A/N: Here's some more starlet plot, featuring some Johan and Clara.

Rough ages are as follows: Johan is seventy-five; Clara is fifty-six; Olly is an old thirty-one; Lena is an old twenty-five; Astra is twenty-three; Grant is an old twenty-two; Maglina is seventeen; Seren turns twelve and Jasper two during the chapter.

Chapter Fifty-Seven: The Winter Courtship

Lena woke to a distinct chill in the air that had not been there when she went to bed. It was different from when the fire died out during the night, and was more the result of the nights growing progressively colder. The violet dawn was redder than it had been only a week prior—winter would soon be upon Gallifrey and all of Kasterborous.

Forcing herself out of bed and into the chilly air, the young Marchioness dressed for the day, finishing the clasps of her cloak by the time a maid walked in to see if she needed anything.

"Have you heard anything about our guest yet?" the Marchioness asked. "Please, be honest. Spare me nothing."

"Not much, milady," the maid replied. She folded the top blanket from the bed and began working on the second. "I hear he's not bad to look at, but I like my men a bit slimmer—should I find one at all—if you don't mind me saying."

"That just means I know you won't seduce him from under my nose." Lena allowed herself a smile as the maid stifled a snicker. "Anything else?"

"He seems gentle, quiet, well-tempered… did you… um… did you want me to watch him for you, milady? Keep an ear open for whispers?"

"No; do not spy on him, but please do report back if you naturally hear any rumors of ill behavior or intent," the Marchioness ordered. "He has been here only two nights—give him time to slip should his motives prove to be anything less than what we originally believed."

"Yes, ma'am." The maid curtsied and continued to work on the bed, pausing only when the Marchioness passed on her way towards the door. "He shall make a lovely bride, milady, and is certain to sire beautiful children."

"Beauty, yes, though that is not the only thing we need to keep in mind; I should hope you find yourself a suitable brain and wit as well."

"This is true, though at least our scenery will be a bit cheerier this winter and shall likely be even moreso the next—if I may be bold, milady, a cold bed and drab chambers doesn't suit you."

"You are bold in the best of ways," the Marchioness smirked. She gave the maid a knowing wink and left the room, glad that she had a most loyal and protective staff. If anything made her the most fortunate lady in the land, that was a great factor, and by far.

It was an average session of court, for all intents and purposes, as far as most people were concerned. Their liege marchioness listened to the grievances as even-handedly as she could muster, doling out judgement, justice, and just-desserts when necessary. She conducted herself as she had for more than the mere two years she was in her current position, showing the people that their lady was not one of the horror stories they heard of from relatives and friends in other parts of the kingdom.

That day's court proceedings, however, were very different than the ones before thanks to who was in attendance. High up in a balcony, unseen by most and thought of by fewer, sat Lady Clara Oswald and Lord Johan Lonan, the former marchioness and marquis, along with their grandson and a southern visitor.

"Maybe in a few weeks' time we can have you attend down below," Lord Johan said, stone-faced and quiet. He watched Grant's face as the younger man attempted to take in everything at once and in turn was becoming overwhelmed. While he was still not convinced of his daughter's reasoning behind how she was choosing her potential future consort, he also was curious as to why this strapping, burly lad from the southern mountains was her first choice.

"There's so many people here," Grant replied. "This isn't like Papa's court."

"I believe it's safe to say that your papa's court is much smaller thanks to the fact he doesn't care to interact much with others, which is both his strength and weakness," Lady Clara said. She was holding Jasper on her lap as the boy snuggled into her and napped, as it was after lunch and therefore he was sleepy. "You know more than I do how isolated you are in the mountains—what draw is there for people to come, and what is the incentive for him to ever leave?"

"Papa only leaves Althos when he absolutely has to," Grant nodded. "That's usually when he's summoned to His Highness's court or when there's a social affair he can't miss… and half of those are because Mama wants to visit with friends."

"See? Your papa has the ability to keep his circle small if that is what he wishes—Lena does not." She passed Jasper over to her husband and, after tucking the boy in with his grandfather's cape, was able to move closer to Grant. "It was plenty for me to learn, and I was no stranger to court life when I married Johan."

"Thank you… erm…"

"Clara's fine," she assured him. "Have you been given any instruction on how court operates here? Anywhere?"

