A/N: A quick warning to you all-both this chapter and the next are very sad, perhaps even depressing. There is some character death and a lot of emotions flying everywhere, so ye be warned.
These two chapters were originally one, but it ended up being so long that I had to split it into two pieces. It'll be easier to read this way, and maybe even easier to read through some of the heart-ache parts.
Also, please let me know how I'm doing; I've never written emotional scenes before, and so this one was quite difficult for me. Please tell me where I've got stuff to work on and what's good as is. Thanks muchly!
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
The Prelude
Part Three
Two Years Later
It had all been… so unexpected.
The Queen of Albion stared as the four coffins were lowered into the mausoleum. One of them was marginally smaller than the rest, and it made her heart wrench at the sight. Fresh tears sprang to her eyes, but she would not let them fall, not now, when so many on-lookers regarded their queen with both pity and expectance.
Richard was also stoic, but his hand was wrapped around hers, squeezing at times, trembling at others. His eyes, like hers, were swollen with two days worth of weeping, and they now held a glazed, despondent look to them. Maegan had to choke back a sob. He looked so much like his father, so much so that it both hurt and soothed her aching heart to look at him. She looked away before another fountain of pain could burst forth.
Every part of her wanted to scream, to leap into the graves, uncover the caskets and beg their lifeless bodies to return to life. She wanted to tear her hair out, to curse the heavens, to be struck down then and there so that she could join the majority of her family and rest in peace, free of heartache and sorrow.
But a little hiccup came from her side, and she was reminded of why she had to stay. Logan and little Elena stood to her right, the first in a shocked sort of silence and the latter's face streaked with salty wetness and little body wracked with sobs. How could she want to leave them, when they were hurting just as much as she was? They needed her, and she needed them.
A sudden wave of guilt came over her, and she ran her fingers through her youngest son's raven locks. He turned his head to look up at her, stony faced, with not a tear shed since that fateful night. For him, the queen felt the worst of all. What could he have seen that had stunned him into three days' silence? How horrible must he have felt, having been the only one to survive?
"I'm so sorry," she whispered to him, the carefully built dam breaking and letting the tears finally cascade down her sallow cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Logan."
He gazed back up at her with unreadable blue eyes, silent as the grave his father's and sibling's coffins were being lowered into.
It must have been horrible, indeed.
Three Days Prior
The queen bit back a giggle as Angela ran about elatedly, her twin brother laughing along with her, sharing in her excitement.
"We're going to the theater! We're gonna see an OPRETA!" the girl sang, and Richard clucked his tongue.
"It's 'opera,' you silly girl. And calm yourself or you'll be asleep for most of the show!"
"It's probably best that she gets most of her energy out now," Anne interjected politely. "So she won't squirm through the entire thing. Most of Mama and Papa's peers will be there, and it would be a terrible thing to upset them."
Martin shook his head disapprovingly at both of his siblings. "She's just a child-let her have her fun! Lord knows how boring these things are, anyway." Then he directed his attention to his mother, whose restrained smile still showed even now. "What are you smirking at, Mum?"
"All of you. You are all adorable, no matter what the age," Maegan replied from her seat on the sofa. She sighed. "I did a good job raising you."
"If you don't say so yourself!"
"I did say so myself." Martin laughed as Logan made his way to his mother's side. He rest a hand on her arm in a silent request to enter into the conversation. He was always so formal, Maegan had to wonder exactly how Walter was training him differently than her other sons. "Yes, Logan, what is it?"
"Why won't you come with us, Mother?" he asked softly, tilting his head to one side. "You always seem so excited when you and Father go to the Opera."
"I'm afraid I've got far too many things to do, dear. Besides, someone needs to watch Elena while everyone is gone."
"Oh," Dean's voice wafted in from the next room. A moment later, he entered, groaning as he popped his back, which had been giving him an increasing number of problems as of late. "Always the dutiful mother, my love. Come, have a night of fun. The nursemaids can take care of the little one for a while. And Richard will be here to keep an eye on things."
"I will not leave her alone when she's sick in bed with a cold," she returned, drawing herself up haughtily. "I am a mother before anything else. I intend to act like one, no matter what my station. And I told you before, Richard won't be here."
The young man in question cleared his throat, a heated blush rising to his cheeks. "I, um, have a date with Letty tonight. I've been planning this for weeks now, and since this whole opera business was an on-the-fly sort of thing…"
"Alright, alright," the older gentleman said, raising his hands up in submission, though he did look exceedingly disappointed. "Suit yourselves. Can't say it will be the same without you, though."
The queen's features softened and she stood, making her way to her husband to plant a loving kiss on his cheek. "We will go to the opera next week, just you and me. When Elena is better and I am not so swamped with work."
"You're always swamped with work," he pouted.
"Then I'll set it aside. I promise. But now all of you need to get going, or you'll be late." She swept across the room, the trails of her gown flowing as she moved, and began helping Angela into her neglected coat. "You need to put it on dear; you'll catch cold otherwise. Is Elena not example enough for you?"
"But it's itchy!" she complained, stomping her feet as she grudgingly allowed her mother to slip her tiny arms into the garment's sleeves.
