an idea and slipped out of the room. In the hallway, he caught sight of a servant carrying a tray in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, and he quickly ran to catch up with the man, grabbing a ceramic vase off a table as he ran past. He silently crept behind him, and when the man was occupied, Lucian managed to slip the bottle out of the servant's hand and quickly replace it with the vase. Satisfied that the servant didn't notice anything, the boy ran back to the library.

Lucian entered and was bombarded by the incoherent ramblings and whining of seven terribly bored children. He climbed upon one of the sofas that Blake stood near, quickly uncorked the bottle and poured a quarter of the contents over his brother's head.

Blake stammered and stuttered in disbelief for a few short seconds before he could pull his wits together and jump away. "What was that for, Lucian?" Blake shouted, not angry, but certainly flustered.

"To shut you all up, and my endeavors were successful." Lucian said coldly. "Listen. This is the king's palace, so we really can't mess anything up. But we can learn about things we know nothing of."

"Like what, Luc?" Helouise asked sweetly.

"Like being adults. Look, it won't be long before we are adults. And it will be shameful if we can't act like them, so we better start learning now."

"Lucian, we are not much different from our parents." Ellison quietly pointed out.

"Right, but there are some major differences that separate us from them."

Acton excitedly jumped up and down and cried "Oh! They are bigger!"

"Right, but I don't really think that we can practice getting bigger, so that's out."

"They get married." Allison said quietly.

"Yes, that too. I think we can pull off the marriage thing. It can't be all that hard to do."

"They have children!" Tambre cried, giggling excitedly.

Lucian rolled his eyes. "Yes, but children don't happen unless your married, so that doesn't count. What else?"

The room was silent. The children looked at each other inquisitively; they didn't know anything else. Lucian exhaled in frustration. "Ok, here's what makes grown-ups different from us." he said knowingly, authoritatively, as he paced around the room and counting on his fingers. "One, they're bigger. Two, they're married. Three, sometimes they make funny noises in the night, and four, they drink this stuff." he concluded, holding up the bottle. "We need practice. One of us will drink, one will supervise everything, and the rest will get married. We need to divide up the work."

"Can I marry Helouise?" Acton asked shyly.

"No. She will be the priest." Lucian said coldly. "Ellison, you marry Tacey, Blake will marry Allison, and Acton will marry Tambre."

"But she's my sister!" Acton whined.

"It's alright. Kings do that sort of thing all the time." Lucian reassured. "Helouise, go get them married."

Helouise, being six, hadn't the faintest idea of how people were married. She arranged the couples as she saw fit, took a book off the shelf, and had the male partner kneel before his "bride". She slowly, regally, approached the first pair, Ellison and Tacey. She slowly ran her hand over the book, and in a sweet, musical voice proclaimed "I now announce you two grown-ups married" before she raised the book and brought it down with all her strength upon Ellison's head. Blake and Acton paled as the young Ffoulkes was knocked to the ground, and the sweet Helouise, wielding a very large book, approached the next couple in line.

The three boys sat clutching and rubbing their heads in pain as Helouise declared the ceremony officially over. "So, do you feel any different?" Lucian asked curiously.

"Yes." Blake said, glaring at the older boy. "My head hurts."

"Other then that, you dolt."

"No, not really."

"Huh." Lucian sat back and, very adult-like, contemplated the failure of the proposed situation. "Maybe we did something wrong."

"When do the babies come, Luc?" Helouise asked quietly.

"Not yet." Lucian said with infinite knowledge. "The girls have to get fat first. When they're properly fat, the doctor will give them one."

The girls were outraged. "I don't want to get fat!" Tacey and Tambre cried in unison.

"We're not experimenting with children now. Calm down." Lucian said impassively as he examined the bottle in his hand and lifted it to his lips.

"Why don't you feel different?" Helouise asked Allison, gently feeling her forehead.

"I don't know. Maybe you can't play marriage." Allison said quietly.

"No, maybe not."

While the group was perplexed over why marriage didn't feel any different form normal, Lucian was in a corner discovering wine. He wasn't sure he liked it; it was slightly bitter and it didn't taste anything like he thought it would. He slowly drank some more, convincing himself that perhaps it would taste better after he got used to it.

Drinking more of the substance in short intervals over the course of ten minutes, he decided that the taste didn't improve at all, but he was beginning to feel a bit light headed and a warm, tingling feeling spread throughout his body. He didn't like the way it tasted, but he liked the way it made him feel. He looked lazily over at the other children, all of them clamoring about, trying in vain to figure out what they did wrong, and Lucian lifted the bottle to his lips again.

