Rory sat across from Max at a table in his study, which was considerably smaller than Tristan's. She stared at him with glazed-over eyes, her chin resting on the heel of her hand as he went on about the preparations for the arrival of Tristan's friends in a little more than two weeks. He wasn't looking at her, however, he was staring down at the parchment on his desk that had the plans scrawled on it. She wondered briefly why Max was the one planning everything, but didn't ask because then she would have to pay attention to the answer.
"–and so you see, I think the blue and silver would be best, but apparently because of the season, it would be better to go with a warmer color, an orange, perhaps, or a green." he looked up at her as if to ask for her opinion.
Rory sighed, dropping her hand to look up at him, "I like the blue and silver."
He nodded, "So do I." before looking back down to his desk.
"Max?" she asked after a moment of silence.
"Hmm?" he didn't look up.
She was quiet for a stretch before speaking again, "Why am I here?"
He glanced up at her, "What?"
"Why am I here? What do you need me for to plan?"
"Oh." he shrugged, "I thought it would be a nice break from the training." her eyebrow arched; he wasn't very convincing. After a moment of her scrutiny she sighed, shaking his head, "With Tristan not here and not caring even if he were, I need someone else to help with the plans. Finn and Paris decided that they would come and then invited all the rest but they aren't here to plan."
She shook her head, "But why are you planning it at all? Why not have someone else do it?"
Max nodded, "We could have someone else, but you see, the situation is rather..." he searched for a word, "...delicate, you could say. I know Tristan better than nearly anyone and I don't want someone planning something that will upset him. With this being the tenth anniversary of his father's death I'm afraid he'll be unreachable. I told you before that he drinks himself into insensibility." Max sighed, "He knows his friends are coming to prevent him from doing anything rash, I just worry that it won't be enough." he glanced over at her, "Actually, I was hoping you could help me in that."
"Oh?" she asked, not liking where this was going.
"Yes. I was hoping you could stay with him." she opened her mouth to protest but he cut her off, "Just stay around him. Be with him. I've told you how you affect him and I realize you don't know how he was before you arrived, but Leigh, in the time since you've come Tristan is an entirely different person. He's happier than I've ever seen him. I don't know if it's you or the new men or just a new phase he's entered, but I know that I'll do anything to keep this up. Tristan is like a son to me, Leigh." he said the last part quietly, "Please, just stay around him until after his birthday. He'll return from Rivenlear at the end of the week and his friends will be arriving twelve days after that. They'll be here for a week, arriving the day before the anniversary of his father's death and leaving the day after his birthday."
"But if all of them will be here then why do you need me?"
"Because none of them calm him as you do."
She stared at Max for a moment, knowing that she was losing this battle, "But why?"
He shrugged, shaking his head, "We've all wondered, all tried to come up with a sensible solution. But I don't think there is one. I think it's just that you connect on a level the rest of us can't even touch."
She didn't answer, but dropped her shoulders, "One week?"
He nodded, crossing his arms over his chest, "One week."
-----------
"He said that?" Marty asked, surprised, as Rory walked slowly down the kitchen corridor with him.
She nodded, folding her arms over her chest, "Yes. I just don't understand. I mean, I know he likes me. We get along, I guess maybe you could even say we were friends. But to think that he's really that different around me?" she shook her head, sighing, "I can't see it." Marty didn't respond, but walked down the corridor uncertainly, chewing on the insides of his cheeks. Rory turned to look at him but he avoided her gaze. "What?" she asked, putting a hand on his arm to stop him. He halted hesitantly, still refusing to look at her. "What is it?" she asked again, squeezing his arm.
Marty sighed, shaking his head before glancing down at her, "I can't say, Leigh, because I've never seen him with you, but I can't imagine the king begin kind. In all honesty when you first started talking about him a few days ago I was shocked that you would speak with him. He's just so..." Marty trailed off, searching for a word to describe Tristan, "...cruel, almost."
"Oh?" she asked, dropping her hand from his arm.
"Yes. I mean Tristan, he...he doesn't care about others. I have never seen him be kind to anyone. I've never seen him laugh, maybe I've seen him smile three or four times. Sometimes I've wondered if he's even capable of emotion."
"He is." Rory said quietly, turning back towards the kitchen. She bit her lip, sighing as she thought back to the afternoon before he'd left. Marty didn't speak, but stared at her. After a moment of walking in silence she glanced over at him, "What?" He continued to stare, mouth open. "What?"
"You miss him." he answered slowly.
Her eyes widened, "What?"
"You miss him." he repeated, this time with conviction.
"No I don't." she replied, rolling her eyes.
"You do. You miss him and he's only been gone for five days."
"I do not miss him!" she protested, walking faster.
"You do." was all he said before jogging to catch up with her. "Are you planning on going all the way to the kitchen with me?"
