Amare Dividere
Title: Childish Aggravations
Series: Vision of Escaflowne
Rating: PG-13 for some violence.
A/N: Thank you guys for being so patient. I've been editing the chapters more as we head towards the end of this book, and what with graduation, it's been a little hectic. Enjoy!
"I have an announcement," Van says, seated tall in the high backed royal chair in the council room. He glances over at Hitomi who sits to his right, dressed in the formal clothing made by the seamstresses. His eyes soften as he looks at her and a smile comes to his lips. He says in a proud voice, "The queen and I are expecting."
There are murmurs among the advisors, Peralis among them. The three had discussed how his reaction must look, and after spending the night practicing in the mirror the chief royal advisor knows his expression is flawless. "Highness..." Peralis begins, standing and worrying over his bottom lip as he speaks. "It is early for you to know such things... you only recently returned..."
"Hitomi has been pregnant since our wedding," Van says, dangerous red eyes narrowed at Peralis.
Van reaches over to take Hitomi's hand comfortingly, and the sandy haired queen holds her breath, waiting for the rest of the advisors to close in on her about her 'state'. Peralis had spoken harshly with her about it, preparing her. It was not an experience she cared to repeat, but, as Van had consoled her, in this case there was nothing to do but endure. Knowing all this, Hitomi's expression remains passive, and she smiles as she looks over at Van. Her heart beats quickly in her chest, and she feels the uncertainty threatening to claim her, but his red eyes are steady, and his strong hand is warm in hers.
Lord Brett stands. "Highness, no disrespect, but if she was pregnant at your wedding, just whose child is she carrying?" To his side, Foreign Minister Gabriel smiles slyly.
There is a hushed murmur at that question. Disbelief, shock... incredulity at the audacity of Brett's question. It becomes more obvious, in that instant, how much Brett dislikes the queen. In the months since Van's disappearance, he has made less obvious attacks on her reign. He started the questioning into the allegiance with Asturia. He turned his nose at her acceptance of the Egzardian nobles.
Van grits his teeth, watching as Hitomi turns her head to gaze intently at the standing man. Her face is relaxed, the strength of the him buoying her through their clasped hands. Her jade eyes blaze with anger and intense dislike. He is glad, in that moment, not to have her looking at him like that again, as she had occassionaly during the war.
Brett shrinks visibly before the king even speaks.
"Mine," Van growls, finding his voice as he watches the ill-appointed advisor cower before his wife.
"But logically, highness," Brett continues in a lower voice, one meeker than he is known for, "if you will permit me my logic, you disappeared just after the ceremony, in the heat of battle... if reports serve, you were bleeding, and protecting our queen. When, then, did you have time to..." It is one thing for Brett to stand up to a foreigner made queen, and another to risk the wrath of the dragon born monarch himself.
"Weddings are for intent," Van says, squeezing Hitomi's hand with a smile. The queen remains stoic, glaring at Brett, until he finishes his words, "Weddings are for the country, and for show."
The spell of her detachment breaks at hearing Van's words and Hitomi blushes, turning green eyes on her husband, gaze breaking and softening as she looks over at him. "Van," she says, cheeks flushing in slight embaressment.
"Besides," Van says, lifting Hitomi's hand to kiss her fingers lingeringly, red eyes gazing over their clasped hands at Brett, "you're the last person here who can lecture me on waiting for a wedding ring."
Lord Brett starts to speak and then thinks better of it, glancing at the look his king is favoring his queen with, and then down at the wedding ring on his own finger. It is a well-known secret among that his own first born is older than his ring.
"Van!" Hitomi says, chidingly as her cheeks darken and she turns her face from him. The two of them had not discussed what Van would say in order to convince the advisors. Reasonably, a part of her mind says, the men would all understand this explanation... But it is a little embarrassing to have them all hear it put this way.
Peralis lets out a mortified chuckle. "Highness," he says, clearing his throat, "I should have hoped you would show more restraint in a delicate matter such as this."
Hitomi looks at the chief advisor and frowns, a cloud covering her embaressment upon hearing his words. 'Was he in on this as well?' she thinks to herself, angry at him as well suddenly. Peralis takes a long pause as her eyes rest on him.
Brushing Hitomi's clasped hand against his cheek, Van makes no response to that statement, choosing, instead, to press onward. "Are there any other thoughts on my wife's pregnancy?" Van asks, carefully articulating his words. From beneath his dark bangs he glances around the circle of the advisors.
