A/N: The following is pretty much a bunch of fluff, so as to not be so heavy on actual plot things. It also contains something readers of the prompt fills might recognize, but in its full form.

Chapter Twenty-Nine: A Day Off

It was a quiet morning, not long after the birth of the Marquis and Marchioness's son, when the march's hereditary ruler decided that it was going to be an extra day of rest for both him and his wife. He heard his young son's fussing in the cot on the other side of the room, causing him to disentangle himself from the Marchioness and go to the boy.

"There, there… Papa's here," he assured the infant. He picked the lad up and bounced him in the crook of his arm. Sterling quieted soon thereafter, his protests turning into content gurgles. His father smiled at the change in his behavior, the expression only widening as he felt the Marchioness's arms wrap around his middle.

"He's calm now—come to bed," she mumbled into his back. "We still have lots to do when the sun rises."

"I think this is going to be a day for the three of us," he explained. The Marquis turned around and saw his tousle-haired wife, still half asleep as she stood there. "What do you say? Have a lie-in and relax for a change? We don't have anything pressing to attend to, only paperwork."

"That would be lovely… but come back to bed first."

"In a moment, dearest."

As the Marchioness shuffled back to their bed, the Marquis placed their son down in his cot, gently rubbing the boy's stomach to keep him quiet. When it was clear he was fully satiated, the father picked up the cot and moved it over next to the bed, allowing him to watch Sterling as he laid down, his wife's arms clinging to him while her forehead pressed between his shoulder blades.

Yes, he could handle raising a son, and yes, it was going to be a good thing to take a day to themselves.

When the girls found out about the day off, they were irritated. Tara and Lena jumped on their parents' bed in protest—they needed a day without work too.

"No, I am going to have breakfast with you and send you off with Sir Daniel, and afterwards I'm coming back to join Mama," the Marquis scolded. He was pulling on his robe, making it so that all the Marchioness had to do was sit up in bed holding Sterling while waiting for her breakfast to arrive.

"Papa, why can't we have a day off from our studies too?" Astra asked quietly, tugging on his robe.

"Because your studies are planned by Sir Daniel, not me," he replied. "None of you are yet at the age when you can start choosing when and how long your breaks are."

"Ooooh! When's that, Papa?!" Tara wondered while she kept bouncing about, excited at the prospect.

"Knowing Sir Daniel? After you've passed the leaving exams for secondary school," the Marchioness frowned. "Now stop this; I have to feed your brother before my breakfast comes. Go on to breakfast with Papa."

"…but Mama…"

"No buts, Lena." She watched as her daughters flopped down on the mattress, allowing the bed to be still once more. They looked incredibly crestfallen, so she motioned with her free hand for them to come to her. "Alright now—kisses and hugs for the day! Can't start without them, can we?"

All three girls perked up at that, although slightly, and went to their mother's side. After giving her big hugs and adoring kisses, with their baby brother receiving gently pecks on the forehead, the children were ushered out by their father, leaving mother and son alone.

"You're so lucky to have them, and they're lucky to have you," the Marchioness told the baby in her arms. She then began to feed him, watching carefully as the infant happily sucked down his milk. "Did you know that Mama and Papa didn't have siblings? We had friends, but not sisters or brothers. They weren't bad childhoods, but it's much more fun having them around, don't you think?"

The baby in her arms stared at her with something akin to sarcasm. Considering there was no way he could have gained that particular skill so quickly, she brushed it off and brought him to her shoulder for a burping.

"Don't you dare start sassing me back now, young man," she chuckled. The Marchioness laid her son back down again and continued feeding him, having barely finished by the time her breakfast arrived.

"Are you well, milady?" came the voice of a maid at the door, accompanied by a knock. The staff was very careful when it came to privacy, which was something their liege lord and lady couldn't be more grateful for.

"Yes; please come in," the Marchioness answered. The door opened fully and a maid walked in, pushing a small trolley laden with breakfast things. She brought it over towards her lady and carefully set a tray down on the mother's lap.

"Is chamomile fine today, milady?" the maid checked before pouring tea.

"Oh, yes please." The maid finished setting up tea and placed it on the tray. Once she had everything the Marchioness required, she stood there awkwardly. "Yes? What is it?"