"Not if you keep this up." she growled, refusing to look at him.
He laughed, throwing an arm around her shoulder, "I'm done. It's true though."
"Shut up. No it isn't."
They came to the entrance of the kitchen and Rory stopped in the doorway, catching Marty off guard and making him bump into her from behind. "You okay?" he asked, his arm dropping as she stilled.
"Yes..." she answered slowly, scanning the kitchen for a sign of the short red-headed woman from before. Sookie, who held some place in her memory that she couldn't put her finger on.
He leaned down to speak into her ear, "Then why did you stop?"
"I'm looking." she answered, still scanning the sparsely populated room. Lunch had recently ended and dinner wouldn't be prepared for several hours.
"For?"
"Sookie."
"Oh." he put a hand on the small of her back, guiding her into the room and towards a door on the far side, "She'll be outside with Jackson."
"Oh." she said quietly, recalling the bristled man she'd seen before. He didn't strike a chord in her memory. Rory squinted, raising a hand to protect her eyes from the sunlight that streamed down in the early autumn afternoon.
"Sookie!" Marty called as soon as they were outside, his eyes adjusting faster than hers. She noticed movement over to the left and saw the robust red-head turn. She was standing in a relatively large garden that obviously supplied vegetables for only the castle.
She waved, "Hi Marty." and beckoned him over to her. Jackson straightened as well, looking over to the door; his gaze fell unwaveringly on Rory and she felt her cheeks flush. It was a new sensation, to have someone know who she was, even if they only suspected. She hadn't worried like this since she was a child. Of course the first few days in the castle were nerve-wracking, but it was only a chance that someone would have found her out. This was certain. This cook knew who she was. And so did her husband. "Hi Leigh." Sookie smiled warmly at her, holding her hand out to grasp Rory's. Rory raised her hand, allowing Sookie to take it limply in her own. Sookie, keeping Rory's hand in hers, turned to look at the two young men that were helping Jackson to pull the vegetables up. "Jack, Sam, go inside and start that stew for the servants' dinner." They nodded, picking up the baskets at their feet and carrying in the vegetables they'd picked.
Marty nodded as well, motioning towards the kitchen, "And Sookie, I actually need to go talk to Mack about that hog for the king's birthday, so is it alright if I go do that now?"
"Yeah of course." she motioned him away, waving her hand in the direction of the butcher.
He turned towards Rory, touching her arm lightly, "Are you going to be alright?" She smiled and nodded, her throat suddenly too swollen to speak as she realized that Sookie was getting her alone. "Okay." he grinned, touching her cheek lightly before stepping in the direction that Sookie had motioned for. Rory watched him walk away, growing colder as he got farther and farther away. It was like he was taking some form of protection with him and leaving her alone. Leaving her exposed. She didn't trust Sookie, not yet. She was sure there would be a healthy reward for her head if Tristan ever found out who she was...if anyone knew how true the rumors about an escaped Hayden were. And so, though the afternoon was still warm with the memory of summer, she was cold, watching her armor walk away from her.
"So..." she turned at Sookie's voice, her eyes wide. Perhaps it hadn't been the best idea to come here. "How are you...Leigh...?" she said the name slowly, uncertainly.
Rory didn't answer, but instead stared at her, searching her face, trying to sort back through the memories she'd locked away ten years ago. Her gaze bored into Sookie, her eyes narrowed. The hair was familiar. She shining eyes. The voice and the way she waved her hands. Rory stared and Sookie said nothing, but allowed her to stand in silence as she realized what was going on in Rory's mind. "I'm fine." she said finally, still distracted, "How are you?"
"I'm well." Sookie said nothing else, but allowed Rory to continue staring.
After a stretch of silence an image flashed behind Rory's eyes. It was of her mother, back before the end of the world.
She couldn't have been more than five as she watched Lorelai standing in the kitchen of their Hartford manor, draped in a rich blue dress with her dark hair pulled halfway back in an elaborate twist. She was fuming, throwing her arms about as she raved about the audacity of the king. That he had the nerve to take Sookie away from them. Away from her family. Sookie spoke quietly, uncertainly, offering to stay with her best friend. But Lorelai waved a hand at her, telling her to go, that it was an honor and she wouldn't hold her back. And then Sookie had turned towards the door where Rory had been standing, and she'd smiled, beckoning the little girl inside.
Rory snapped back to the present, her eyes wide as she stared at the woman in front of her. Sookie smiled, her face lighting as she saw the recognition within the girl before her. She leaned in, pulling her into a hug gently to breathe into her ear, "Welcome home, Rory."