His eyes widened in minor shock and disappointment; the bottle was a little less then halfway full. He stood slowly and, clutching the bottle and swaying slightly, walked out of the library and ventured downstairs in search of more of the miracle substance.

Lucian slowly weaved his way through the crowd, laughing slightly as he went as the wine began to take a heaver toll on his young body. By the time he reached the kitchen doors, his vision was swimming and he was less then steady on his feet. He downed the last of the wine and dropped the bottle as he pushed open the door and staggered into the kitchen.

He instantly spotted several bottles of wine on the counters and smiled lazily as he grabbed a stool and pushed it to the counter and unsteadily stepped up and with shaky, imprecise hands, clutched one of the bottles and slid off the chair. Lucian uncorked the bottle and stumbled out of the kitchen, drinking from the decanter and heading out of the mansion.

When Helouise noticed that Lucian was gone, she raised hell, and within moments had the children organized and searching among the adults for her eldest brother. After an ungodly amount of time of searching frantically for the boy, the group of kids finally found Lucian draped over one of the stone benches in the garden, giggling softly and socking on the end of the empty bottle in his hand. "Lucian?" Helouise asked quietly, slowly approaching the giddy child. "Are you alright?"

Lucian turned hazy, unfocused eyes on the child approaching him. Was that his sister? He wasn't sure, but couldn't think of anyone else it could be. "Hello, Helouise." he slowly drawled, his speech heavily slurred. "I didn't know you had a twin sister…"

Helouise looked at her brother in confusion; it was unlike him to act even remotely like this.

Lucian slid off of the bench and on to the ground, keeping a death grip around the neck of the empty bottle. After several unsuccessful attempts at standing up, Lucian finally managed to climb unsteadily to his feet, swaying drastically and stumbling to maintain balance. "You should try that juice, boys." Lucian slurred to no one in particular as he staggered past the gaping kids, wobbling very unsteadily on shaky legs.

The kids could do nothing but stare in disbelief at the usually stoic child; that adult juice was obviously a very bad thing if it could reduce the emotionless Lucian to a Percy-like state. "I think we should follow him to make sure he doesn't hurt himself." Blake said quietly as the watched Lucian pitch over and crawl unsteadily along the ground. The kids slowly nodded in agreement and followed the tipsy boy at a distance, curiously watching the actions of the eldest Blakeney.

Percy was happily conversing with His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales, when Blake pattered next to his father and gently pulled on his pant leg.

"Ah, Blake, my boy!" Percy exclaimed, far happier then usual. "Go get your brother. I don't believe that the prince has met the charming lad yet."

"I can't, father." Blake said in a hushed whisper, which immediately made his nearby mother begin to worry.

"What do you mean you can't?" Percy asked slowly, slightly concerned.

"You know the fountain out front, father?"

"Yes…"

"The big one?"

"Yes…"

"Lucian is sitting in it."

"What?"

"He's quite the good singer, father, but nothing he says makes any sense."

Marguerite instantly turned to rush out the door, but just as she began to move, Helouise walked in, trying in vain to support a very unstable and thoroughly soaked Lucian. "Mother…" he whispered shakily. "I don't feel well." He swayed slightly on the spot he stood before pitching sideways, his mother catching him just before he hit the ground.

Marguerite was visibly panicking as she shook the child in her arms, but her son was out cold. "He threw up. Mommy." Helouise said softly. "I think the grown up juice made him sick."

Marguerite paled, and Percy frowned knowingly. "Grown up juice, hmm?"

"He drank a lot of it, father!" Blake added under his breath.

Percy could do nothing but slap his forehead. "Fantastic. We leave the boy alone for an hour and he drinks himself in to a stupor. Last thing I need is an eight year old son that somehow managed to get drunk off his ass." Percy bowed respectfully to the prince. "Forgive me, Highness, but it seems as if my family must call me away form you. Do send my respects to your mother and father."

"Will do, Percy." the prince said as he bowed slightly and left the lord alone with his wife and children.

"Come, Marguerite. Let's get the drunkard home." Marguerite nodded slightly and cradled the unconscious boy close to her and soon enough, the Blakeney family was on their way home to Richmond.

Lucian woke up with a terrible headache and the afternoon sun blaring in his face. Groaning, he tightly shut his eyes and turned over, pulling the blankets over his head in an attempt to block out the light. Yet either way, his head was in anguish. He slowly opened his eyes again, trying in vain to adjust to the light so his head didn't hurt even worse.

He carefully slid out of bed, but quickly regretted it as each step he took seemed to drive a pick into the back of his skull. He dropped to the ground, grimacing as his head complained at the speed he moved, but almost anything was preferable to walking.