No one lifts their voice or opens their mouth, cowed by their king's certainty and the queen's angry glare, whether they believe or not. The mortification of the queen is enough to quell suspicions for the time being. More will come to light, they know, when the child is born.
"Good," Van says. "Then there will be a formal announcement of it on the Longest Night. No one is to speak of this subject until then."
Hitomi glances at Van questioningly, but his dark ruby eyes are trained on the advisors. There is a murmur of acceptance, in which Brett whispers to the man on his left, "I doubt the child is his."
Hitomi's head snaps around, her gaze landing on the advisor in question, and she narrows her eyes at Brett.
Gabriel shrugs and pulls his arm away. He knows better than to be so obvious about his displeasure with the queen, or with her delicate state... so long as she maintains the king's favor.
"What news?" Chid asks, yawning. The prior evening had started the Freidan winter festival. Three weeks of worship that end every evening in a long banquet of nobles and peasants praising the gods, toasting the worship with spirits and overly rich food, including long dances meant to induce meditative trance.
All of which Chid is required to preside over.
The morning audiences are brutal on the young man.
Fariah, at his shoulder, does not likewise appear fatigued. It disgruntles Chid, who knows it is because she is not required to salute all the gods of Freid with wine, or eat some of every course of the banquet provided.
"Little, my Duke," the chief advisor says, forehead bowed low to the ground. "The country celebrates. Extra guards have been posted on the passes of the borders so that if an attack comes during our most holy time of the season we will be prepared to defend our country."
Chid glances over his shoulder at Fariah. It is not in his nature to think of such things as defense from invasion. The soldiers are somewhat more accustomed to being allowed to join in the festivities than being on the cold mountain borders. It was truly her idea to take such steps, her paranoia. 'My guard dog serves me well,' Chid thinks to himself, frowning internally at the uncharitable description of the young woman who has done nothing but protect and serve him. The wine, perhaps, or lack of sleep, he decides, is the cause.
Idly he wonders how his father managed to stay so trim despite all of the festivals and banquets that come with being a duke in a land of so much ceremony. "Then let us adjourn this meeting early."
The rest of the assembly bows their foreheads to the carpeted stone before them, and Chid rises, heading out the side exit of the assembly room with Fariah following close behind him.
"It's unnecessary, all these precautions," Chid says, still feeling irritable and tired. His body is slower to react than normal, his limbs lethargic. He does not want to admit his deficiency to her, but is aware that he will be little help if they are attacked. As, he thinks, is his right.
"Your military advisors did not think so," Fariah says. "And neither did you when you were of your unclouded mind. Norte is a threat, my Duke, one that should not be lightly ignored. The gods would surely frown on Freid if it fell to the enemy."
Rolling his eyes, Chid heads for his chambers.
"You are going to practice," Fariah says in a stern voice.
"I am going to sleep."
"Lethargy is no excuse for inept swordsmanship. If you are to be any use to yourself in the case of an invasion, you need to be able to fight in any physical state." She steps in front of him, blocking his passage towards his chambers.
Around them, the hush of the daily fasting and meditative prayer fills the air, echoing off the carved stone of the high ceilings in the palace hallways. Chid is struck, momentarily, by how much Fariah looks at home, and at one with the environment.
Since coming to Freid, wearing worn out boots and with her hair slightly disshevled from the long travel, she has grown quickly accustomed to life in his palace, he thinks. The burnt tan of her cheeks has faded into a pleasantly dark complexion. Someone, likely one of the palace seamstresses or tailors, has thought to change her clothing to the colors of Freid, a black jacket lined in red trim. The red, he notices, does not exactly meet Freidan standards, but also does not clash with her hair. She still wears the dark gray leggings she came to Freid in, and has yet to acquire new boots.
He shakes his head to clear it of such trivial thoughts, returning to the discussion at hand.
"That's what you're for," Chid says in a whining voice. "You are my guardian. You protect me. It is only for a week of this festival. I will train afterwards, harder than before."
"Perhaps. However, if we are surrounded, there is little I can do that would not be done better if you were likewise fighting." Fariah again feels almost mothering to the young duke, and resents him a little for it.