***********************
The next morning Rory leaned forward to touch the damp grass, stretching her legs after the morning run. She was sitting with her legs spread out, touching her forehead to the ground. Her heart pattered faster than it normally did after running and so she forced herself to stay like that for several minutes, breathing in and out slowly. She still couldn't calm down from her conversation with Sookie the afternoon before. Sookie had told her not to seek her out too often; she'd left the Hayden's employ only a few years before the death of the king, and afterwards she had narrowly escaped an inquiry. It was the first time Rory had ever been recognized; it was the first time she'd ever come close to being caught. Her blood still raced and had for the past day. She was on edge, jumping at everything.
"Leigh." she jumped at the hand that rested on her shoulder, a squeak escaping her involuntarily. She relaxed upon the realization that it was Logan. "Are you alright?" he asked, concerned.
She nodded, rolling her neck in a circle to relieve the tension. "I'm fine. I'm just tired." she glanced around, her eyes narrowed, "What happened to all the men?"
Logan laughed lightly, his eyes twinkling, "I dismissed them five minutes ago; I figured since the old guard was gone we could give them the morning off and just work with weights in the afternoon."
Again she nodded, pushing off the ground to jump up lithely, "Okay."
He watched her for another moment, his arms crossed.
"What?" she asked.
"Are you okay?"
She sighed, leaning her head back, "I'm just....tired."
He nodded, showing that he didn't believe her, but wasn't going to push it, "Well gird your loins, because one of the servants just came down from the castle and informed me that the Queen Mother has requested a meeting with you."
Rory stared at him blankly, "What?"
"I know, I'd be terrified too. But apparently she wants to speak with you, and let me tell you, she's not a woman you want to keep waiting." he put a hand on her back and started to guide her towards the castle.
"But I don't–" she broke off, unsure of what to say. She'd seen the Queen Mother several times since entering the castle and had always gotten colder every time she laid eyes on her. The queen couldn't have been forty. Rory would have guessed she was 37 or 38 and had had Tristan when she was 15 or 16. She was beautiful, obviously, with shining yellow hair and clear green eyes. Her skin was light and smooth, not a wrinkle in sight. She had all the beauty of ice; sharp edges and glistening shine, but also the warmth of it. She was one of the coldest people Rory had ever seen. She seemed to be without emotion or feeling, and from the exchanges she'd seen between Tristan and his mother, there was no affection there. "Why?" she asked.
Logan shrugged, still propelling her forward, "To be honest? I haven't the slightest clue. My aunt's presence is not an enjoyable one and I avoid it as often as I can. My guess would be that she wants to talk to you about Tristan."
"Why does everyone want to talk to me about him?" she asked, exasperated.
"Probably because these days he speaks to you more than anyone else. Or if not that he speaks more, he cares more. He laughs with you and smiles, something he doesn't do with anyone else." he sighed, slowing their pace, "Tristan and his mother are not close in any sense of the word, but I know that brings her pain. She never made an effort to have a relationship with him, but she wishes she had one. I'm sure she wants to know how you formed one with him so quickly."
Rory shook her head, "Tristan and I don't have a relationship. I might venture to say we're loosely friends, but nothing more."
Logan shook his head, "Regardless, she wants to see you." and with that he escorted her into the castle. He led her up the steps from the military wing and into the main part of the castle, taking her towards her room. "Anna is here to help you get ready."
Rory opened her mouth to protest, but knew it wouldn't do any good, and so she just let him lead her along in silence.
After a moment Logan spoke, "Okay, Leigh. Just.....don't speak until she speaks to you. Don't offer anything she doesn't ask for. Don't tell her anything about Tristan that you don't think he's told her–"
"How am I supposed to know what he has and hasn't told her?" she asked, cutting him off.
Logan just laughed, "Anything he's ever told you, chances are he hasn't told her. Just don't say anything she couldn't have seen for herself."
"Why?"
"Because she twists everything. She's a bitter, bitter person, Leigh."
Rory shook her head, twisting to face him, "Why?"
Logan stopped, looking at her for a stretch without speaking. Finally he closed his eyes, turning away, "Ask Tristan."
He started to walk again, but she grabbed his arm, stopping him, "Tristan isn't here for me to ask."
He grimaced, running a hand through his hair, "It isn't really my place to say." Rory's eyebrow arched, her grip not easing. They stared at each other for a moment, neither moving.
"Logan." she said finally, gripping his arm tighter.
He chewed on the insides of his cheeks, watching her, "All I'm going to say is that the late king chose her when she was fourteen. She dearly loved her husband." he turned to continue down the hall.
And in Rory's mind it clicked. Of course she loved her husband. It was the same situation she'd been trying to explain to Tristan with the princess of Rivenlear. She had probably been preparing herself for a marriage to some old Lord and then the young king took an interest in her. "And then he didn't stay faithful." Rory whispered. Logan heard her and froze. Rory started towards him, "Everyone knows the king had mistresses. It would have made it even worse for her if he chose her in the beginning." She came even with Logan, "That's why she's bitter? That's why she can't even look at Tristan?"