"Um… is it alright if I hold the young lord for a little bit while you eat?" she asked. "He reminds me of my cousin's bairn."

"There should be no harm in it," the Marchioness said. She passed Sterling to the maid and exhaled happily as she picked up her fork and knife. "Eating with two hands is such a luxury, you have no idea."

"I can imagine, milady," the maid chuckled. She then continued to fawn over the baby while his mother ate. It wasn't until the Marchioness was done with her breakfast did the Marquis return from his, taking in the scene with a slight bit of confusion as well as amusement.

"Do my eyes deceive me Clara, or has our son begun to attract women a bit early in life?" he asked. The maid blushed and passed the boy back to his father, immediately working to clean up from the Marchioness's meal.

"You know how babies attract people left and right," the Marchioness said. She watched as her husband sat down on the edge of the mattress, seeing the glint in his eyes as he observed their child, and sighed contently. "It seems he has Papa perfectly under his spell."

"His sisters must be giving him pointers," he replied. The maid left with the trolley, which gave the parents some alone time once more. "He's beautiful, Clara."

"Johan, he looks like you."

"Now, maybe, but no matter what he grows into, he will still be a vision of perfection because of you and your tireless efforts." He leaned to tenderly kiss her lips, aware of the gurgling, insistent babe in his arms. "Don't be silly, starlet—you are your mother's child through and through, as are your sisters, and none of you would exist had it not been for the generosity in which she affords me her love and devotion. None of us would be here in turn, and it is such an honor that I can barely express my gratitude in words."

"Papa is being a romantic again, isn't he Sterling?" the Marchioness laughed. She accepted her son into her arms and played with his tiny hands as the Marquis returned to bed, sliding under the blankets and wrapping his arms around her waist, placing his head in her lap.

"Papa will always be a romantic when it comes to Mama," he murmured. "The stars in my sky shall understand one day, though my moon, as bright and comforting as I find her to be, is too humble to see how truly important she is to me." Sterling wiggled and stuck his tongue out, licking his lips and cooing softly. "No, I am not being silly. As I said: you shall understand one day, years from now, possibly after you are grown and have a moon and stars of your own." He placed a hand on his son's head and stroked his brow with his thumb.

"Let me put him back in his cot," she insisted after a while. He loosened his grip, allowing her to shuffle out of bed and place Sterling down before returning to his side. She curled up within his grasp, pressing their chests together while they silently enjoyed their lie-in. It was faint, but the Marchioness could hear her husband whispering over her hair in the ceremonial tongue, wishing their marriage and health would be long-lasting and that their children would learn from their example. He truly was a romantic fool after all.

It took until late morning for the march's rulers to disentangle themselves from one another long enough to dress for the day. Once out of their nightdresses and into something more acceptable to be seen in, the couple took their son as they ambled about the castle, eventually making their way to lunch. The girls were still sour with them for not making the day one for the entire family to take a break, though that did not matter. They'd forget it within a week, possibly only a few days if their parents were lucky, and then there would be nothing to worry about.

After lunch the Marquis and Marchioness went on another stroll, though this one led outside into the sparse late-winter gardens. They wrapped themselves in cloaks and Sterling in a warm blanket, huddling together while walking along. The snowmelt was coming early this year, which meant for an earlier harvest in the farmlands and more time for livestock to roam free while grazing. It had its detractions as well as benefits, but it was certainly a better alternative to a shortened growing season.

Deciding it was time for a nap, the Marquis led his wife back into the castle and up to their chambers. The Marchioness fed Sterling and placed the sleepy newborn in his cot, rocking the babe carefully.

"He's so well-behaved," she marveled. Her husband came over and rested his chin on her crown, reaching around to hold her hips possessively. She then turned around to fully face him, twisting the end of his whiskers affectionately. "His papa, however, is forever naughty."

"Wouldn't have me any other way," he grinned. The Marquis scooped up his bride and brought her to bed, climbing over her nearly as soon as he placed her down. He kissed her behind the ear, then down her jaw and throat, only pausing when he reached the space between her breasts.

"What is it?" she asked, absentmindedly playing with his curls. His whiskers were soft and ticklish against her skin, though the pressure from his head threatened to cause her nursing breasts to ache.