About to protest, Chid closes his lips on his words, swallowing another yawn. He thinks of his uncharitable words, and all her help. "Lead the way," he says in an annoyed, sleepy tone. "Kiyo will be overjoyed. And the sooner we are finished practicing, the sooner I can sleep."
Fariah nods, and the two of them redirect their walking path to head towards the practice grounds.
"That jacket," Chid says, letting his mind wander again. "Where did it come from?"
"This is is the uniform given to the Freidan Kathis by the first duke to receive one," Fariah says, keeping her head looking straight in the direction they are walking. "When it was obvious to Umal that I would not be leaving your highness, he had this given to me."
"The last Kathis died," Chid says as the two of them head up the stairs towards the grassy square of the practice grounds. "Kiyo speaks of her, occasionally."
"She died at your father's side," Fariah replies, "In the battle with Zaibach. Malihsoren."
"I did not know her name," Chid says, looking at his Kathis closely. "Did you know her?"
"I am not old enough to have known Malihsoren. She was placed in Freid when Mahad married Marlene, just after I was born."
"Then how do you know so much about her?" Chid asks, stopping on the top step and turning fully to face Fariah. "You speak as though you do."
"We are all aware of each other," Fariah says, nodding to Kiyo as he steps from the armory to bring swords to them. "And all Kathis know that a post in Freid is one short-lived."
Chid frowns. "You said it was an honor."
"An assignment is an honor," Fariah says, stepping onto the slightly damp grass in the morning sunlight. "Years of training and dedication are required to gain a position anywhere. A posting with a protectorate is an honor. I consider myself to have been honored to be sent to you, Duke Chid. An honor to serve Freid."
Sapphire blue eyes narrow. "But you don't expect to live very long, do you?"
"I have more hopes of that than some," Fariah replies, gray eyes smiling as she turns to look at him. Kiyo steps out with two practice swords, and offers them to her. She nods her head in a respectful bow to the swordmaster, and takes them, stepping over to offer one to Chid.
"What's different about me?"
"Everyone is an individual, my duke," Fariah says. "Monarch or bodyguard."
Ilraine lifts her aged eyelids and looks at the fire across the room from her. Outside the large windows, the clouds perpetually surrounding the Bikathian Compound swirl in idle grays reminiscent of her eyes. There is a knock on the door, and she calls to allow entrance.
Mistress Mot steps into the room and lowers herself to one knee. "You sent for me, High Bikathian?"
"You have made it obvious your opinion on the matter in Norte," Ilraine says, settling two hands over her stomach. "Your opinion of Aerik, and your disapproval of your daughter's choices."
"She should have remained at the Compound and fulfilled her duties."
"As you would have done?" Ilraine asks, turning steely eyes on her seventh daughter. "As you did do?"
"The circumstances were different... Ouran-"
"Was your failing," Ilraine interrupts the gray haired woman standing before her, turning her silver eyes back to the fire before her. "Tristan is not Aerik's failing. Tristan is also not the end of Aerik's story," the high elf says. "You will disapprove of what I will say to you next."
"My lady-" Mot begins, only to be cut off again.
"Sotet will return to Norte, at his father's request. He will be the Consortium's eyes and ears within the palace. He will make a final judgement on the life of Aden Calipse. And he will go alone."
The normally cool and collected demeanor of Mot's placid face cracks and her expression grows livid. "He is not ready."
"He is older than others who have been sent out on more important duties," Ilraine says. "You protecting the usurper's son does not make him less the man's son, Mot."
"We of the Consortium have no lives but these," Mot replies, turning to look at the fire. "We are of no past, and have nothing but our duty."
"As you have tried and tried to tell these girls, to enforce upon these boys. It does little good to lie to children, Mot Ar'sen," Ilraine says. "I did not lie to you when you were growing. I spoke of the wide world and the things that were out there."
"And I fell in love with them," Mot replies, coldly. "I fell in love with the idea of princes and romance, and candle light, and it burned me."
Ilraine moistens her lips, shaking her head slightly, the long fall of her white hair shifting against the shoulders of her gown. "Life burns, child. It tortures and it twists. It hurts to be alive, to carry life within your breast, or life within your belly. If I spared you any of the world it was that."
"And I hate you for it," Mot says, closing her eyes against the truthful words from the aged woman behind her. "I hate you."
"The life of an elf is very long," Ilraine replies, "many have hated me, and many more shall, I suspect. Right now you have made your daughter hate you," she turned her silver eyes to her daughter's back. "And all she has done is make the proper choice."
