A/N: So, I realize you probably think I'm dead, if anyone is reading this, but I'm not. I'm just busy, you know, my brain is slightly broken what with my having a horrible memory and all, and this story just kind of slipped through the cracks, but I will try to finish it, I promise :)
Rory woke slowly, shifting around in the bed to try to find a more comfortable spot. She inhaled deeply, burrowing deeper into the mattress and pulling covers over her head to block out the morning sun. The sun warmed her through the covers. The sun was...out? Suddenly she shot up in her bed, looking around wildly through narrowed eyes until her sight adjusted to the bright. The sun was out? Why was the sun out? Did no one wake her up for the run?
And then she actually looked around her room. Flower-filled vases littered every surface. The vanity, night table, chest of drawers, top of the wardrobe, and all along the walls were peppered with vases, as well as dozens spread randomly throughout the open floor. She slid off the bed and looked at the explosion of color around her, a smile overtaking her face. Who could have done all this? Her first thought was Marty, but as soon as the thought came to her, she knew it couldn't be him. He didn't have to means to do this.
These were not flowers that someone had gone out into the garden and picked for her. They were exquisite bouquets tied in ribbon and lace with blooms of every color and size looking up at her from all around.
Then it must have been Logan. It seemed like something he might do. They had spent a lot of time together in the past weeks since she had dinner with him and the king, and had gotten very close. He reminded her of Jess, although much more arrogant. She bit her lip, grinning as she picked a tulip from the vase next to her left foot and ran the bulb over her cheek lightly. Why would he have done this? What occasion? And simply, why?
That was when she remembered that it was her birthday. Her eyes widened slightly, how could she have forgotten? And how could he have remembered? No one had asked her about it in three weeks.
She looked up to see a young servant shifting one of the vases so that the mirror was unblocked. "Who did all this?" Rory asked, glancing around her room.
The girl stood straight and looked over at her, "The king. He said it was for your birthday." Rory's eyes widened slightly and she could feel her jaw drop. The girl bit her lip, her eyes shifting to the side, "But I'm not sure if I'm supposed to tell you." and she went back to her work of fixing the flowers.
Rory looked around, her mouth still open. Tristan had done this? To say the least, she was impressed. She hadn't thought him capable of something this kind. They still weren't like they had been in the first days of her stay, but she couldn't complain. He left her alone, mostly. Although she didn't think he liked her being close with Logan. If she didn't know any better she would have though the looks he sent them and the cold shoulder he gave to his cousin for a week after the dinner were jealousy. But she doubted that a king who could have any woman in the kingdom would be jealous of a peasant girl becoming friends with his cousin.
She looked over to the chair next to her dressing screen to see that a light blue dress had been laid over it. On the other side of the screen was a bath already filled. She guessed the girl had drawn it before she woke up. After a quick bath, she dressed with the aid of the girl and then her hair was pinned up into a loose bun at the back of her head, several wavy strands falling. She left her room, thanking the girl for her help and going towards the informal dining room for breakfast.
Tristan and Max were sitting at the table, their heads bent close together while they carried on a hushed conversation. When she entered they both glanced up at her and stood respectfully. She nodded and smiled, obviously surprised when Tristan pulled her chair out for her, "Thank you." he nodded, scooting her in and sitting back down in his own chair as he motioned for food to be brought to her. She laid her napkin into her lap, looking over at him, "And thank you for the flowers."
"Happy birthday."
"Oh, that's right. I forgot it was your birthday." Max said, across from her. She laughed lightly, turning to look at him. So that meant that Tristan really had remembered. His advisor hadn't reminded him. "Happy Birthday."
"Thank you."
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Rory walked around the castle aimlessly that afternoon, looking around. Everyone had insisted that she do nothing all day on account of her birthday, and she hated it. She had never before realized how boring it was to do nothing. Although, she had to admit, her favorite part of the day was when Callum, Nick, and Dorian had performed a birthday song for her that they composed themselves.
And now she was simply walking. She had been roaming, looking around at the tapestries that lines the walls, but by now she'd ventured into the servant's wing of the castle. There were windows, brightening the long corridor, but no decorations on the walls. Towards the end of the hall a door was propped open and the sounds of pots and pans banging, meat sizzling, and fire crackling came to her. A chorus of voices could be heard talking within, laughing and calling to one another over the ruckus. She came to the kitchen door, smiling at the homely feel and the way all of the cooks and servants bantered.
