A/N: NOPE THIS FIC AIN'T DEAD YET though yes it has been a long time hi how's everyone doing
Rough ages in this chapter are Johan at nearly 51, Clara at 31, and Lena at nearly 1.
Chapter Fifty-Four: A Lonely Lord
It was on certain mornings that Johan Lonan, Lord Marquis of Kasterborous and Gallifrey, wondered how he ever fretted over becoming a husband and father. He woke at the sound of his daughter's wails and went to the nursery, picking her up and gently hushing her as she ushered in the scarlet sunrise with her cries.
"There, there; Papa's here my starlet," he said soothingly. He patted her back and reached for the bottle of juice kept out overnight in case of the young earlessa rising early, giving it to her. A sip's worth and the child spat the juice out as she continued to cry.
It was not hunger, nor her nappy, so her father reached his mind towards hers in an effort to solve the mystery. The babe's mind was a muddled mess with no clear understanding of even her own desires. Her father sighed dejectedly and kissed her on the brow before carrying her back to his chambers.
"Clara?" he called out quietly, his voice still loud against the otherwise silent morning. "Clara, please, Lena is not well." She did not move from her spot on the bed, clearly and soundly asleep. Her husband sat down next to her and gently shook her shoulder in an attempt to wake her. "Clara?"
"Not now, Johan," she mumbled. Her voice was rough and warped, sounding vastly different from normal. Holding his hand a short distance from her face, the Marquis quickly determined that the Marchioness was breathing from her mouth instead of her nose as she usually did, bringing him cause to feel her forehead—incredibly warm, far warmer than it should have been. He felt Lena's forehead as well and scowled.
The Marchioness and Earlessa had both fallen ill overnight, yet he was fit as ever.
Minutes passed of the lord gently bouncing his daughter in one arm while using the other to hold hands with his wife—steadily, silently—until a servant came walking in to wake her employers for the day. She saw the scene before her and quickly surmised what was happening.
"Is Her Ladyship ill, milord?" she asked in a curtsey.
"Fetch the physician—tell him it is both Her Ladyship the Marchioness and Her Ladyship the Earlessa. I am well for the time being."
"At once, milord."
A quick curtsey and she was gone.
The physician came straight away and was able to catch the Marquis at the end of his breakfast.
"It is nothing more than a cold, milord, but a nasty, stubborn one that has been going around the city for the past few months," the tiny man said. With the Marquis having already dressed and taken his breakfast in the nursery, he appeared the ominous force that he forever was, except this time with worry and concern worn instead of the customary lordly veneer. "Her Ladyships need plenty of rest and to be away from others. I suggest you stay away from them both for about two weeks as the sickness runs its course."
"Stay away? From my wife and daughter? You're mad."
"Not mad, milord, but merely trying to be practical. If the marquisate stops because both you and Her Ladyship the Marchioness are ill, then there would be a terrible mess for when you return to your duties."
It made enough sense, he supposed. "Have you alerted the staff?"
"They know that the only ones to break the quarantine are the ones who have already caught this sickness earlier in the season," the physician replied with a nod. "I would recommend temporarily sleeping elsewhere until I give the all-clear; I have already given your staff a suggestion to prepare another room for you."
"Good; come as often as you are able."
"Twice a day, unless their symptoms become worse, gods forbid."
The Marquis's heart leapt in fear. "How likely is that?"
"The chances are negligible, but that doesn't mean it is impossible. There was a day not too long ago that when asked if I were to be discussing with you the health of your wife and child, I would have laughed and told the person to stop dreaming impossible dreams. Physicians best work in improbables, just as Doctors do, milord."
"Then how probable is it that they would take a turn for the worst?"
"At this point, I cannot tell, but given that Her Ladyship is rather healthy normally, I would say it is safe to be optimistic."
"I want a full report every time you check in on them," the lord ordered before turning away. His cape billowed behind him as he stormed off and made the trip down to his office alone. The days when he would regularly walk around Castle Gallifrey without the Marchioness felt far away, tugging at his hearts as he entered the office and found the stacks of papers on both his desk and his wife's that had accumulated since they were last there. A clerk poked his head in cautiously and cleared his throat.
"Milord…? Are you ready for the day?"
