Rory trailed her fingers lightly up Tristan's chest, pushing his loose night shirt up as he slept. She watched him, biting her lip to hold back a grin as he shifted in his sleep, muttering quietly, but didn't wake. Early dawn light bled through the gap in the curtains though it did little to make the room brighter; a fire still roared in the hearth across the room, warming them from the winter snow outside. Rory watched him, his skin bronze in the stark fire light. She slid down his body, pressing her lips to his lower stomach warmly; her gaze lifted to his face, watching for his reaction. He mumbled again but did nothing else. She grinned, kissing her way slowly up his body, pushing his shirt higher and higher up as she went, her hands trailing up his sides as her lips went up the center of his torso, her eyes never leaving his face. When she came to his chest she pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. He was half conscious by then, his body shifting as he felt her on top of him though his eyes still hadn't opened. Rory leaned back down, trailing her mouth across his chest, grinning as he tried to wake up.
By the time he could open his eyes she'd made her way up his neck and was scraping her teeth over the shell of his ear, whispering to him to wake up. His hands came to grip her upper arms, pulling her down against him without opening his eyes. She laughed, collapsing on his bare chest heavily. He slid his hands slowly down her body, trailing down her sides and then her legs until he came to the skirt of the slip she'd slept in. His hands traced over the bare skin her legs before slipping under her skirt to slide back up her thighs. He still hadn't opened his eyes but a grin was pulling at the corner of his lips.
Rory shook her head, pressing her lips to his cheek, "Faker."
His grin dropped, "Shh." He muttered, unmoving, "I'm sleeping."
"Uh-uh." She kissed down his neck.
"Mhmm." He wrapped his arms around her, twisting over and pulling her with him so they were side by side on the bed, facing each other. "Go to sleep." He held her still, still not opening his eyes.
Rory stayed unmoving for a moment, waiting to see how long it took him to get bored of sitting still. She looked over his face, relaxed but obviously awake and amused. Rory bit her lip, pressing back a grin as she pulled her arm free from his grasp, raising her hand to trace her fingertips lightly down the bridge of his nose, "Tristan…" she sang quietly, her fingers touching lightly over his lips and then his eyelids, "Wake up…"
He shook his head minutely.
Rory watched him affectionately, pressing her lips together. Her amusement slowly faded, "Tristan?" she whispered.
His eyes opened at the serious note in her voice but he said nothing, his gaze questioning.
"Why…" she bit her lip, looking down at her fingers as she traced them up his chest, "Why did you keep my brother alive?"
"What?"
She looked up at him, "He told me that when he was first caught, when he first saw you, he thought you were going to kill him. That you looked like you wanted to. But you didn't." Rory pushed herself up onto her elbow, looking down at him, "You hated my family and you wanted all of us dead but when you found him…" she trailed off, confused, "He isn't even in a dungeon. You gave him a house."
Tristan looked at her apprehensively for a stretch, his face tight, "What exactly are you asking me?"
"Why didn't you kill him?" she whispered.
He sighed heavily, nodding once. He pushed himself up as well. He rubbed a hand over his face, thinking, "When I saw your brother, we were seventeen. I was older than when I ordered your family destroyed. I could think clearer." He paused, looking over at her, "But I was still going to kill him. I'd planned to. There had been rumors that one of the Hayden children had escaped and I figured that he'd been caught-" he hitched his jaw towards her, "-that was part of the reason I was shocked to find out who you were. I thought the rumors were about him." Rory nodded but said nothing and he went on, "I was going to kill him, but then I saw him and we looked at each other and…" he trailed off, shaking his head, his gaze far off, "…and I realized that if things had gone differently he might have been my closest friend." Tristan's face tensed in disbelief, his gaze still cloudy, "I even realized that I could have been in his exact situation. The Hayden family goes back just as far as mine. Either of us could have been in those chains if things had gone even slightly differently in the past." He sighed, "I realized that I didn't even know what Christopher Hayden's children looked like and I never would. But I had the thought that I could have been the best of friends with his son. I might have fallen in love with one of his daughters…but I never would." Tristan fell quiet, chewing on the insides of his cheeks. He looked up at her, his brows furrowed, "I realized that he was the same as me."
Rory looked at him, lost for words. She literally could think of nothing to say.