He glanced over at her, shaking his head lightly, "You've noticed that she doesn't look at him?"
Rory nodded, "I notice everything."
Logan sighed, touching her back and once again moving her forward, "Come on." He stopped in front of her room, knocking on the door, "Just be careful." he said quietly as the door opened and Anna reached out, snatching Rory by the arm and pulling her inside.
**************
And so an hour later Rory found herself sitting across from the Queen Mother as she sipped tea. None had been offered to Rory. They sat in silence, the icy queen acting as if Rory weren't present. She glanced around the room, her hands resting in her lap. The layout of her suite was similar to Tristan's, though smaller. Rory had initially entered the main chamber that held only a mirror, a vase of flowers, and a large chair. Three rooms had branched from it; now she was in a large sitting room. There was the table they were at, with four chairs around it, two large cushioned chairs with a small table between, a mirror, and an armoire off to the side. There were books and knitting scattered about the room, flowing white and light blue curtains over the windows, and vases full of bright flowers along the table tops.
She assumed that the other doorways had led to a bedroom and a powder room.
The Queen Mother herself wore a light green dress that looked to be extremely uncomfortable to Rory. Her skin was alabaster and full, but sitting so close to her Rory saw that the beginnings of thin lines creased her eyes and mouth. It didn't retract from her beauty, however, it added to it. Her hair was full and clean, flowing halfway down her back. It was pulled half back, leaving her face free of it. Her nails were long and clean, filed to perfect half-moons. She wore a delicate golden necklace with a lacy cross as the bottom, falling between her breasts. Her wedding ring still rested on her finger.
"I hear my son has been spending a lot of time with you." Rory jumped, surprised as the silence was broken for the first time.
She turned back to face the Queen Mother, "We've spoken, yes, your highness."
She nodded thoughtfully, pressing her full lips together, "And how is he?"
"He's well." Rory said quietly, unsure of where this was going. The queen sounded sincere enough.
"He's taken a liking to you. He doesn't usually take a liking to the servants."
Rory stared at her, shocked at the easy note in the queen's voice. It was as if she were purposely offending Rory, but acting as if she didn't know she was doing it, "I'm not a servant." she said quietly.
"Hmm?" the queen glanced down at her as if she hadn't heard her completely.
"I said I'm not a servant."
A perfectly shaped blonde eyebrow raised as the queen set her teacup down, "You don't think so?" she asked, her voice unreadable.
Rory shook her head lightly, "I was originally part of the new guard. Now I'm training them. I am not a servant."
The queen didn't respond, rather, she stared at Rory, her gaze calculating and cold. Rory, who normally would have felt the urge to shiver under the scrutiny, stared back. "It's touching that you think so." the queen replied calmly, picking her up her teacup again.
The vast majority of the muscles in Rory's body were clenched, her fingers curled so tightly that her nails bit into her palms and her knuckles ached. She glared at the Queen Mother, who had gone back to acting as if she weren't present. "Was there anything else you wanted?" she asked through clenched teeth, ready to storm from the room. The queen acted as if she hadn't heard Rory's question, just raised the cup to her mouth, sipping daintily. She waited another moment for the woman before her to say something, but she was silent. And so Rory pushed herself back from the table, stood, and turned towards the door.
The queen's voice stopped her cold, "Have you given yourself to my son?" Rory turned, staring at her without answering. That was why the queen had wanted to meet her? To ask if she'd slept with Tristan? The queen raised her gaze to meet Rory's, "He'd been planning to accept King Harold's proposal of marriage to his daughter." she stood, taking a step towards Rory, "But yesterday I was informed that he would, in fact, be declining the offer." she tilted her head, crossing her arms over her chest, "You were the last person he spoke to before he left for Rivenlear."
Rory watched her, her heart beat increasing even as confusion swept over her. The queen thought she was responsible for Tristan's refusal to marry the princess of Rivenlear. Because she thought Rory was sleeping with him. Tristan's debauchery was known throughout the kingdom; did she really believe that he would let liaisons with her would stop him from marrying? It hadn't stopped Tristan's father. "And?" she asked, folding her arms as well.
"And you convinced him not to marry her."
"I did not." she shook her head.
"Then why was he planning to marry her before he spoke to you?"
Rory stared at her, her face blank, "Are you so sure he was?"
The queen stared back, her gaze stone, "Yes. And if you were anything but a selfish jade you would know that in keeping him from a future wife you could be endangering the whole kingdom, including yourself." Rory opened her mouth to respond, but the queen continued acidly, "Tristan has no heir. In three weeks he will be twenty two and he doesn't even have a wife yet. With war and assassination a constant threat he could die without leaving anyone of his bloodline to take the throne. Mitchum is the heir presumptive until Tristan has a son, but if he dies without having one then his time as king meant nothing. The thing he was born to be, his birthright, will have been wasted." she stared at Rory for a moment, "Do you want that on your conscience?"