"The proper choice being abandoning the Consortium?" Mot says in a clipped voice.
"The proper choice being doing good," she replies. "But it is obvious that you can see little of that, now."
Arik sits in the front of the chapel, staring up at the image of the dragon god on the wall above the alter. Her mind is numb, and her thoughts reach out to Tristan. 'Van is safe,' she thinks to him. 'I hope you are the same. Fariah thinks I have betrayed my people, as such they are, in bringing Van this far... in doing your bidding. But Fariah is so young, I cannot be sure that she is altogether correct.' She laughs to herself, eyes trained on the dragon god image on the wall. 'But I cannot either say she is correct.'
She is so caught up in her thoughts that she does not hear the doors open. Arik does not look up until Hitomi sits in the pew across the aisle from her. "When Van was missing, I spent quite a bit of time in here myself. I can only imagine what it must be like for you not knowing where Tristan is... if he's all right... if he's in danger."
"Tristan is in danger," Arik says, "of that much I am sure."
"Where is he?"
"The Ispano Gap," Arik replies. "Working to save his people."
"You must be proud," Hitomi offers, knowing that is not how she would feel, given the circumstances. If the situation were turned, when it was turned...
"What brings you back, your majesty?"
"Don't call me that," Hitomi says. "Everyone here calls me that. 'Your highness', 'your majesty', I'm just a woman, I'm not a queen."
"You are, to them," Arik says, "and to him. But what brings you back?"
"Van had to say some things about my pregnancy, some things... that made me a little uncomfortable."
"A little uncomfortable? You sound a little bit upset, rather than uncomfortable."
"I walked out of the dining room when no one could explain where you were. I used it as an excuse to leave because I need to get away from him for a little bit... I was so... angry with him that I couldn't sit beside him."
"But he supported you?" Arik aks.
"Yes," Hitomi replies. "And I know, it's not that big of a deal but-"
"It is to you," Arik replies. "Not every fight should be disregarded. I wouldn't destroy your marriage about it."
Hitomi doesn't respond for a long moment, looking up at the flying dragon emblazoned on the wall overhead.
"Marriage shouldn't be that easy to throw away."
Hitomi stands, the new clothing falling around her as she does so, the colors of the skirts catching in the candlelight always present in the chapel. "It's not," she says, turning and offering Arik a smile. "You haven't eaten, have you? I'll send Merle with some food to your room later. I must get to dinner, myself."
"Thank you, your majesty."
"So how is he?" Eries asks Celena as the younger woman sits brushing out her long hair. The mornings are her time alone, away from the advisors and the prying eyes of the servants and the guards of the castle. But she cannot escape dressing for the day, and she finds that Celena is the most quiet of her ladies in waiting to have help her dress and ready for the day. So, more often than not, her mornings are spent in quiet with her would be sister.
The intrusion is welcome, however, because her almost sister-in-law has information that puts her mind at ease. Deep in the bottom of her own mind, Eries blames herself for both the failure of the attack, the casualties to the crew of the Crusade, and most of all Allen's serious injuries. She sits in her dressing gown, corset loose on her torso, waiting only to be done up properly. In the corner of the room, on a stand held by a hangar is her dark gray dress that she plans to wear during the day.
"He is brooding," Celena says, brushing the princess's hair carefully. She focuses on the soothing motion of her hands. If she could have her way, she would be at her brother's side. At the same time, she doesn't trust the other ladies in waiting with the princess. They have callous demeanours and careless mouths that she has been helping to shield the refined woman from. "Will you take it up or down today?"
"Down," Eries says, looking at her reflection in the mirror intently. Her own pale face looks back at her, severe in the soft morning light coming in through the gauze covered windows of her chambers. "Brooding about what?"
"He blames you, vocally," Celena says, trying to be delicate with her words where others might not be. "But I think it is himself that he blames on the inside. He stares for long periods of time out the window towards the courtyard or the harbor, and is deep in thought."
"I can imagine," Eries says. She glances over her shoulder, voice becoming careful and restrained. "He has every right to be angry with me. I assigned him the duty of retrieving Millerna. We did not know enough about what he would be walking into, but I gave him the assignment anyway."
"Someone had to go, highness," Celena replies.