"No; other than papa's, I've been with my brother to His Highness's court, but that's about it."

"More flattery than function," Lord Johan scoffed. "His Highness does not conduct business out in the open—nothing of importance, anyhow—and to sit through the rest of his court is not worth the wasted time."

"This isn't wasted," Grant observed, watching over the proceedings below. "A lot gets done here. You can tell that there are some people who are irritated, but that they know what is happening is right… or if not right, then it is the most effective avenue for their grievances. Papa doesn't hear people speak this often, for this long."

"Few do, which some make work and some languish because of it," Lady Clara explained. "There are many styles of governance and this is the one that has worked well for us. Your father's lands are smaller and the people naturally have different grievances—it would not surprise me to hear good things, nor bad, because of it."

Grant nodded quietly and continued to watch Lena from afar, completely beholden by her leadership and poise. He attempted to not blush as she glanced his way for a moment—only long enough to make eye contact—before returning to her duty. His heart was aflutter; he was in dangerous territory.

"Birthday! It my birthday! Uncle Seren! Birthday!" Jasper shouted as he ran around the room. The little boy nearly jumped on his youngest uncle before his father caught him, securing the boy underneath an arm. All of the Marchioness's family not serving along the borders was in a seldom-used sitting room tucked into a corner of Castle Gallifrey, attempting to enjoy the joint celebration of Seren and Jasper's birthday, yet Seren was attempting to read through the entire visit, effectively ignoring everyone else.

"Seren, put that book down and join us," the Marchioness insisted gently. It had been her gift to him and she was beginning to regret it.

"I don't want to," the lad grumbled.

"We are having slae and blueberry pie, now come here," Lady Clara ordered. She groaned when her youngest son refused to move from his spot next to the window, ready to start scolding severely, when her husband placed a hand on her arm.

"Let the boy sulk—it proves he is simply still a child," Lord Johan said, making sure his voice was loud enough for Seren to hear. It did not work and the boy continued to read.

"Is he alright?" Grant wondered. Maglina leaned over, shaking her head.

"He's been grumpy ever since Seren was born," she explained quietly. "He discovered he doesn't like babies, or Jasper, or his birthday now because he has to share everyone and everything he didn't before."

"Oh." He set his pie down next to his tea and stood. "Excuse me, please."

"Grant…"

"It's okay, Lena." The visitor walked over towards the young lad and sat down on the floor next to his reading nook, speaking lowly so that only Seren could hear. The boy groaned and slammed his book shut, putting it down on the nook's seat before stomping over to the empty spot on the settee next to Maglina. He flopped down dramatically and began to eat his pie.

"What did you do…?" the Marchioness whispered as Grant returned to his seat. He picked his tea back up and took a sip, holding the cup in front of his face to hide as he replied.

"When talking to a youngest son, it helps to also be a youngest son." He gave her a wink and put his tea down, going directly for the remainder of his pie. "Give him time."

The Marchioness was so stunned that it was all she could do to nod in reply.

Snow had long blanketed the lands on which the Marchioness governed in place of the King, making the fresh flakes that were now falling from the sky all the more irritating. The first thought of hers was on what needed to be done—any weather where the sun was not shining and the air not still called for action.

"How much are they expecting?" she asked the butler. It was morning and she was in the dining room, serving herself breakfast out of the trays placed along a table against the wall furthest from the window. Big, lumpy flakes were falling in clear view and it irritated her immensely.

"We do not expect much from what the scientists say, but the post hasn't come in from out of the march for a couple days now, so it does not seem as though they were able to get the entire picture this time."

"At least if they're wrong about this, it's only a matter of what falls from the sky, not how much the people are able to eat," she mumbled. She knew their stores were still ample and there was to be little discomfort there. "No other urgent news?"

"Not a peep, milady; I expect few to report to work, however."

"Let them, though don't dock pay like last time—we're not dealing with people calling off in the thaw after the sun hits their skin again after months of clouds. I might have marcher lands and an earldom to run, but I'm not cruel."

"As you wish, ma'am," the butler said. He bowed and left the room, leaving only a junior footman to attend to their ladyship's whims, should she require anything. It was not long after she sat down and began eating whilst reading the paper did Jasper run into the room, his mother a sleepy few paces behind.