Rory bit the insides of her cheeks, watching the queen with a sick feeling stirring in the bottom of her stomach, a guilt that she couldn't push down, "I have things to do." she turned to leave.
"Have you given yourself to my son?" the queen asked again.
Rory twisted back around, "That's really none of your concern."
The queen shook her head slowly, drained, "On the contrary, Leigh. It's everyone's concern."
******************************
Rory laid on the lawn next to Marty, staring up at the night sky in silence. Stars twinkled across the dark expanse, but there wasn't as much to see here as there was in Stars Hollow. Here, there were woods around parts of the castle, blocking sections of the sky. But still Rory laid, staring into eternity. Autumn had begun, the nights getting colder and coming sooner. A chilled wind blew above them, the type of wind that ran before a storm, rustling the trees across the lawn; they hadn't yet turned. Most were still a dark green.
"I've never heard of the queen getting angry." he said finally, his quiet voice breaking the silence.
"Mmm." was the only noise she made in response.
"So she wanted to meet you just to ask if you were sleeping with Tristan?"
Rory shivered lightly against the cold, thunder rumbling in the distance, "And to figure out if I was really the reason he refused the princess of Rivenlear. Because obviously I'm in his bed every night and therefore he won't marry anyone while our affair is going on." she snorted, "Really, even if I was sleeping with him, it's like she doesn't know her own son at all. Is it possible that she really believes copulation with anyone would stop him from marrying someone else? Really?" She fell silent, shifting on the dry grass. Marty didn't respond. After a pregnant silence she spoke, "What?"
"Are you, Leigh?" he asked quietly. Again thunder rolled in the distance, closer than before. Rory didn't respond, uncertain of what he was asking. "Have you given yourself to him?" he breathed.
She shot into a sitting position, twisting to glare at him; the sharp wind hit her full in the face, "No, Marty."
"Do you want to?" he pressed, sitting up as well. She could just see his face in the moonlight, concerned. Marty didn't shiver, ignoring the cold better than her.
Her jaw dropped, "What? No! Are you serious?"
He held his hand up defensively, "I'm just asking."
"No, I don't. And even if I did it wouldn't matter."
"Then be careful."
She shook her head, "What do you mean be careful?"
But before he could answer she gasped, jumping as lightning tore the sky above them. Thunder reverberated to the north and the wind picked up. It would be a dangerous storm.
Marty sighed, leaning back, "Leigh, like I said before, I've never seen you with Tristan, so I can't say, but just from the way everyone is acting about you talking to him and from the way you talk about him, there has to be something there. I've been in the castle for seven years and I've never known Tristan to spend this much time around anyone. I've never known him to become close to anyone so quickly. I don't think he sees women as either friends or sexual outlets; I think to him they're one and the same."
She shook her head, "What are you saying, Marty?"
He exhaled slowly, licking his lips, "I just don't want something to happen that you'll regret, Leigh."
She stared at him, emotionless as the first drop of rain landed on his cheek. She swallowed hard, trying to push back the memory of her first week at the castle, when Logan had sent her to Tristan's room. Because Tristan had told him to. "I'm not...." she said quietly, biting her lip, "I wouldn't."
"I know you wouldn't. If you were thinking clearly. But you don't seem to think clearly around him." Marty said quietly, brushing away the rain from his cheek. He pushed himself off the ground, holding his hand out to her, "Come on." several more drops hit them, "We need to get inside." she took his hand, allowing him to help her up as she tried to fight off the daze that was coming over her. Marty led her up to the castle.
He led her through her stupor, an arm wrapped around her waist. She didn't even feel the rain hitting her.
*****************
Rory woke slowly the next morning to rain hitting the roof. She sighed, rolling over to burrow deeper under the covers. They never woke her for the run when it was raining. She didn't know why, they still made the men go. But she wasn't complaining. She loved the rain. Not running in the mud. She shifted, her legs sliding smoothly against one another; they were still silky from being waxed the week before. She uncurled her arms above her and pointed her toes down, stretching against sleep as a yawn overtook her.
There was a knock at the door. "Yes?" she relaxed further into the covers.
The door opened to reveal Anna, "Time to get up, Miss Leigh." she said as she pushed her way inside.
Rory's eyes narrowed, sleep retreating from her as her brain unfogged. She sat up, watching Anna sift through the wardrobe in her room, "What did you just call me?"
Anna turned to glance at her, "Hmm?"
"What did you call me?"
Anna shook her head, confused, "Leigh?"
"No." she shook her head, "You called me Miss Leigh."