"Nothing," he said. Noting how long he had been laying there, he rolled off her and nestled himself into her side, using her shoulder as a pillow. "Forever marveling at my fortune, is all. I shall always cherish moments like this, even when we are both white-haired and have grandstarlets running circles around us, because we are truly blessed to have such a life."

"…a life of privilege and governance?"

"No… a life of love and happiness, with many children and a devoted marriage," he clarified. "Life as nobility has an abundance of responsibilities and restrictions, not allowing for complete individuality and the freedom small and middling folk achieve. Yes, we have a terrible amount of power and comforts, but at a steep price. The fact I am holding the very one I am devoted to is miraculous." He squeezed her a bit tighter before beginning to trace gentle circles over her hipbone. "I want to never forget this, even when age takes my memory and I have one foot in the earth."

"My idiot," she crooned affectionately.

"My Clara, oh my Clara," he echoed. He then propped himself up on his elbow, gazing down into her eyes. "May I bless you?"

"Depends on what you mean," she said, more curious than wary.

"The children's ancient ancestors, the chiefs and warlords whose blood they carry, knew how important women were to their survival as a people," he explained quietly. "An ancient Gallifreyan would recite spells over loved one, in an effort to ensure their health and integrity, a husband blessing his wife especially."

"So it's not a creative euphemism?"

"Not in the slightest." He watched as she scrunched her nose in thought, processing the surprisingly new piece of information.

"Why have you not asked me about this before?" she wondered.

"It never seemed like the right time until now."

"I'll accept that," she nodded. "Go ahead, Johan."

He smiled at her adoringly and fully sat up, using that as his cue to begin. As he swished his hand around in the air, he spoke words ancient and powerful, beyond what his wife had heard in her lessons in the ceremonial tongue. Golden dust seemed to pour from his fingertips, swirling around in the air.

Continuing the low, rapid chanting, the Marquis took the hand he generated the magic from and collected it, carefully spreading it over the Marchioness's body. It tingled as it went through her clothes and settled itself underneath her skin, a sensation that she was certain she could never describe to anyone else due to the lack of words within the common tongue. He then bent over her, pausing his reciting long enough to leave a slow kiss on her forehead. As his lips made contact with her skin, she could feel the magic of the spell concentrating at his touch.

He slowly moved down to her lips, with his own barely ghosting over her skin as he whispered his spell. After pressing their lips together he took her hands and left new kisses on her knuckles. He went on towards her heart, her stomach, where she knew her womb laid, and finally her feet. A few more words were spoken over her and the Marchioness watched as the last of the magic entered her where her husband's kisses made the action easier. It ended and a jolt of euphoria shook her, making her gasp in surprise.

"How do you feel?" the Marquis wondered, taking one of her hands in both of his.

"Wonderful," she breathed. She waited until he laid back down and curled up in her side until she elaborated. "It was beyond description; the ancient Gallifreyans knew how to impress someone."

"It fell out of favor with the general people because some people who led long and prosperous lives had never been blessed in the traditional manner, while others still faltered despite the ceremony being nearly a daily occurrence. Different people react differently to the spells, as with anything."

"Either way, it's a lovely experience." She curled her fingers around his shoulder and closed her eyes, allowing herself to drift closer to sleep. "No wonder the Ancients didn't last—they were concentrating on things that didn't matter."

"As wise and powerful as they were, my ancestors were conceited, malicious, selfish people," he scowled. "In many ways, their society deserved to collapse upon itself. The children are better off with them being distant history."

"They survive in your wrath, dear," the Marchioness suggested. "The rulers of Ancient Gallifrey may be gone, but you are their kin, as are our children, and I should hope that whomever gets on your bad sides are loathe to do so."

"The only trait I hope survives," he murmured. The couple fell asleep together, not bothering to wake until their daughters were released from the custody of their tutor and tackled their parents. It took nearly no time at all for the Marquis to begin a retaliation based in tickles and laughter, the girls shrieking while the Marchioness went to check on their baby brother's nappy.

The day off had been a restful one, with the Marquis and Marchioness being able to relax, spend time with one another, and take time for their children as well. Every so often from then on, the Marchioness would occasionally ask her husband to perform the ancient spells again. He would oblige, placing all his devotion into the words he whispered over her body as the golden swirls of dust entered her body, one of the last vestiges of an ancient peoples, hopefully filling her with even more good fortune than before.