There was one, a plump woman with flaming red hair pulled back from her face, that seemed to be the center of gravity in the room. Everything revolved around her and bent to her will. She must have been the head of the kitchen. At the moment she was involved in a heated discussion with a taller man whose face was graced with a bristling beard. Rory could hear him respond back just as passionately as he shifted a crate of carrots to his side. She couldn't make out exactly what they were saying, but they seemed to be bickering like a married couple and she wondered briefly if they were. Several of the servants took notice of her in the doorway and the ones who did stopped, looking around as if they weren't sure she was allowed to be there. Most didn't pay her any attention and went on cooking and talking. One of the workers who did notice her slipped over to the woman and attempted to get her attention, but the man went unnoticed as the short woman went on hissing at the man in front of her. The younger man continued to nudge her as her hands flew around, coinciding with her heated remarks to the man in front of her. Rory laughed, folding her arms over her chest as the boy continued to try to get her attention.
Finally she turned, her hands waving in the air, "What?!"
He cringed but nodded towards Rory, "Sorry, Sookie, but the uh–the king's..." he trailed off, uncertain of what exactly Rory was.
The woman turned, still wide eyed from her confrontation, "The king's wha–" but upon catching sight of Rory she froze half way through her sentence, her mouth open. She stared at her with something that was a cross of shock and horror. As Sookie fell silent the rest of the kitchen did as well.
Rory stood in the silence, biting her lip as she cleared her throat uncomfortably, pushing herself off the doorframe, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be here." she turned to go but a voice stopped her.
"No–" it was the head cook, coming forward, "–don't go." Rory turned back around, surprised, as the woman continued to speak so quietly no one else could hear her, "It's just, you look like someone..." she trailed off, shaking her head, "Never mind." but she continued to look into Rory's face as if trying to see someone else's, "What's your name?"
The noise of the kitchen had resumed as she came forward but Rory still hesitated for a moment, uncertain of how much she should speak to this woman. "Leigh." she said finally.
The shorter woman's jaw dropped, her eyes widening again. Rory felt every muscle in her body tense and she started to take a step back, but a hand shot out to her wrist, keeping her where she was, "No, no, stay."
Rory put her hand over the woman's, panic setting in, "Please let me go." she said quietly, pulling at the hand, but those fingers were stronger than they looked.
The woman let go after a moment, "Sorry, I'm Sookie." she nodded towards the man she'd been talking to, "That's my husband Jackson."
They did look familiar in a way, but her memory from before she was eight was foggy; being back in Hartford made everything seem slightly familiar, "It's nice to meet you." She still stared at Rory as if she couldn't believe she was there. "What?"
Sookie shook her head, closing her eyes, "Nothing. Nothing. I'm sorry."
Her husband nudged her, "Sook." he warned quietly.
"Sorry, I'm done." she glanced over at Rory, speaking quietly, "it's just, you look so–" she broke off as her husband grabbed her shoulder firmly.
Rory took a step back, her heart still pounding, "I really should go. I'm sorry, it was nice to meet you." and with that she turned, flying down the corridor amid the shouts of the cook.
She ran blindly, struggling for air against the panic in her chest as she passed hall after hall, turning down passages she didn't recognize in an attempt to get as far away from the kitchen as possible. Or to get as lost as she possibly could so that they would never find her; either one would work. She must have lost her mind when she agreed to come here. If a cook could recognize her that easily then what were the chances that no one else would?
She turned a corner and hit something solid, probably the wall, and stumbled backwards. She almost fell to the ground, but someone steadied her, one arm around her back while the other clenched her arm, "Leigh?"
She looked up, wide eyed to see that the wall she'd hit had been a person, "Marty. Hi."
He took in her flushed cheeks and heavy breathing, looking at her as if he'd never seen her before, "Are you alright?" he glanced over the corner she'd just careened around. "Who were you running from?"
"Oh!" she looked down the hall as well, searching for something to say, "I - - I wasn't running from anyone."
His eyebrow arched, "Really?"
She nodded, "Mhmm."