Lucian was hungry, and his inability to move without excruciating pain was causing him limitless frustration. He settled on securing the most convenient form of transportation available to him in his current state; he yelled on top of his lungs for his mother.

Marguerite was at her son's side within minutes, gently stroking his head and whispering comforts to him as the boy whimpered in his mother's arms, his small hands pressed tightly against his ears. "My head hurts, mommy." he softly whined, burring his head against his mother's chest.

"I know, darling." Marguerite soothed. "Your father is a venerable expert at fixing headaches. Come. I'll take you to him." Marguerite gently lifted the boy and took him down to Percy, who was idly chatting with Andrew and Suzanne Ffoulkes.

"Ah, so the boy finally decides to wake up." Percy drawled lazily. "Have enough to drink last night, Luc?"

Lucian glared viciously at the man. "I have no idea what you're prattling about. I didn't drink anything."

"Sure you didn't. Memory loss is a common occurrence when one drinks as much as you did. Come with me, boy. Let's clear your head.

Percy took Lucian from Marguerite and for half an hour, the boy endured a rather stern lecture from his father as he was repeatedly dunked in cold water. After Lucian's head cleared, Percy effectively managed to punish him from his solitude and would be forced, for the next month, to endure every social function that Percy could find in England. Lucian pattered back to his mother and the visiting Ffoulkes family in a ridiculously foul mood; the headache was preferable to his father's lectures, to cold water and the involuntary servitude to social functions.

He climbed up into Marguerite's lap, ringing out his soaked shirt, and she held the boy close, running her hands through his wet hair and over his bare shoulders. "Feeling better, love?"

"Only physically, mother."

"Christ, Marguerite. Do you not feed the boy?" Andrew asked in slight shock.

"We do feed him, but he's picky."

Young Allison blushed slightly and hid behind her mother's skirts; the boy was terribly thin and she could see each of his ribs clearly. Yet this somehow only increased his allure and enhanced his beauty and she quickly found herself even more attracted to the silent boy.

Marguerite took the wet shirt form Lucian and placed him on the ground. "Go get yourself something to eat, Luc. Your physical condition is distressing our guests. And take Allison with you. I'm sure that she's hungry as well."

"Of course, mother." He tenderly took Allison's hand and gently tugged her in the direction of the kitchen. "Come, Mademoiselle."

Allison blushed further and shyly smiled at the beautiful boy, following his lead without a second thought.

"Oh! Lucian!" Marguerite called just before the pair disappeared around the corner. "We have a new chef. Do try to be nice to him."

Slight frustration crossed Lucian's face, but he nodded slightly to his mother and led Allison to the kitchen. He threw open to doors and strode inside in a business-like manner, the servants quickly moving out of his way as he approached the new chef.

Lucian frowned in disapproval as he went unnoticed by the chef and tugged impatiently at the man's apron to draw the cook's attention to him. He looked up into the man's eyes with an air of authority and sternly stated, "You are the new chef. State your name."

The chef was stunned, to say the least. He could only assume that this boy was the eldest Blakeney child, but he seemed quite unlike the other two. This child seemed cold, stoic, even harsh, while the others had been uncommonly kind. And those eyes! He had never seen their like; two golden orbs that burned with an intensity that seemed to gaze into his soul.

Lucian's eyes narrowed in anger; not only was the man staring like an idiot, he had ignored the demand that he had posed. "Your name, monsieur!" the child snapped harshly.

The man was quickly drawn out of his daze and quickly stammered "Jonathan. My name is Jonathan."

"My name is Lucian. I am the eldest Blakeney child. I thought that since you shall be serving my family from this point forward, you should know about my eating habits. My mother says I'm picky, and my father says I'm simply impossible, but the other chef did just fine. And I'll have you know that I have gone through fourteen chefs in the span of two months. I hope for your sake that you don't join the sorry souls that could not properly cater to me."

"I shall do my best to match up to your previous chef." Jonathan said timidly, slightly frightened of the boy. It seemed like this boy could be a horror story.

Lucian smiled slightly. "Everything I eat must be arranged on the plate in chromatic order, with red at the top and going clockwise from there. None of the food can be touching, and I will not eat anything that is orange. All fruit is to have the skin removed, and is to be cut into five equal pieces at angles of seventy-two degrees. Sandwiches must be symmetrical and the north, south, and west sides are to be cut off along the crust. Cookies are to be perfectly circular and have a diameter of five and three quarter inches. If there are any chocolate chips in it, there must be exactly twenty-three of them. Understand?"

Jonathan nodded slightly; this kid was a nutcase.

"That is the general stuff. If anything else comes up, I'll be sure to let you know. If you mess up, I will watch you make it correctly, and you don't want me doing that."