"Yes." Silence settled and the clerk became wary of his lord's curt manner.
"Her Ladyship…?"
"Is not feeling well; now get whatever it is you need to bother me with and let's start," the Marquis growled. The clerk quickly retreated and the lord scowled grouchily; it was going to be a very long day.
Sunset came and stained the sky its brilliant red, bringing with it an end to the Marquis's work in his office. He rubbed his eyes and glanced at the lunch tray sitting on the table only half-eaten. His dinner was untouched as well, staring at him accusingly as he glanced at it along the edge of his vision. It was a return towards a form he never wanted to experience again, one that he put away when he began courting his wife in earnest, and it bothered him greatly.
His back straight and his gait long, he went throughout his castle and entered his private wing, finding footmen standing tentatively outside one of the bedchambers. Some carts were with them, bearing clothes and other necessities, waiting for his approval to begin.
"I took the liberty of preparing your former bedchamber, milord," the most-senior of the footmen said. "If you will say the word, we can begin further placing your things in their proper places."
Instead of verbally replying, the Marquis entered the bedchamber and glanced around. It was not much different than when he last left it, not long after the passing of his father and the following mourning period where the superstitious of his staff excised lingering spirits and blessed the room and everything in it to prepare for his entry into the lord's chambers. Bed, sitting area, writing desk, bookshelves and wardrobes and cupboards… it was all as he remembered. Without turning, he beckoned the senior footman over, his gaze trained on the view from the window.
"Will it suit you, milord?" the footman wondered.
"It shall; I simply have not been in this room for a long time," the Marquis admitted. He sat down at the desk and worked on some correspondences while the footmen brought his things in to be put away, making the space barely livable once more. By the time they were finished and had dispersed, he had surely decided that the accommodations were lacking, if only for that he did not have his wife at his side and their heir playing at their feet.
The wait was to be much longer than expected. Time was still the same as ever, though it did not feel anything other than slower than treacle on the Violet Sky.
Evening tea had come and gone, with the Marquis attempting to occupy his time accordingly. He was not tired—his worry made him far too energetic for such things—and he was incapable of focusing on written words for longer than a few moments at a time. Pacing the room did nothing to help, nor did reorganizing the shelves, compiling a mental inventory of his things, nor examining any of the portraits that decorated his former bedchamber. One day it would be his daughter's room, when she became ready to leave the nursery, and the thought began to unnerve him.
What would she be like when she moved from the nursery into a proper bedchamber? Was there the chance she inherited his mother's wanderlust and lack of civic duty? Would Lena have siblings, more testaments to the love he allowed to burn brightly for his wife and the love that she had given him in return? Did his wife even wish to bear more children, despite her welcoming attitude towards Lena? Would all their children, should there be more, get along?
Thoughts clouding his head, he gathered up his things and decided to clear his mind with a soak. He went down to the baths and entered the alcove reserved for him, quickly filling the tub with hot water and lavender scent to help him unwind. After slipping underneath the water long enough to wet his hair, he sat in the tub and tried to allow his muscles the chance to relax and feel better.
It wasn't working, try as he might. The lord listened to the hollow sound of the bath alcove, antsy and lonely, finding that he no longer knew what to do with himself.
"Clara," he pleaded to the empty room, "it has not yet been a day since I was told I cannot see you, and yet it feels as though much longer has passed. How I went the decades without you at my side… it is a mystery I once had the key to, though now it is lost. The Moon in my Sky, the Mother to my Stars… the realization of how easily I miss you terrifies me greatly."
The bath did not answer him, instead continuing to echo every drip from the faucets at a disturbingly loud volume. He hurried to clean himself and removed himself from the bath—he was only going more mad in there—getting ready to head back towards his temporary quarters. It was late enough so all he did was put on his nightdress, leaving his day clothes in the basket and bringing it with him through the near-empty castle. The Marquis was nearly at his former bedchamber when he saw the physician come from seeing the Marchioness and Earlessa; rounds must have been completed for the night.
"Ah, there you are, milord," the physician noticed. He did not seem to notice the Marquis's damp hair or plain nightdress, which was likely for the better. "Her Ladyships are responding to their medication, it seems."
"Does that mean they will be better sooner?"