"Auntie Lena! Auntie Lena! Outside! Snow! More snow! Snow! Snow!" the boy cheered, going straight for his aunt's lap. He looked at the paper and tilted his head. "What it say?"

"There have been protests in Grey's landholdings, Chatham's been too negligent with his staff, and a stubborn sickness is going around the capitol that they're still trying to identify."

"Oh." The boy furrowed his brow and nodded as though he knew the gravity of his aunt's words. A thought then crossed his mind that made him perk up. "Papa?"

"Papa is still in Rhylls, and won't be back for a while," Astra said. She put a plate down at the chair next to her sister and sat her son before it. "We will have to wait a bit longer to see him again, but at least he will return with Gran and Grunkle Antoine."

"…but Papa need to play in snow!" the boy protested as his mother went to fetch her own food. He pushed around his eggs with his fork and sulked until he noticed Grant walking in to put together his breakfast. "Lord Grant! You play in snow?!"

"Let the man eat first," Astra scolded from the buffet. Jasper sunk in his chair, sliding nearly half-off while Grant laughed at the sight, sitting across from the boy.

"If you eat all your food and ask your mama nicely, we might be able to," he said, sitting down next to Jasper. Glancing across the table at the Marchioness, he saw that she was eyeing him. He thought to his lessons and attempted to recall the words he required in the ceremonial tongue. "Still parents sickened today?"

"Yes; they are still not feeling well," she replied in plain language, tickled by his efforts. "I don't expect them back down for breakfast for a couple days yet."

"Mama! All done! Play now!" Jasper announced excitedly. His cheeks were packed full of food, having shoved everything he could in at once.

"No, not while the rest of us are eating," Astra said sternly. They child sank fully to the floor this time, his mother choosing to ignore his refusal to sit still. "Lena, any word yet from Tara? I haven't been able to reach her at all."

"I expect something soon, though it hasn't come yet," the Marchioness replied. She raised her eyebrow as she looked at Grant, who seemed to be attempting to toe the line between eating quickly and eating politely. "What is the matter?"

"Gotta play in the snow," he said around his food. He was nearly done when Jasper popped back up from under the table, his eyes returned to their wide, excited state from before.

"I go with Lord Grant, Mama?! Please?!" the boy squeaked.

"Yes, yes, just go," Astra said. Jasper had just made it up to Grant's shoulders when the man was done with his food and stood, lifting the boy up and carrying him out of the room. Giggling from the corridor had faded before Astra took a long drink of her tea and exhaled heavily, hand idly touching her midsection. "I'm an idiot for having them this close together."

"You're no idiot—a love-struck fool, maybe, but no sister of mine is an idiot."

"Papa had to pass it on to someone, and I doubt it was just Sterling and Seren." She glanced at her plate and her stomach churned, causing her to slowly sip more tea while cursing in the ceremonial tongue.

Doing her best to not laugh, the Marchioness calmly finished her breakfast and left the room, allowing her sister time to stew alone. After warning Maglina about Astra's incoming morning sickness, she walked idly through the many corridors that Castle Gallifrey had to offer, enjoying how truly quiet everything was with the snows. For being a castle that rarely, truly slept, it was near silent without the sounds of most the staff milling about with their work.

It was this silence that allowed the Marchioness to hear a high-pitched, giggling squeal from outside as she passed a window. Glancing out it, she saw that Jasper was climbing out of a snowbank, only for Grant to pick him back up and toss him in again. The sight was a tender one to see and it gave her an idea. She rushed towards her chambers and found a coat and gloves and thicker stockings, as well as a warm hat she jammed on her head. By the time she found herself outside, she found Grant and Jasper molding snow into the base for a snowman.

"Now what's this?" she asked, feigning ignorance.

"We're gonna build snowmans, Auntie Lena!" Jasper explained. "Mama will love it!"

"Yes, she certainly shall." She bent down and watched at her nephew's level before turning attention over to the Althosian visitor. His beard was wet and his face seemed red from more than just the cold. "Too much more of this and the lesser lords shall think that my sister employs you as her son's governor."

"Let them," he said. "They don't know the joys of building a snowman with an expert like Jasper here."

"Yes! I an es-spurt!"

"Let me show you something else," Lena offered her nephew. The two-year-old watched as she made a tightly-packed snowball, accepting the gift reverently. "See this? You throw it at people."

"It doesn't hurt?"

"No, try it."