"Why were you running down the laundry corridor?"
"The laundry corridor?"
He nodded, casting his eyes around them, "That would be where we are."
"I was...running." Rory answered uncertainly, staring up at him.
"Yes. I noticed."
She nodded, waving her hand, "What I mean is I was running, because no one woke me up this morning to run with the guard." now that he'd mentioned it was the laundry corridor she noticed steam coming from several of the rooms, probably from boiling water.
His face relaxed, "Oh, right, happy birthday, by the way–"
She smiled, "Thank you."
He nodded, still not buying her story, "But why were you running down the laundry corridor?"
"I- -well, because, the- - laundry...corridor is so refreshing."
He released her, "Refreshing?"
"Yes." she waved her hand again, "The steam. It's...cleansing."
"Ahh. Cleansing." he still didn't believe her, obviously, but he wasn't going to fight her on it.
She nodded, "Cleansing."
"Well, I actually have to get back to work but, again, happy birthday." he grinned, bowing lightly before stepping around her, "I'll see you around."
She smiled, "Thank you."
He disappeared around the corner she'd come crashing into him from and it wasn't until he was out of hearing range that she realized she had no idea how to get back to the main part of the castle.
Eventually, with the help of several women from the laundry corridor, Rory found herself back in the main part of the castle. She was on the way to her room when she was intercepted by a Max Medina, "Leigh, I need your help."
"What's wrong?"
He turned her around so that she was walking back the way she'd come, "It's Tristan." She tilted her head, inviting him to go on. "As you know, his birthday is in four weeks." She nodded. "Several of his friends are coming to stay here in three weeks and Tristan won't do anything to help prepare for them. He doesn't care what we do so he won't give his opinion on anything. He's being completely uncooperative."
She shook her head lightly, not seeing where this was going, "What do you need from me?"
Max shrugged lightly, uncertain, "I know you two haven't gotten very close, but you presence, well, it seems to...calm him." he rested a hand on her shoulder, "Whenever he's around you he's less unhappy than usual. I guess what I'm trying to ask of you is to talk some sense into him. I mean, what with the circumstances surrounding his birthday–"
Rory cut him off, "Circumstances?"
Max stopped abruptly, taken aback, "You mean...you mean you don't know?"
"Don't know what?"
"Why his guests are coming?"
"Oh." she nodded, "I was told that he invited his friends because he was choosing a wife, since he rejected the one that was proposed a year ago."
Max stared at her, shaking his head lightly, "No. No, as far as I know Tristan has no desire to marry anytime soon. You really don't know?" She shook her head. "He didn't invite his friends. They took it upon themselves to come." he fell silent for a moment, "I don't know how much Tristan has told you, but he was very close to his father. The late king was murdered four days before Tristan's twelfth birthday. He was coronated the day he turned twelve. This birthday marks ten years since his father's death." She stared at him for a moment without speaking, her mouth forming a perfect O. She hadn't thought about that. Hadn't thought about him. Of course she knew the tenth anniversary of the slaughter of her family was approaching, but she hadn't thought that
Tristan would be bothered by his father's death; if anything, she'd have thought he would celebrate a decade on the throne. "Just, speak to him, please." he stopped and his hand dropped from her shoulder where he'd been guiding her. She glanced up, surprised to find that they'd arrived at the door to Tristan's study.
"I don't..." she trailed off, shaking her head lightly, "I don't know what I can do. What do you want me to do?"
"Just speak to him. We're just worried, that's all. You have an effect on him; I don't know what it is. I can't tell if you amuse him or bother him or just confuse him, but something about you gets to him." Max fell silent and Rory glanced over to see his face. It was fallen, "Every year from the anniversary of his father's death to the end of his birthday he drinks himself into a stupor and lashes out at everyone close to him. I just...Leigh, if there's anything you can do, please, do it." he said quietly, pushing her gently forward before taking a step back. "Please." he said quietly, nodding towards the door before turning to walk quickly down the hall.
She bit her lip lightly, stepping closer to the door. She raised her hand tentatively, uncertain of what to make of the fact that she affected Tristan so much. Her knuckles rapped lightly on the thick wood and she hoped that he wouldn't hear so she could turn away. But after only a moment an invitation to enter was muffled through the door and she turned the knob, pushing the thick wooden door open a few feet. He didn't look up from his desk where a sheet of parchment lay, but raised his hand, curling the fingers to beckon her into the room. "Close the door."