Tristan licked his lips, looking away from her, "After that I couldn't kill him. But I also couldn't let him go. So I had the cabin built on Logan's father's estate. There are three guards with him all the time, no windows that he could get out of. Originally it was to make sure he wouldn't escape but as of now…" Tristan shrugged, "I mean, if he asked I would probably let him go. I only kept him because if people knew that he'd survived…" he trailed off, shrugging one shoulder, "I don't know. I just couldn't kill him."
Rory looked at him in the silence that followed, her head tilting slightly as she watched him closely. It had been nearly a week since he'd first taken her to see her brother and she'd gone back nearly every day since. Tristan had gone with her once and she was still caught off guard by how informal Tristan and Richard were. She would almost venture to say that they were friends.
She bit her lip, shifting closer to him until their bodies were nearly touching and she could feel the heat from his chest through her slip. Her hand slid up to trail across his cheek warmly, coaxing his gaze to her face. He looked at her, his expression unreadable. She slid her leg around his waist, pulling herself closer against him. She shook her head lightly, almost distractedly, as she looked over his face, "You're so different." she whispered as if to herself, her face close to his.
His gaze sharpened slightly, his attention caught, "What?"
"You're so different." she repeated, trailing her fingertips lightly over his bottom lip, "You're nothing like people think. Nothing like I thought." Her gaze brushed up to his, "But I guess you already knew that." she added quietly.
Tristan didn't respond immediately; he shifted, sitting up straight so that both her hand and leg slid off of him, "What did you think?"
Rory glanced down, shrugging lightly as she curled her leg back closer to herself, "I thought…" she bit her lip, "I thought you were cold. Cruel. Unchanging." She pressed her lips together, exhaling heavily through her nose, "I didn't think you were…" she trailed off, biting her lip, "I didn't think you were good and kind…and just…" she sighed, finally looking up at him, "Tristan, you're smart. And you're funny. And you're so much warmer and stronger than I ever could have imagined." She sat up slowly, her gaze steady on him. "I had no idea. You're so different than you seem."
His eyes tightened and he looked over at her as if unsure what to take from what she'd said. "I guess it's reasonable, you thinking that of me before."
"I don't anymore, though." She whispered, sliding onto his lap. Her arms wound around his neck, "You aren't." her lips touched his throat, attempting to make him relax. His body was tense below her, strained. Rory pulled back to look him in the eye, tracing her finger lightly down the center of his face. "You don't have to be like this, you know." she whispered.
"Like what?"
"Hard." she said quietly, but then she shook her head lightly, almost amused, "I mean, you do have to be, I know that. But not around me."
Tristan sighed, looking away from her as he raked a hand through his hair in frustration, though he didn't push her away, "Rory, can we not do this this morning?"
She ignored his question, resting her hand on his cheek, "I wish you wouldn't."
He licked his lips, looking back towards her, "Rory." his voice carried a gentle warning.
She caught his gaze, her head down innocently, "I'm serious."
Tristan shook his head, hands sliding over her hips, "I didn't think you were joking." he pulled her gently from his lap, setting her on the bed next to him. He kissed her forehead quickly, "But I have to get dressed." He turned and was almost off the bed when she wrapped her hand around his wrist. He turned halfway towards her, his expression unreadable though he didn't look at her, waiting for her to speak.
Rory pushed herself up onto her knees, bringing her body closer to his, "Tristan." she touched his face gently, turning it towards her, "I don't understand. It's like you're two different people, even with me."
He cut his eyes to hers, silent.
She went on, "Usually you're sweet and open and you laugh and hold me and kiss my neck." She bit her lip, shifting closer to him. Her voice became softer, "You look at me and I really see you…really see into you." She pressed her lips together, "But then other times you're cold and distant and you barely talk…" Rory broke her gaze from his, looking over his face. She traced her fingertips in the hollow under his eyes, "Other times you look at me and it's like they're stone. I can't see anything."
"What do you see now?" he asked, his voice quiet but not open.
Rory shook her head gently, "Nothing." she whispered, "But you're trying harder than usual." She tilted her head, "Why?"
Tristan bit the insides of his cheeks, his voice heavy, "Maybe it's getting harder to keep you out." His eyebrow arched, "Or maybe it's just because I'm tired."