Martin clasped a hand upon Richard's shoulder and gave him a little shake. "Good luck, my brother! Don't forget the ring!"
Richard's blush deepened. "I won't… Thanks."
His younger brother winked. "Rooting for you, buddy!" And then he turned and filed out of the room behind the others. Their mother went with them to see them to the door, and was then to likely go check up on little Elena after they had left, leaving Richard alone in the study.
The little piece of jewelry in his pocket made his heart beat like thunder in his chest, but it made Maegan's soar with a motherly pride.
She returned soon enough, though her face was slightly creased in worry. She sat down at her desk, regarding the papers upon it, but not really seeing them. "She keeps coughing."
"She'll be fine, Mum," Richard replied, with an inward sigh of relief. He didn't want to be alone with his thoughts any longer than necessary, lest he get cold feet. "She's a trooper."
"I know, but it worries me."
"Those look like blueprints," he said, changing the subject of conversation to a rather large piece of paper on top of his mother's desk. It was buried under numerous other important documents, but a corner of it was easy to see. "What are you building? Does that say 'Hollow Men' or-?"
No sooner than the words left his mouth, his mother slammed a heavy tome down upon the offending corner of paper. "Renovations to the Brightwall Academy. And other things. Nothing of extreme importance."
"Then why are you trying to hide it?" he pried, attempting to move the book, but she lightly slapped his hand away. "Well?"
She gave him a secretive little smile before standing smoothly and looking pointedly at him. "I believe Miss Letty is waiting for you to ask her a certain question. It would be a shame to keep her waiting for too long, don't you think?"
He pursed his lips. "Now you're just trying to get rid of me!"
"Hardly," she replied, kissing his cheek lovingly. "Now go on, before she gets too impatient."
He gulped. "Do you… Do you think she knows?"
"Women always know-it's instinct. Now go."
Nodding, he disappeared down the hall, fixing his black hair as he went. The queen couldn't help but smile. Her son was a man now, and every bit like his father. She remembered when Dean purposed to her, how he had been so nervous all the day before that she knew precisely what was to come next, how he had nearly dropped the ring, his hands were so shaky. She wished Richard the best of luck, and nerves of steal. Letty, she knew, was not one to find nervousness as an endearing quirk.
With a sigh, she turned back to her desk, removing the tome and unearthing the blueprints her son had been so keen on seeing for himself. What she had told him had been true, if only in part. They were indeed renovations to be made to the Academy, but to its Reliquary in particular. The place was more or less a cave where the librarian kept old books, most of them having magical properties. It would suit her purposes perfectly.
She bit her lip as she went over the plans. Perhaps she should cut down on all of the monsters. She didn't want this test of Strength, Will, and Skill to be too dangerous, after all. It was only a test, and her own daughter would be running through it many years into the future. On the other hand, Elena was a Hero-or would be, at any rate, and she would need to go through some sort of challenge to prove her worth as such. If anybody with a sword or hammer in hand could pass through these caverns, then it would hardly be much of a test for a Hero at all.
She shook her head and lay the blueprints flat upon the desk. No, the plans were fine-she had gone through something similar when protecting Hammer on their first meeting, and she had only just left the nest, as it were.
Sitting down again, she began to sift through her other papers, signing her name on some, rejecting others. It was easy enough work, but she had been at it for most of the day prior, and was weary. Perhaps it would have been a good idea to go to the opera, to let herself relax. It was too late now, though, and she was left to her devices in the silence of the room.
The castle itself was still quite alive with noise, despite the late hour. The queen could hear the familiar voices and sounds of the working servants, the guards making idle conversation outside her door, the chime of a grandfather clock somewhere on the floor below. It sang the hour: eight o'clock. Dean and the children would be arriving at the theater by now.
A small cough brought her attention to the small figure in the doorway. Elena stood there, her hand on the doorknob, looking miserable with her red nose and watery eyes. "Mama," she whined, and then she sneezed. Her little black curls bounced at the movement, though they were limp compared to their usual volume.
Maegan stood and swiftly moved to her daughter, scooping her up into her arms as she spoke, "Elena, darling, what are you doing out of bed? It's late, and you need your sleep." She hefted the girl up a bit, for she was at the age when being held in such a way was bordering on the impossible. "Don't you want to get well?"
"I can't sleep," the little girl moaned, resting her head upon her mother's shoulder. "My throat hurts and my eyes itch."
"I know, darling," the queen cooed, petting her daughter's hair and rocking her back and forth. "Being sick is no fun at all. I'll tell you what: I'll come up and tuck you in, and I'll lay with you until you fall asleep, okay?"
Elena nodded, her watery blue eyes smiling tiredly as she did so. A cough rattled in her tortured throat, and her mother winced. It was so hard to see her child suffer; she hated it when any of her children were hurting, because as a mother, she shared in their pain.
She took Elena up to the royal bed chambers instead of the nursery, tucking the child in to her own bed and lying upon the sheets beside her. Dean wouldn't mind-he worried for her also, and she didn't take up too much room on the king-sized mattress.
The queen ran her fingers through the girl's short black locks, humming a soft tune as her daughter dozed. It didn't take long for Elena to succumb to sleep, and soon her mother joined her in its embrace, her song slowly dying on her lips.