"Oh." Anna nodded, "Yes, very well. Miss Leigh." she turned back to the wardrobe.
Rory stared at her in disbelief, "Are you alright?"
"Of course." she pulled down a dress and turned towards the bed, "Why wouldn't I be?" she motioned for Rory to get out of bed.
She climbed down, her eyes still narrowed as she took the dress from Anna and walked towards the changing screen, "You have never called me Miss."
"No?" Anna asked, uninterested as she turned to do something else.
"No." Rory pulled her nightgown over her head and tossed it to the floor before pulling the dress from the top of the screen. "Are you sure you're not sick?"
"Yes, dear. I'm sure." she replied from out of sight.
"See!" Rory called triumphantly, pulling the dress on and poking her head out from the screen, "there is was again. Being nice." she situated the dress before walking out from the screen, "It doesn't suit you." she walked over to Anna, who rolled her eyes. Rory turned so that the old woman could tie the cord that laced up her back and corseted the light blue dress.
She may have been acting kind, but Anna's hands were swift on her back, pulling roughly and quickly, tightening the string. "Breakfast is being served in the side dining hall. The Queen Mother wishes for you to join her."
Rory glanced behind her, trying to see Anna's face, "What? Why?"
The old woman shrugged, "Tristan pays special attention to you, so apparently the whole royal family has a vested interest in you." Rory opened her mouth to reply, but gasped as Anna jerked the string one last time and tied it deftly.
"Okay." Rory groaned, laying a hand on her stomach, "I take it back. You're not being nice."
Anna grinned, twisting Rory around to pat her cheek lightly, "And you're a joy, dear."
Rory's nose wrinkled, "See? Sarcasm suits you much better."
Anna nodded towards the vanity. "Sit."
She grimaced, glancing towards the high backed chair, "Do I have to?" she asked.
"Yes." Rory was about to protest but Anna held up a hand, cutting her off, "Don't bother."
She sighed, collapsing into the chair. Her hair was clean from the bath she'd taken the night before after coming in from stargazing. "You are not nice." was all she said as Anna went to work, raking a brush through her hair. It was getting to the point that Rory couldn't feel her scalp anymore and after seven weeks of the abuse to her head it no longer hurt, but she still complained for good measure. Anna ignored her, as usual. It only took a few moments for Anna to twist two sections of her hair and pin them back. She tried for powder but Rory flatly refused and Anna didn't push it.
"The Queen Mother is waiting for you in the side dining hall."
Rory grimaced, "I'd rather eat with the pig–"
Anna clapped a hand over her mouth, "For shame! You'd do well to watch the way you speak, Leigh Danes." she hissed, pulling her hand away.
She pressed her lips together, sighing, "I'd rather not go eat with her."
"No one would. But someone has to do it." she sighed, slipping behind Rory and dropping a silver necklace over her head. It was a cross similar to the one the queen wore, but smaller and, in Rory's opinion, prettier. She wanted to protest, simply because she guessed this was for the approval of the queen, but again refrained.
Once the necklace was in place she stood, turning towards the door, "Am I done?"
Anna nodded, "Go on."
And so she left, leaving Anna in her room. She turned right outside of her room, heading slowly towards the grand staircase. She didn't think this was the best idea. She'd already offended a woman she assumed wasn't used to being offended. And now the woman wanted to have breakfast with her. She couldn't see how it would end well. Rory sighed, biting her bottom lip. And the conversation would inevitably turn to Tristan, which she didn't want. She hated talking about him, not because of anything about him, but because the conversations always turned to people being shocked that he spent so much time with her or simply that he actually spoke to her.
Rory rolled her neck in a circle to loosen the tension that had been building since Anna had announced that she'd be dining with the Queen Mother. She sighed, stopping for a moment to lean against the stone wall; anything to lengthen the time until she saw Tristan's mother. She bit her lip, closing her eyes. Around the next corner was the hall leading to the grand staircase. Once she rounded the corner it would be in her view and then she'd have to walk at a normal pace. Because people would stare if she inched through the main part of the castle. And she'd have to sit with the Queen Mother. For an indefinite amount of time. This anxiety boiling in her stomach was akin to the dread that had rested in the pit of her stomach as she was brought to the castle nearly two months ago and again with Sookie earlier in the week. It was the feeling of exposure. It wasn't the same as being around Sookie, who she hadn't been sure would expose her. It wasn't the same as being around Tristan, who seemed to be taken aback by everything she did, affected by everything she said whether it evoked anger or amusement. With Tristan she didn't fear exposure, because he wasn't wary of her.
His mother was. She didn't like Rory, that much was obvious, but she was suspicious beyond that. It was more than curiosity as to why Tristan enjoyed her company. The Queen Mother didn't trust her; she knew that something was askew with the eighteen year old girl from a minor village who could defeat half of the king's guard in single combat. If the Queen Mother ever realized who she was, she might as well dig her own grave.