She narrowed her eyes, caught between amusement and annoyance. After only a breath she closed the space between them, moving toward him as well as jerking him towards her, their lips meeting halfway. She kissed him deeply, her lips moving against his as her fingers slid up to tangle in his hair, pulling him down to the mattress on top of her. He fell above her heavily, catching most of his weight with his hands against the bed on either side of her. Then he slowly relaxed, his weight pressing solidly down on her like a blanket. His skin was warm against hers as she wrapped her leg around his hips, pulling him closer. She clenched her fingers in his hair and felt the shiver that ran down the length of his spine in response. He deepened the kiss for a moment, sliding his hand up her leg, before breaking his lips from hers.
His breathing wasn't heavy like she might have expected, nor were his eyes dark or his skin hot. The kiss hadn't gotten him worked up; instead it had calmed him, his chest rising and falling slowly and his gaze serious as he looked into her. He didn't say anything at first, his hand skimming slowly along her leg as he looked down at her, searching for words. After a stretch he spoke, his voice rough, "It's because I don't know what to think of you."
Her eyebrows drew together, surprised, "What?"
"It's like you're not really here." he whispered, his hand still tracing slowly over the bare skin of her thigh, "You say one thing but you mean another…you're afraid of what you feel." The muscles in his jaw flexed as if he were holding himself back, "I want to give you what you want, Rory…I want to give you everything you want. But you won't tell me what that is."
She bit her lip, looking up at him through heavily lidded eyes. What did she want? Nothing that was in his power to give. He'd told her before that he had no control over his own life, and more than anything she wanted him. Not like this, under bed sheets and behind closed doors; not only until he belonged to someone else. She knew he loved her. She knew he would do anything she asked. And she knew that eventually it could cost him everything. His advisors and friends didn't badger him about her because they genuinely cared for him and wanted him to be happy…but they wouldn't humor him forever. Soon they'd be pushing him to marry again, to find a suitable wife. No one would force him to give her up. No one would make them part. They'd tell him to marry for politics and heirs but to keep her for as long as it pleased him. It wouldn't even be a bad situation for her; there was no shame in the king keeping a mistress and given the affection everyone knew he held for her, she would even be afforded some respect and position.
But she wouldn't do it. She wouldn't do it for his sake. Tristan, for all his indiscretions in the past, was still a lover; she wouldn't ask him to do that, to tear himself in half and be a father to his children while he betrayed their mother over and over again by coming to her bed. She wasn't humble enough to deny that Tristan would come to her regardless of whether or not he was married to someone else. She wasn't modest enough to pretend that she didn't make him weak and hold a control over him that no one else could hope to touch. But that only made it worse. She wouldn't ask him to stay with her despite the fact that he owed himself to another; he would undoubtedly oblige her…and it would destroy him.
She wouldn't do it for herself. However much she may want him, there was no getting around the fact that he could never be completely hers. And she would have been lying if she said that she could live with that. Tristan was the first person she'd ever felt the right to…like she owned him. She could never share him, never take second place to someone else even if it were just a façade. Though giving him up might possibly make her wish she were dead, she knew it would be better than living out her life as his concubine.
But more than anything, more than her concern for him or her respect for herself, she wouldn't do it for her children…the children that would unavoidably be born from their unending affair. It wouldn't be fair to them. How could she possibly explain to her children that their half-siblings got to wear crowns and inherit thrones and spend as much time with Tristan as they wanted, but they had to be content with a normal life and as much time as their father could spare? How could she possibly justify to her children that the same blood that made Tristan's children from his wife royalty, made them bastards? How do you explain to a child that yes, their parents love each other and their father loves them, but he has another family that take precedence over them? Nothing could justify that. Ever. When that came into account it didn't matter how much Tristan loved her or how much she needed him. She would never subject her children to that. And even worse for the children that would be born of his wife.
If she knew anything about Tristan it was that he wanted to be a father, and because of his love for her, he would undoubtedly love the children of her body more than the children borne to him from a wife he never wanted. It wasn't that he wouldn't love all of his children; he would. Beyond a doubt, he would. But she knew that he wouldn't feel the same towards them, and how painful for a child to know that his father never wanted his mother, but loves the mistress he keeps? How could you tell a child that they had to suffer for something they had nothing to do with? That they had to be second rate because the law forbade their parents from marrying and demanded that their father take a different wife?