She obeyed, pulling it shut behind her before making her way slowly to the chair across from him. He still didn't look up from the letter in front of him, his gaze traveling swiftly over the slanted lines on the parchment as his lips twisted distastefully. Rory watched him, amused at the facial expressions he made unconsciously as he perused the paper before him. After a moment, however, his gaze stilled at the bottom of the parchment, done reading but still absorbing. His face cleared of the wrinkle-nosed scowl he'd had and his fingers drummed once against the desk. "What can I do for you, Leigh?"
She didn't answer at first, unsure of what to say. After a moment of deliberation she decided on the truth, "Max sent me."
Tristan's eyebrow arched, caught off guard as he looked up at her, "Max sent you?"
She nodded, "He wants me to convince you to be excited about your friends coming for your birthday."
His lip quirked when she finished and he watched her for a moment before speaking, "Is that right?"
"Yes." she pulled her feet underneath her to get more comfortable in the stiff-backed chair, "He wants you to care."
"About my birthday?"
"About them coming. He wants you to give your opinion on the preparations." she explained, biting her lip.
He shook his head, waving his hand, "We shouldn't be talking about my birthday, it's four weeks away. However yours is today. We should be talking about you." he grinned lightly, leaning forward.
Rory smiled as well, shaking her head, "Don't try to change the subject."
Tristan's grin widened before he composed himself dramatically, trying to annoy and amuse her at the same time. He shifted, erased his grin, and nodded thoughtfully. The teasing air had left him and she marveled at how quickly he could change. He appraised her for a moment before leaning back in his chair, "Why didn't he come tell me himself?"
She opened her mouth, surprised that he was able to become absolutely serious so quickly, but had nothing to say, and so she closed it slowly, looking down at her hands, "I guess..." she trailed off, lacing her fingers thoughtfully, "I guess he didn't think you would listen." she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, waiting for his response.
But it never came. Silence fell around her, but it wasn't awkward, it was comfortable. After a moment she looked up to see that he was watching her, staring at her as if he wanted to see through her but couldn't; as if he were used to seeing through people. Her gaze met his and he held it for a moment before speaking, "Are you married, Leigh?"
Her jaw slackened, her eyebrows pulling together, caught off guard by his question. "I'm sorry, your highness?"
"Are you married?" he repeated, sitting up straight in his chair.
"No." she said quietly, still uncertain.
"Engaged?"
"No." she shook her head, her eyes narrowing slightly.
"Promised?"
Rory opened her mouth, a blush creeping into her cheeks, "No."
He shook his head, watching her before responding, "How?"
"How?" she asked, confused.
"Yes, how?" He stood from his chair and came around to the front of his desk, speaking as he walked, "You're eighteen–" she blushed deeper, glancing down, "–how are you not married? Someone with your face, your strength, your mind, I would think, would be married by her fourteenth birthday. I find it hard to believe that no one has asked for your hand and impossible to believe that no one wanted you." He stopped in front of her, leaning back against the front of the desk "How is it possible?"
She looked up, "I never said I hadn't been asked."
He crossed his arms over his chest, impressed, "You turned away suitors?"
"Yes." she said quietly.
"How many?" he asked, now amused.
"Three. The first when I was fourteen."
He nodded, unsurprised, before speaking with much more feeling than she would have thought he'd have, "Why did you turn them away?" She didn't answer, but looked away. "Why?" he repeated, "Were they ugly? Weak? Poor? What was it about them that made you refuse; what excuse did you give?"
She shook her head slowly, sighing as she looked out the window, "They weren't weak or poor, and they certainly weren't ugly."
"What then?" he asked.
"Why are you so interested?" she asked, still not looking at him. Silence followed her question. She'd known he wouldn't answer.
"Why did you turn them away?"
Rory blinked slowly, chewing on the insides of her cheeks, "You'll think it's foolish."
"I won't." he answered quietly. And she was shocked at the softness of his voice; so shocked, in fact, that she twisted her head around to stare at him before speaking.
"Impractical, then."