Jasper turned towards Grant and attempted to toss the snowball, it going only a foot before it plopped onto the ground. The boy stared at the tiny lump and pouted.

"It didn't go far," he observed.

"No, that's because you have to throw it like this," Grant offered. He made a snowball and hit Lena in the shoulder with it. Jasper stared at him—eyes absolutely bulging—before bursting into a fit of giggles.

"Again! Again!"

"My pleasure."

"Think again," Lena smirked. The two adults began to pelt one another with snow, with Jasper shrieking and shouting in glee. Those of the castle servants and other workers who bothered to make the trip could see from the window their liege marchioness frolic in the falling snow with her paramour—though it was not official, they could not help use the word to describe him—and had hope in their hearts as they went throughout the remainder of the day.

By the time Lord Johan brought his grandson inside, the child was soaked through cloak and dress alike and sniffling from the weather, whilst the child's other guardians were equally drenched and red-faced from the amount of snowballs they had thrown at one another. It was no surprise then that by the time dinner was served, all three had come down with a cold. The two adults claimed it was worth it, despite both being banished to their respective bedchambers by a rather cross Astra. Neither fought it and left willingly—it was worth it.

"I don't like it."

The entire council turned their attention to their junior-most member, the young man from a place none had visited and few knew anything about. Despite his large frame, he seemed to nearly shrink in his seat as he found himself the center of attention.

"What does an Althosian know about how Kasterborsians should do things?" a serdar asked. "Just because we are talking of a mountain pass does not mean that it is yours to criticize."

"Let him speak," the Marchioness ordered sharply. She then turned to Grant and nodded, softening her voice. "Why don't you like sending general troops into the Karn Pass? Are we not to defend them from the Daleki scouts seen lurking about recently?"

"We should protect them, but mountains aren't for everyone—what you're planning could only come after the thaw, realistically speaking, and after the thaw is when fresh troops come in from the King's Guard and the Academy sends off its graduates." He saw the Marchioness nod—his inference was correct thus far. "Normally it would be safer to send them in the summer to start, but I have doubts. Karn is not Althos, that much is true, but a mountain is a mountain and they are often unforgiving to those not prepared."

"They will be given equipment and proper leadership."

"Sometimes even that is not enough," Grant frowned at the serdar. "My father's Guard has to rescue many people from the lowlands who wish to claim for themselves the title of first from their homeland to climb all the Althosians, and many rescues turn into recoveries even when there are seasoned local guides involved. If that is what happens in the summer months to wide-eyed and willing tourists, then gods forbid what should happen to soldiers who might not even want to be here in the winter."

"Then what do you suggest?" the Marchioness cut back in.

"Send any Karna troops and others familiar with the area directly to Karn herself, but keep the additional soldiers in the higher foothills for at least a month or two, in order to adjust them to the idea," Grant suggested. "We have much more to lose with the death of a solider than Dalek does—plus, that way, we can utilize some of the national soldiers instead of sending them all to one of the fronts, adjusting them to the climate as well."

"…but what if there is an emergency and the Karna soldiers need backup?" the serdar scowled.

"If the map is correct, then the foothills aren't too far from where the Karna soldiers will be stationed; it won't be immediate, but they will be able to make the trip on short notice and can still create a bottleneck if need be," Grant shrugged. "It is not ideal, but it is the best option for everyone involved."

"Then that is what we shall do," Lena decided. She watched the irritated serdar grow red-faced in anger. "What is it now?"

"You are simply accepting what this southern mountain goat says to be true?"

"He might be southern, yet he is still a mountain goat, as you said, which is more than you can boast," she quipped. "Do not bore me with your outrage—we have the ability to adjust our troops in such a manner, so we shall."

"Milady, you have only known him since the Autumn."

"This would be a valid point should he be commenting on my coffers or the next Festival of the Violet Sky, yet he is giving advice on something he should very well know about considering the lands he hails from," she fired back. "Chances are that when my Karna major hears of the plan, she shall approve at least in theory. If not, then she can take the matter up with me. End of discussion."

"…but…!"

"End of discussion."

The Marchioness invoked her father's glare and sent a chill down everyone's spines… all except Grant, who swallowed hard in an attempt to rein in how besotted he was becoming with each passing argument she quelled.