No. She wouldn't do that. She wouldn't punish her children. She wouldn't put Tristan through the stress and pain of having two families, the one he loved more subordinate to the other simply because he was forced into a marriage he never wanted.
Rory sighed quietly, sliding her hand down to his cheek, "I only want you." she whispered. He was playing deep. She would too. Normally when he spoke like this all she could do was listen and stare at him in awe. But she knew now that she owed him more than that.
Tristan shook his head, "You have that. You have it a thousand times over, but it still isn't enough. Why isn't it enough?"
She traced her finger lightly across his bottom lip, her eyes glued to the motion, "I don't have that." Her voice was barely a whisper, "I can never have it, because you aren't your own to give."
She felt him swallow hard as if forcing down painful medicine. He kissed the finger that trailed over his lips, "Everything that I have to give is yours." Her gaze swept up to meet his. He leaned down, pressing his lips to her cheekbone gently, his voice a whisper across her skin, "Everything I am belongs to you." Rory felt her eyelids flutter, her breath hitching. He pulled back fractionally to look her in the eye, "Heaven and Hell couldn't tear me from you, Rory. So why are you so afraid?"
Rory closed her eyes to stop the tears that pushed at the back of her eyes. She pressed her forehead to his, breathing him in deeply. She savored the warmth of his body over hers. When she spoke her voice was thick, "Because Heaven and Hell aren't the ones trying to take you away from me."
"Hey." he whispered, touching her jawline lightly to get her attention. She looked up at him, her eyes shining. He shook his head fractionally, "What is this about?"
She shook her head, closing her eyes again and turning her face from him, "It's everyone else."
"Rory." his voice was gentle as he pushed himself off of her to sit up. He pulled her up to sit in his lap. His touch brushed against her cheek but she refused to open her eyes. "Hey, look at me." She reluctantly obeyed. Tristan titled his head towards her, concerned, "Talk to me."
She bit her lip, her face pale, "Tristan." she closed her eyes momentarily, shaking her head, "We're kidding ourselves. You can't control what's going to happen in your life. This can never go anywhere but here." her fingers trailed down his arm to brush across the sheet.
Tristan looked over her face, his forehead tensed in concern. "Hey," he whispered after a moment, running his fingers through her hair soothingly. "I would do anything for you…do you know that?"
Rory pressed her lips together painfully as she felt a tear break free and trail slowly down her cheek. Neither of them moved to wipe it away. She nodded, unable to speak for a moment. He nodded back, his gaze locked onto hers. "I know," she said quietly, her face close to his, "I know."
**
Rory walked into the dining hall later that morning, draped in a warm orange dress, a small plait running along her hairline to keep it out of her face while most of it tumbled down her back in loose waves. She made her way to the table where Tristan and Max sat, conversing quietly over half-eaten but forgotten meals. Upon catching sight of her they both stood politely, Tristan pulling her chair out for her. She thanked him and sat down as he slid the chair back up to the table for her. He motioned for food to be brought to her and sat back down, continuing his discussion with Max. It was something to do with the cloth they imported from Koral. She didn't listen closely but gazed out of the window to the heavy snow falling outside.
Two servants approached, one holding a plate of food and a glass for her; the other carrying a sealed letter. The first set her food down and left. She paid no attention to the other, assuming the letter was for Tristan, and reached to take a drink from her glass. The servant stood between her and Tristan, bowing slightly, "Milady."
Rory look up, surprised. Tristan did as well, glancing between her and the servant. He held the letter out to her and she took it slowly, her food forgotten. The servant bowed to Tristan before backing away from them. The servant was ignored, the king's attention solely on her. She looked down at the letter, sealed with wax, uncertain of who it could be from. She glanced up at Tristan, who still watched her curiously. She shrugged one shoulder at him, showing her confusion as well, before breaking the seal and sliding the letter open. It wasn't especially long, though it wasn't short. She read it through once quickly and then again slower.
Rory chewed on her bottom lip, her gaze resting at the signature at the bottom. She could feel Tristan's gaze on her. She inhaled deeply and then exhaled slowly, trying to push down the hollow feeling that began to stir in her chest. After a moment she looked up, her expression carefully controlled. Tristan's eyebrows drew together in concern, his attention never having left her. She smiled lightly, "It's from Lane."