Jonathan weakly nodded and Lucian smiled happily. "Good!" he chirped. "Make me and Mademoiselle Ffoulkes a sandwich." After he said his piece, Lucian took Allison out of the kitchen and left the stunned chef to stare in disbelief and minor horror at the place where the child once stood.

"Lucian." Allison softly whispered as the golden child led her back to where their parents sat. "Why do you need to have everything like that when you eat?" she carefully asked, hoping that he would not take her inquiry as an invasion of his being like he so often did.

Lucian's gait slowed down as he considered the girl's question. "My mother says it's because I like to be in control of every aspect of my life. Father just thinks it's because I'm crazy."

"What do you think?"

"I just like things to be in order. I find chaos and disorder confusing and flustering. It makes my head hurt. Order is essential."

Allison smiled softly to herself; she suddenly felt as though she understood a bit about the indecipherable boy that she knew nothing about before this moment. She was led in silence the rest of the way to the sitting room where her mother and Marguerite sat speaking.

"Mother." Lucian said softly, instantly grabbing his mother's attention despite his quiet tone. "Forgive me for interrupting, but may I inquire as to where father would be? I have a matter of which I would like to discuss with him."

Marguerite smiled happily; Lucian and Percy have been butting heads since Lucian had learned to talk. Never once had the child asked for her husband. Perhaps the two had made peace. "I believe he is speaking with Andrew in his study."

"Ah. Very well. Thank you, mother." Lucian turned to Allison and gently took her hands in his, a soft, charming smile playing across his face. "It has been a pleasure talking to you, mademoiselle. Perhaps we shall do it again sometime soon." He gently brushed his lips against her cheek before turning away and gracefully walking out of the room to meet his father.

Allison blushed furiously. She wasn't exactly sure what to make of Lucian's behavior; it was quite unlike him to speak more then two words, and they nearly had an entire conversation. And he never showed affection, and he had kissed her. Perhaps he was still affected by all of the drink he had the night before. Whatever the reason, Allison liked it, and she hoped beyond all reason that Lucian would remain this way. It was no secret that Allison had a case of little girl love for the beautiful golden boy, and it made her all too happy that he gave her a reason to believe that he may harbor some affection for her as well. Smiling happily, she skipped to her mother's side, her young heart nearly bursting with joy.

Lucian slowly entered his father's study; the room was often locked and he had only been within this room once before. Something about this room sent chills up his spine.

"Yes, Lucian. What can I do for you?" Percy asked warmly as he saw the boy enter, his conversation with Andrew stopping immediately.

"I merely wanted to ask something of you, father." Lucian said quietly, his wide, golden eyes drifting about the walls, looking curiously for some sign of what he knew his father was hiding from him.

"Ask away, my boy!" Percy loudly declared, causing the child to wince slightly.

Lucian took his eyes away from the walls and looked into Percy's face. "Father, I want to learn how to fence."

Percy looked at Marguerite's illegitimate son with absolute stupidity plastered on his face. Where had that come from? He cleared his throat and quickly regained his composure. "Whatever do you want to fence for, Luc? You'll never have any use for it. Fighting is for the lower classes, my boy."

"Maybe so, but I wish to learn."

"No, no. You're far too young." Not to mention that your father was wickedly good with a sword. Percy braced himself for the violent retaliation from the boy like was so often his habit, yet it never came.

Lucian simply shrugged his shoulders and quietly, respectfully stated, "Very well, father" before turning and leaving a rather shocked Percy to mull over the child's strange behavior.

Lucian made his way back to his room and crawled under his bed. He hooked his finger through a hole in the planks and lifted up one of the floorboards, removing a box form the small space in the floor. He pushed the box and himself out from under the bed and picked himself up, brushed himself off, and knelt beside the pile of clothing that he had worn the night before. He rummaged through the pile and removed his jacket and quickly patted it down and removed the flag from his inside pocket.

Lucian gently ran his fingers over the satin material and clutched it close to his body. It didn't matter what his father said. He would learn to fence, he had already settled on that. It was just a matter of formal training versus being self-taught. The martyr Chauvelin was an incredible fencer, and he vowed that he would be as well. All he had to do was wait; word and stories of the man would come to England in time. All he needed to do was pick up everything as it came. Emulate his manner, his speech, his fighting style; he could learn it all. It would all come to him.

Lucian gently folded the flag and placed it in the box and securely fastened the lid, put the box back in its place under the floorboards and replaced the plank. Whether he was allowed to or not, Lucian would see that his training in the art of fencing began tomorrow, and he would make perfectly sure that no one stood in his way.