He pursed his lips, nodding once, thoughtfully, "Impractical, perhaps, but impracticality and foolishness are not the same thing."
She watched him for an extended silence before replying, "I would rather die unmarried than live my life with a man I don't love."
Tristan's expression was inscrutable. "Love?" he asked quietly. She nodded. "It is impractical." Rory didn't respond. "So you turned away three suitors because you didn't love them?" she nodded again and he sighed, shaking his head, "I have never met anyone like you, Leigh Danes."
She smiled lightly, "Thank you."
"What makes you think that was a compliment?"
She shrugged, "I think catching the king off guard is something to be complimented for."
His lip quirked and he shook his head again, snorting, "Love."
"What?" she snapped, annoyed, sitting up straighter.
"Nothing." he sighed, shaking his head, "It's not foolish. Impractical." he muttered, rolling his eyes, "But not foolish." he reached behind him, pulling the letter he'd been reading from his desk and holding it before her, "It's from the king of Rivenlear."
She glanced at the parchment in his hand; Rivenlear was the country to the south. "Oh?" she asked.
He nodded, sighing, "It's a proposal of marriage."
Rory looked back to his face, "But I thought he was already married?"
His eyebrow arched, but he didn't rise to her bait, "Cute." She grinned innocently and he continued, "It's for his daughter..." he trailed off, shaking his head.
Rory nodded, her amusement vanishing at the seriousness that radiated from him, "I hear she's beautiful."
Tristan looked over at her, "I suppose, she is." he shook his head, "So at least that would be a good thing for my children." Rory grinned as he went on, "And she has some strong hips, Lord knows, she'll be able to have healthy children. And she's kind, she'd make a good queen..." he trailed off, sighing.
"But?" Rory supplied, watching him.
"But she is so unbelievably dense." he groaned, covering his face with his hands in frustration.
A short burst of surprised laughter escaped Rory before she could stop it and he looked over at her, exasperated. "Sorry." she choked out, covering her mouth.
"You think this is funny?" he practically whined, annoyed at the situation. She shrugged, still grinning. "You think it's amusing that marriage has been proposed to me by the father of a fifteen year old imbecile?" Rory started laughing again, "Leigh, I can't even carry on a conversation with her."
"So then don't marry her." she suggested, her laughter subsiding.
"I'm not. I just..." he trailed off, shaking his head.
"Just what?" she asked.
He sighed, "I just want my people to have a queen."
She nodded slowly, scratching the back of her neck, "I'm sure you'll find one that you can stand soon enough."
He nodded, rolling his eyes as if he didn't believe her, "What was it you came in for? To get me excited about my birthday?"
"Yes." she smiled, "Are you excited now?"
"No."
She pursed her lips, "You aren't making this easier."
"I'm sorry." he supplied.
"I don't think you really are."
He smirked lightly, pushing himself off of the desk, "You'll have to try harder than that."
"This is trying hard."
"No, it's not."
"Yes, it is."
"No." he said lightly, walking back around to his chair.
"I am trying." she dead-panned.
He sat down heavily, "No, I don't think you really are."
Rory's eyebrow arched and her mouth opened but she was grinning, "Funny."
He nodded, but was already reaching across his desk to grab something, not looking at her, "Mmm. I have work to do. Go find something else to entertain you."
She watched him but he ignored her, teasingly, she thought. After a moment she stood, "Yes, sir." and turned towards the door.
"Oh, and Leigh?" he called after she'd turned the knob.
"Yes, your highness?" she twisted around to look at him.
"You might want to try harder not to get lost." he looked up from his desk and she nearly took a step back from the cold fire that burned in his eyes but hadn't been there a moment ago, "The laundry corridor is harmless, but you wouldn't want to end up in the dungeons. Something...unfortunate, could happen."
She stared at him, shocked, with her mouth hanging open in shock. How could he possibly know about that already? Her mouth moved as if she wanted to speak, but was unable to. He nodded, as if he understood.
"I didn't–" she stuttered, but fell silent.
He nodded, turning back to his papers, "It was a mistake, I know." he said quietly, dipping a quill in ink. "You should be more careful." She stood in a dazed silence, waiting for him to say something else, but he didn't, and so she turned and left, closing the door quietly behind her.