"You friend back in Stars Hollow?" he asked. She nodded, folding the letter back to its original state. "Is everything okay?"
"Yes." Rory blinked quickly, pushing back the sudden longing for Lane and Jess and Luke and Rachel that washed over her. "She's getting married a week after Christmas." She let out a controlled breath before looking back up towards Tristan, "Dave asked her right before I came here but they've had a few setbacks." Rory set the letter next to her plate, folding her hands in her lap anxiously, "I guess it's finally happening though."
She tried to keep the pain out of her voice but didn't seem to have succeeded. Tristan still watched her, his gaze questioning and his face drawn with concern for her. She bit her lip, breaking her eyes from his to stop him from seeing any more. Instantly his hand was on her face, warm and comforting; he raised her gaze back to his and tilted his head towards her questioningly. "Are you going to be alright?" he asked quietly enough that only she could hear, his thumb brushing across her bottom lip.
Rory nodded, unable to speak, and gave him a weak smile. She turned her face into his palm, kissing the inside of his wrist thankfully. His face didn't soften, but regarded her with as much concern as before as he slowly pulled his hand back from her face, his fingertips trailing along her skin.
~*~
Tristan stood with Max, watching the new and old guard several hundred yards off. Logan had just finished his speech to the men and Tristan's eyes were glued to Rory as she and Logan faced each other at the front of the crowd, preparing to fight in an effort to demonstrate how they wanted the men to. Both of their sword arms swung free, their weaker hands gripping the hilts. A lot of the newer men still had trouble fighting as well with their weaker arm. He was almost worried that she would get hurt, but knew she wouldn't.
Mitchum had come to him the day before and explained that the new guard was practically done with their training. ..certainly past the point where Leigh's swordsmanship was still a necessity. Tristan had smiled at the name when Mitchum used it, not used to hearing it any longer. But his amusement at the name hadn't blocked his mind from what his uncle had said. Rory wasn't needed with the guard any longer and soon the men would start to realize it, that is if they hadn't already.
That was what he thought of now, watching them from one of the windows in the castle as Rory skipped away from Logan, doing some type of elegant twist he didn't think he'd ever be capable of. He leaned against the window sill, eyes narrowed in thought. Max watched him uncertainly, fidgeting, as he tended to do. Tristan had called him here and then just stared resolutely out of the window, lost in his own mind.
His advisor stepped forward hesitantly, holding up a finger, "Ah, Tristan, my lord?"
"Hmm?" he muttered, not breaking his gaze from the training field.
"The Christmas Eve Ball is in three days and I just wanted to-"
"Max." Tristan, obviously not listening, cut him off mid-sentence.
He almost rolled his eyes. As it was he sighed laboriously, his shoulders slumping "Yes, my lord?"
Tristan sighed, oblivious to the tired note in his advisor's voice as he turned to face him, "What do you think Rory thinks?"
Max's forehead creased, confused, "What?"
"About this." Tristan clarified, "Do you think she thinks…do you think she feels like she has to be here? Like she can't leave?"
Max watched him for a stretch, his expression calculating.
"Tell me honestly." Tristan insisted.
"Honestly, your highness?" he shrugged one shoulder helplessly, "I think that's probably exactly how she feels."
Tristan nodded resolutely. He'd thought the same, but had hoped he was wrong. "Do you think she feels like a prisoner?"
Max shook his head, "I don't think she dislikes being here at all, Tristan."
"That's not what I asked." he replied softly.
Max crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall as he regarded the young man before him. It was a moment before he spoke, his voice quiet, "What are you getting at, Tristan?"
The king bit the insides of his cheeks, glancing down, "The new guard is nearly done with their training. She's been here six months…I can't very well pretend that they still need her." He fell silent, his gaze intent on the stone under their feet as he tried to form his thoughts, "I want her to stay here, Max, almost more than I can stand…but once their training is completely finished…what will she be?" he looked up at his advisor who, over the course of his adolescence, had become much more than simply that. Max was the closest he had to a father figure now and though he didn't always express it, his opinions and thoughts held more weight over Tristan than anyone else's; not because he was his advisor, but because he was more. Not quite a father, not a friend, but something in between. Max knew him better than almost anyone, he'd seen Tristan grow up from a perspective that no one else had. That was why he trusted him more than nearly anyone else.