Grant was more than done for—he had been wrapped around the Marchioness's finger since the moment he had talked to her in Malebolgia.

"Don't think I am unaware of what you're doing, Althos," the irked serdar hissed lowly at Grant. "Kasterborous is the land of my ancestors and I will not let some bear wrestler take it from me without a struggle. We shall see your true colors one day."

"Kasterborous might be where your forefathers are buried, your serdarship, yet it is very likely where my children will be born—don't think I'm going to sit around and let everyone else make decisions for them," Grant replied, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Have you ever thought that I might be here because I don't want to wrestle bears for sport? I don't know about you, but I would like to place my son or daughter on my shoulders and not be in pain the entire time they're there."

The serdar stormed out of the conference, irritated beyond belief at the sass he was being given by someone who had only been within the march's borders for a few short months. He was not going to tolerate such treatment, nor the manner in which his liege lady was being taken by snow fever.

Children—they were both children.

Sitting in her study, Lena tapped her foot as she stared out the window at the passing clouds. She knew that she was getting close to her self-imposed deadline, unless it had not yet technically passed with the thaw, meaning that her choice needed to be made sooner rather than later. The future of the March and Earldom was teetering on her decision, which she wanted to finalize before the summer months.

On one hand, there was much to be said about giving more thought to the matter and other potential suitors the opportunity to present themselves. She would not be seen as rushing into anything—no claims of snow fever would reach her ears—and Grant would still be able to contend for the final decision. He was a strong candidate indeed, for it was clear to her that the friendship between them was very stable, and he did not seem destructively foolish. There would be fewer complaints if she waited, which would of course mean fewer headaches for herself in the future.

However, the young Marchioness noted, any complaints surrounding her decision could be quelled by the presence of an heir begot from a marriage and not a sister. She was not as tightly-bound to time as other women were thanks to her Gallifreyan blood, yet any hindrance in finalizing a marriage could lead to years more of heirlessness and whispers amongst folk of all stations. That sort of talk was more appropriate for her father forty years prior than her at that moment—her parents made it so that she and her siblings could all lead very different lives and still keep the marquisate and earldom secure, and now that it was her turn, she needed to strike before her parents' foresight turned into her folly.

She, Lena Anthea, Marchioness of Kasterborous and Gallifrey, was not one to fall victim to folly, no matter how easily it cropped up.

"Hey, Lena?" She turned around and saw Olivier standing near her desk, Grant closing the door behind them. The Rhyllish man held several rolled maps under one arm and held a bag with the other. "We're ready to go over those new routes you wanted to talk about."

"Good." She glanced at Grant as Olivier was occupied with the bag and rolling out the maps. Inhaling deeply, she threw the Althosian a flirtatious wink before the merchant looked back up again.

"So these new trade routes," Olivier began, "are going to end up bypassing Adipose if we are not careful, as well as stray too far from the Gelth Islands, and Varos is going to… are you even listening to me?"

"Huh? Of course I am," the Marchioness lied, snapping back to attention. She didn't even realize she had been staring at Grant and attempted to brush off the accusation as naturally as possible.

"Rule Number One: the Doctor lies," Olivier mentioned. He did not mind as he was thusly chased out of the room by a rather irritated sister-in-law brandishing the broom for the fireplace, because at least he knew that he was not only correct, but he was right as well.

It was fully Springtime, with birds on-wing and a lift in people's steps as the sun hit their skin. The Marchioness was taking a few days away from Gallifrey with her guest, the two of them relaxing in the warm sun on the Jarlshall estate. With all the servants at their daily tasks, they were completely alone, able to do as they pleased.

"It's almost hard to imagine that this was where we started," Grant said. He was laid out on the grass, his hands behind his head, while she sat next to him reading.

"We started in Malebolgia," she corrected idly.

"Well, yes, but as far as getting a proper start, that was here," he insisted. He watched some clouds pass in silence, the sweet breeze rustling the grass and his hair and beard. "To imagine I came here thinking I was going to interview for a job I knew nothing about, just to see what I'm capable of outside of Papa's master plan for my brothers and me."

"Oh, Grant…?"

"Yes, Lena?"

"You're hired."

He glanced over at her, seeing that her nose was still in her book. "Officially?"

"Yes." She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his lips, which caused them both the blush a deep shade of red. "You're most definitely, officially, hired."

He could live with that.