"No—it means that they are progressing as planned." The physician patted his lord on the arm supportively. "They have been mostly sleeping—would you like to see them while they are not active?"
The Marquis nodded and, after putting the basket of his things down in the corridor, silently followed the physician into his chambers. Lena's cot had been taken from the nursery and placed near the Marchioness's side, both of them slumbering peacefully in the crimson night as a maid sat nearby reading, so as to be ready at a moment's notice. After using his fingers to place a kiss on his daughter's brow, the Marquis turned towards his wife, holding her hand gently as he sat on the bed's edge. He had a kiss for her as well, leaving it on her wrist as she slept.
"Mmmm… Johan…?" the Marchioness murmured. She was still asleep, though that did not stop her husband's heart from skipping a beat.
"Yes, Clara?"
"Pass me that ledger—I think I read a number wrong."
"Of course, dearest," he replied. She quietly mumbled more things pertaining to their last session presiding over court before fully going back to sleep. He kissed her wrist and gently placed her arm down before leaving the room. Tears stung at his eyes as he shut the door. "How much longer until I can spend time with them while awake?"
"Not until the end of this week, at the least," the physician said. "I still do not recommend spending the night in the same room after that, as it would be too long an exposure risk. Understand?"
The Marquis said nothing.
"Good; see you in the morning, milord." He walked towards the entrance to the private wing, leaving the lord to haul his basket back in his temporary room alone. The man now had no more spirit, no more drive, to do anything at all that night. He left his bath things on the floor and let himself fall into the bedding.
One day was bad enough; how was he going to survive even one more, let alone at least another week?
Time crawled by slowly, painfully, methodically. It ate at every waking moment the Marquis suffered through, it eating at his very sanity. This was not like waiting through a normal sickness, or even enduring a trip to the border, but something akin to what he assumed was a form of torture. Despite only staying on the opposite side of the corridor, he could barely see his wife and daughter, only stealing quick glances while they were asleep, and it was not enough. By the time he held court again, the lord was sour and mirthless, reminding most of the man they thought had been long-vanquished by the Marchioness's love.
"I don't have time for this," he decided. The two village leaders in front of him were taken aback, their arguing paused at their liege lord's admission.
"…but milord, you agreed to hear us," the one leader said. She attempted to not cower when the Marquis directed all his ire into glaring at her. "What are we to do about the road that connects us? It will not be repaired at this rate."
"The two of you should be in charge for a reason," the Marquis sniped. "It is part of the highborns' duties to use their positions to properly train their issue so that their line can continue to serve both their people and lands in a competent manner, on pain of disenfranchisement, expulsion from the upper echelons, and wholesale replacement in all levels of society… all that at the very least. Villages elect their leaders and representatives instead, correct?"
"Uh… correct…?"
"Therefore, you are, at least in theory, the most competent people from both your villages, able to gather enough wit and knowledge and cleverness to lead a small group, working alongside the leaders from other small groups, deal with the things that occur so that they do not become tedium for the ones in charge of much larger groups that your smaller groups are ultimately a part of, so on and so forth. Correct?"
The woman nodded; her counterpart remained frozen until he was also the recipient of the Marquis's glare, at which he also nodded.
"Normally I would commend this, as governing is no easy or thank-filled task for anyone to bear, whether they have trained their whole lives or have simply found themselves in such a position, yet since the two of you cannot come to an agreement on your own and instead bother me with what should be a simple issue to solve concerning how to procure dirt, I assume the two of you are gracing my presence because the real leaders are both feeble of mind and body enough to remain home-bound."
"Milord, I—" the second villager started, only to be cut off.
"Leave this court and do your job!" the Marquis shouted as he stood. "Oh, and don't leave Gallifrey until you've left an outline of your plan with one of my clerks, so that I know you actually came to an agreement and aren't simply ignoring the situation. Court is adjourned."
"Is it a bit early to end for the day?" one of the lesser lords wondered. The glare went his way and he jumped in surprise, ultimately watching in silence as his liege lord continued on.
Storming his way through the castle, the Marquis decided it was best to sequester himself from the supreme fonts of irritation up in his quarters until further notice. He went into his temporary bedchamber and slammed the door behind him. A portrait fell from the wall and to the floor, nearly cracking the frame, yet he did not care. He went to the window and stared out of it, concentrating on the city below.