Eries takes a moment to collect herself and then nods fractionally, and changes the subject. "Has he said anything to you about your memories?"
"He avoids speaking to me about that more than he avoids speaking to you of your betrothal." Celena curls her hair slightly at the end, attaching small rollers to it, and moves to tighten her corset.
Eries readjusts herself, putting hands on the mirrored bureau to brace herself as Celena takes the laces of the corset in her hands. "That is my own fault. This is not yours."
Celena frowns, meeting Eries's eyes in the mirror, and pulls the strings tightly into place, cinching the corset around the princess's already slender torso. "You should not say things like that about yourself, princess."
"But what if they are true?" Eries asks softly, looking down at the top of the vanity in front of them. "I sent him to Norte," she manages to get out as she sucks in her breath.
"He chose when and with who," Celena says, tying off the first set of laces and moving to do the same to the laces on the other side of the princess's body. "Those things were out of your control. If you feel you must blame yourself then you must admit that you share the blame with him."
Eries smiles a little pinchedly as the second set of laces are pulled secure and fastened. "Your memories..." she asks as she adjusts her breathing to the confines of the corset, "if you could do anything, what would you do?"
Celena takes a long moment to think about that, stepping away from the princess to prepare Eries's dress as the princess rises slowly and follows her over. "I... would... train," she says finally, picking the dress off the hangar and parting it so that she can get into it.
"Train?" Eries asks as she slides into the dress, fixing the bodice while Celena adjusts the skirts around her waist.
"Swordplay, from what I can tell, is a skill in me. It is not a talent." Celena says as she stands and laces up the back of the bodice, pulling the strings tight. "And you have to practice a skill to be good at it. I am six years out of practice."
"Why would you practice?"
Celena gathers the fuller skirt that goes under the dress and pulls it up before she fastens it at the princess's waist and says softly, "Jichia does not give us that which we do not need. If he has returned my memories of my dark time then there is a reason for me to have them." With a deft jerk of her hands, Celena drops the skirts into place and they fall, barely dusting the floor.
"That is one way to look at the situation," Eries says, settling her hair about her shoulders. Celena leans up slightly to affix her veil over her face.
"Why do you wear the veil, princess?"
"It is customary for those who are not free to be seen to cover themselves in this manner, among the noble class." Eries looks at herself in the mirror, the slight makeup and the straight fall of her hair. It has never curled in the manner of her sisters'. "Being betrothed, and chaste means that I must cover my face."
"You have worn it for a long time then? I vaguely remember you wore that... even when we were both children."
"I have worn it since the day that our parents made the deal that bound us in the eyes of Jichia's priestesses," Eries replies, straightening it and attaching her earrings. "And will continue to wear it until my situation changes, most likely back in Tuloom."
That evening when they retire, Van is unsurprised that Hitomi loosens her gown and gets straight into bed still wearing the shift that she wore underneath, turning her back to him and pulling the covers up to her chin. "Angry, I take it?" he asks in a gentle voice, heading over to change into his nightclothes more properly.
"What was your first clue?" Hitomi asks, settling against the pillow.
Slipping his shirt off and climbing into the bed, Van shifts over towards her. "The blush on your cheeks in the council room," he says softly, putting an arm around her waist and scooting close enough to draw her gently against his chest.
"I'm mad at you," Hitomi says, mindful of her conversation with Arik in the chapel. Mindful of the long hours she spent there praying for his return.
"I know," Van says, resting his chin against the crown of her head.
"So why are you curling up around me?"
"Because I've been gone a long time," Van replies, kissing her hair. "And you're my wife."
"And this makes you think you're entitled to cuddling with me when I'm angry?"
"Hitomi," Van says in a soft chiding voice. "I wanted them not to attack you about this." His hand strays to her rounded belly. "I want our child not to grow up questioning who his father is."
"Our child will know," she says. "And it could be a girl," she finishes in a quiet voice.
"Or her," he corrects. "But you see my point, right?"
With a sigh, Hitomi snuggles back against him. "It doesn't mean I have to like it."
Van arches a brow playfully. "You don't like me holding you?"
"That's not what I meant."
"It's what you said."
"No it's not," Hitomi says. "Give the pregnant woman a break. Aren't I allowed to have mood swings?"
"Have you started having cravings yet?"
She rolls her eyes.
"That's normal, isn't it?"
"I'm going to sleep now, Van."