Rory sighed, running a hand over her face in frustration. There was nothing she could do. To refuse the queen would be imprudent; Tristan may tolerate her improper behavior when they were together, but his mother certainly wouldn't. She felt her heart sink, debating with herself silently when a voice around the corner made her start, her heart beating faster. Two familiar voices were moving towards her, coming up the stairs.
She pushed herself off the wall, darting the last stretch of the hallway before swinging around the corner silently. She careened to a stop, eyes wide. The two men came to the top of the stairs and continued talking, moving towards her without seeing her.
"Tristan!" his head snapped around, a reflexive grin cracking his lips as he caught sight of her. She smiled, her mind and body unconnected as she found herself dashing towards him at full speed. Tristan caught her easily, swinging her once as if she weighed nothing, pulling her close. Rory wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him close. She was amazed at how warm he was, how hard his chest was. She'd felt it before, but only at times she pushed him away or simply rested her hands against it, never crushed this close to hers before. She smelled his skin and it was sun and wind and trees and it invaded her in a way it never had before. It was like spending seven days away from him made it stronger, made her forget it.
A storm still raged outside of the castle but the room was brighter than it had been in a week.
Rory pulled back far enough to see his face but Tristan kept his arms around her. "When did you get back?"
"Late last night."
Her stomach fluttered at his voice and she realized, with reluctance, that she had even missed that. And she vaguely realized that Tristan's return was why Anna had been so cordial. "I thought you were going to be gone for a few more days?"
He shrugged nonchalantly, "We finished early."
"How was Rivenlear?" she asked.
Tristan rolled his eyes, shaking his head lightly, "Disturbing."
"Oh?" her eyebrow arched, the small of her back tingling where his hands rested. "How so?"
He groaned, shaking his head lightly, "Do young girls always have to be so dramatic?"
Rory laughed, leaning back. Tristan released her and she suddenly felt a light chill, but ignored it, "I told you she would be."
He shook his head, eyes wide, "I've never seen anything like that before."
Rory glanced over at Logan, who had been walking with Tristan, and laughed, "What did you tell them?"
At that Logan laughed and Tristan smirked, "That the prince of Gildren is looking for a wife."
Rory looked between them for a moment, uncertain of how to react. "I thought you were friends..."
"We are." Tristan touched her hair absentmindedly, running a strand of it through his fingers, "But Finn needs someone to tie him down and forsake his wicked ways." She stared up at him, her expression unreadable. Truth be told she'd missed what he'd said seeing as how all coherent thought had fled her when he touched her. It was like just having him back around her made her flustered and scattered. Made her heart beat faster. Made her forget everything. Everything had changed after he'd kissed her forehead.....after he'd almost kissed her. Tristan saw her staring at him and fell silent, his hand stilling in her hair. "What?"
She shook her head lightly, clearing it of the fog that had blanketed her mind once he touched her. "Nothing."
His lip quirked, his head turning slightly as his hand trailed from her hair to skim the smooth skin over her neck, trailing along the necklace, "Were you going somewhere?"
Rory grimaced, flinching, "Yes, actually. I was going to have breakfast with your mother."
Tristan froze, his body stiffening next to her. His gaze trailed down the chain around her neck to fall on the cross at the bottom of it. Recognition flashed behind his eyes before his expression became a mask, unreadable as she looked up at him. He blinked once, his voice dangerously empty, "What?"
She bit her lip, uncertain of why it had upset him, "Your mother wanted me to join her for breakfast...."
He didn't respond, but glanced at Logan instead, silent communication passing between the cousins. Tristan turned back to her and just stared at her for a moment before speaking. There was a tenseness in his voice she'd rarely heard, as if his next question was more than it seemed. "Do you want to eat with her?"
Rory opened her mouth, uncertain of how to answer. She knew he wouldn't care what she said either way, but didn't think it was wise to reject the Queen Mother. "I..." again she trailed off, uncertain.
But that was enough for him. He nodded as if she'd given a real answer and turned towards Logan, "I'll be right back."
He turned to go, but Rory reached for him. "Wait."
He twisted back around, his gaze finding her, "Yes?"
She stepped back, surprised for some reason that he'd turned to quickly, "Where are you going?"
Tristan didn't answer, but quirked his lip and turned back around, heading down the stairs.
Rory turned to Logan, "Where is he going?"
"My guess?" he asked, watching after his cousin, "To talk to his mother."
*
Tristan walked swiftly into the side dining hall, his eyes narrowed. His mother looked up from her untouched plate of food, unsurprised, "Tristan, dear, you're back."
He ignored her comment, coming to a stop several feet away from her, "Leave her alone."
His mother shook her head, feigning confusion, "I'm sorry?"