"Brains like thick pudding," he growled to no one. "How they have gotten on in life is beyond comprehension. If they were in any other place in the kingdom, their local lord would have not even seen them, let alone demand proof that they came to terms over their issue before leaving the city. They are fools to test my patience when they know there is only a certain amount… an amount I don't even need to share with them! The road has been repaired in the past—it should be little problem now."
"Do you really have so little pity?" a voice answered. The Marquis knew it was his mind playing a trick, for his wife's voice had been answering him for a couple days at that point.
"They can control their circumstances," he replied. "The situation is entirely in their hands and they choose to squabble like children in my presence, thinking I shall be a doting parent to one while I chastise the other, and that they are the one ultimately in the right. Pity is for difficult choices and situations beyond one's control, not this."
"…and should we pity you?" the Marchioness's voice chided. "A week alone has turned your empathy cold and demeanor sullen. Are you not a good man like your father?"
"My father was fire and terror, hiding his grief and rage behind a jester's façade. I am my father's son and therefore deserve no pity."
"You are just as much a fool as they are, Johan Lonan. Do not sell yourself short in that regard; you are still my very foolish Doctor, no matter what transpires."
"Great… now my insanity is against me."
"Turn around, silly." He did and saw the Marchioness sitting on the bed, holding their daughter in her arms. Had she been hidden by the drapery? Was she even there? Stepping forward, he approached her cautiously, knowing that seeing things was the next rung towards insanity. "Yes, it's me—the physician said it was alright us to be around you again just this morning."
"It was torture not being able to see you properly," he confessed, kneeling in front of them. He cradled her face in one hand while placing the other on Lena's sleeping brow. "You never felt so far away as you did this past week. Peeking in whilst you slept was not nearly enough."
"If you were anyone else I would be concerned about that statement," she chuckled. She then attempted to dodge a kiss from her husband, laughing as she did so. "We weren't cleared for that yet!"
"I don't care," he said. "The pain of not being able to be with you is too much—almost like being unable to breathe—and to simply think of being apart without a proper distraction is unbearable." He then kissed her deeply, holding her tenderly as he did so.
"Governance was not a proper distraction?"
"I could not concentrate on Lena's needs when my mind began to wander, nor take my ire out on a soldier from Dalek or Cybera—it was droll."
"If this is what you're like when I am ill for a week, I'd hate to see you if we had to stay separate for a month, a year even."
"It would be a living nightmare, as though I was widowed for a second time, stars in the sky forbid." Lena then woke and began sniffling, holding out her hands, opening and closing them crankily. "See? The stars of my sky agrees; come Lena, I will show you your future bedchamber, for when you are ready to leave the nursery." He took the babe in his arms and hushed her gently, standing so that he could wander the room.
He could finally stop going mad, he knew, and soon life would be something akin to normal. It truly could not arrive soon enough.
Well, things were nearly normal; almost soon as the Marchioness and her daughter were well again, the Marquis fell ill, having contracted the same sickness as the rest of his family. Mother and daughter presided over court, showing their subjects that they did not need the Marquis at their side to conduct business.
"This is ridiculous," the Marchioness frowned. She looked from the one village leader to the other and back, repeating the process several times. "Do you seriously mean to waste my time with this?"
"With all due respect, milady, but your husband was not of much help during your time away from court, and although we attempted to come to terms ourselves, it hasn't yet—" The man was cut off by his liege lady holding up a hand to silence him. "Yes…?"
"This case is thrown out on account of neither of you can pay attention," the Marchioness said. She watched her daughter roll on the dais until she fell off onto a step, immediately crawling back up to the doll at her mother's feet. "Right now I see more critical thinking skills out of my infant daughter than either of you—go, and don't return unless you have something important."
Switching to the ceremonial tongue, she then chided the complainants further, "If you ever try to circumvent my husband through me, or the opposite, I will make certain that you never want to see either of us ever again. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes," the both replied in the old way.
"Good." The Marchioness switched back before picking up Lena to bounce on her knee. "Now, who else wishes to bring forth their grievances? Deal with me now and we might sort through this mess before he is well again."