He glared at her, "Leave her alone. She isn't a pawn for you to manipulate and torture."
She picked up her glass, bringing it to her lips, "Who are you talking about dear?"
"Leigh." he hissed, leaning down, "You already spoke to her while I was gone, now leave her alone. She is not here for your amusement and you will not destroy her with you deceit." she opened her mouth but he cut her off, "No. This is what you do, mother. You pick someone to push and hurt and torture until you break them. You twist things and lie and then sit back and watch to see how people crumble and I will not let you do that to her."
His mother stared at him without reacting, his words having no effect on her, "From the way you talk one would think I were the devil incarnate."
"Not incarnate." he snarled, unamused.
She smirked, "I'm not trying to destroy her for my own entertainment, Tristan."
He scoffed, pushing back from the table, "Please, mother, save your lies and poison for someone who doesn't see through you."
"I'm not, Tristan. I'm doing this for you."
"For me? How so?" he asked, disbelieving, as he turned back to face her.
She shook her head, standing, "If you don't see it now then soon you will."
He shook his head, narrowing his eyes at her, "What are you talking about?"
"You're letting a ridiculous infatuation cloud your judgement."
"Cloud my judgement? How?"
She took a step closer to him, "You were preparing to accept Harold's proposal before you spoke to her. You've lost a queen because–"
"No, mother." he cut her off, annoyed, "There will always be someone to be queen."
She shook her head lightly, "Tristan, I'm concerned for you."
"Don't be. And leave her alone."
"You see?" she asked, stepping closer to him, "You're going soft."
Tristan stared down at his mother, his gaze dangerously stony but fiery at the same time. This was why he hated his mother. She never spoke to him, never acknowledged him, unless it could get her power. Unless she had something to criticize. She was vile. She was poisonous. She was how he'd learned to be a king. Her version of motherly love had consisted of a heavy hand when he was young and a sharp tongue as he grew.
His body hardened, his voice dropping an octave as he regarded her, "You think I'm going soft?" he breathed dangerously.
She shrunk back visibly, burned and frozen at his gaze as she realized that she'd pushed too far, "At times, yes."
His eyes burned, "Your arrogance is grating on me, mother. Would you like for me to demonstrate that I haven't gone soft?" she pressed her lips together, not responding. "Think carefully before you speak." he added, "Because you'll be the example."
"No, Tristan, I don't think you've really gone soft. But I think you're in danger of it if you aren't careful." He shook his head minutely, his expression not changing as he glared at her heartlessly. "You see this, Tristan, this is most I've seen you be yourself in the past two months."
He cocked his head sardonically, his lip quirking though there was nothing amusing, as he saw what she was playing at. It was power, yes. But it was also more than that. "Don't worry, mother. I plan on finding a wife soon. I won't die before I leave you an heir who has your blood."
She blinked, surprised before she sneered, moving past him to exit the room, "Just don't make it a filthy half-breed."
Tristan's hand shot out and grabbed her elbow, twisting her around. He knew it hurt, but she didn't react as if she were in pain. "What did you just say?" he hissed
She stared up at him coldly, her face set, "When you do grant me a grandchild, don't let it fester and grow in that impure chattel you're in thrall to."
Tristan pulled her closer painfully, his body protesting having her so near, "You will never touch my children." he hissed, pushing her away. "Get out." She went without a glance back. Tristan stood still, breathing hard until he could get his anger in check. His mother was the only one that had this effect on him. The only one who made him hate them. And he did hate her. He hated everything about her. Hated that she'd given him birth into a marriage that quickly became loveless and kingdom that became his responsibility when he was still a child.
He was cold now, empty after speaking to her when before he'd been full. Before, after talking to Leigh. After seeing her and touching her and hearing her he'd been warm. Now there was nothing. Leigh created things. His mother always destroyed them.
He was still standing there when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned to see Logan and Leigh entering slowly.
"Are you okay?" Leigh asked, coming closer to him. He nodded, still unable to speak. She rested a hand lightly on his cheek. "You're hot." she said quietly.
He shrugged her hand away, his face burning painfully and gloriously where she'd touched him. But it only burned more when her hand left, "Its nothing."
Her face wrinkled in concern, but she said nothing, stung by his brush-off. Logan spoke next, "We saw your mother storming out."
Tristan nodded, refusing to look at Leigh, "Yes. She was being more perverse than normal."
Logan's eyes widened slightly and Rory felt the burning of guilt in the pit of her stomach. She couldn't imagine Tristan had fought his mother about her, but she couldn't think of what else could have brought it on, and from the way the Queen Mother had stormed from the dining hall there had been an argument, and she had lost. If Tristan had won, however, he showed no sign. He refused to look at her and shrugged her hand away, and it hurt more than it should have.
Much more.