Max didn't answer at first, just looked at Tristan sadly, lost for an answer.
Tristan went on, "She'd be my mistress, Max." he spat the word as if it were vile, "People know about her and I now, and I don't care…" he shook his head, his voice bitter, "I would care for her, for what they say about her, but she told me from the beginning that she didn't care what they said and I didn't have the strength to turn her away." Tristan shook his head, looking away from Max as he pushed himself off of the window sill, "And I don't know, maybe it actually doesn't bother her. But she also has a legitimate reason for staying here. Once that reason is gone…once their training is done…" he trailed off before inhaling deeply, "She has no reason to stay. And we all know it. My wants, my selfish desires, would be the only thing making her stay here. She'd be my mistress, staying on only for me to entertain myself with…that's how everyone would see it, at least. That's all people think this is with me and her…sex." he scoffed as if disgusted by the very act. He clenched his jaw, balling his hands into fists at his sides to calm himself down. His hands shook, "I would never do that to her." he said finally, exhaling slowly, "I would never make that into what she was. She says she doesn't care what they say about her, and by now I think it's probably not as bad as it was in the beginning, but if she stays once they're done and she isn't needed as a trainer anymore…Max," he looked over at the advisor, his face torn, "Max, I can't let that happen to her. Do you know what people would say about her? What they'd call her?"
Max looked down, suddenly unable to look Tristan in the eye. Yes, he knew. And although Tristan made a valiant effort to keep the pain out of his voice, it shone through. His voice had actually cracked. Max couldn't remember ever hearing Tristan's voice crack.
"She says she doesn't care, but I do. I care what they say about her…how they make her feel. I love-" Max's face snapped up and Tristan stopped himself, swearing darkly under his breath as he twisted away from the other man, scrubbing his hands through his hair in frustration. "I won't let that happen to her."
Max watched Tristan, his expression guarded, "And you asked me if I thought she felt trapped because…" he trailed off questioningly.
"Because," Tristan turned back to face him, "It's an important factor in what decision I make."
"About what?"
Tristan rubbed his face tiredly, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, "About her."
Max didn't respond at first, watching Tristan in concern. "How long will it be until their training is finished? Until she's no longer needed?"
Tristan stopped rubbing his eyes but kept his hands there, stilling as he heard Max's question. He answered, his voice distorted, "They'll finish training a few weeks after Christmas. But they're already passed needing her."
"Oh." Max whispered, not having suspected that. His mind, initially having spun with ideas of how to help Tristan, shut down. There didn't seem to be anything to be done for it.
Tristan pulled his hands from his eyes and the skin was red and irritated from being pressed so hard. He looked at Max pleadingly, "I don't know what to do." He exhaled shakily, "Advise me, help me…please."
Max felt something in his chest crumble. He had never, in all the years he'd watched Tristan, seen him helpless. Never seen him so torn. He laid a hand on the younger man's shoulder supportively, "You really love her?"
Tristan looked up at him from underneath heavy eyelids, unable to bring himself to say the words. But he didn't have to.
Max nodded once, his voice gentle, "She is of noble blood, Tristan."
He jerked away, his expression black, "Of course I've thought of that. You know I wouldn't come to you if it were that simple."
"What's the problem with it?"
Tristan sighed heavily, his head falling back, as if the question itself tired him, "She feels trapped, Max." he rolled his head around to look at him, "I'm not saying she doesn't care for me. She does, I know that. And I'm not saying she doesn't want to be with me. I'm nearly positive she wants that as well." He leaned towards his advisor and Max could see the bags under his eyes…evidence of sleepless nights, "What I'm saying is she doesn't know what she's allowed to want. I want her, yes, so much sometimes it's like things are crawling under my skin when I'm not with her. And she wants me, yes. But does she want to marry me? Does she really want all of this?" he motioned at the castle around them, "How could I ever know? If I asked her to marry me then of course she would say yes, but would it be because she thinks she doesn't have the right to say no?"
"Tristan." Max stepped closer to him, gripping his shoulder again, this time to get his attention, "Any young woman would be ecstatic to marry you."
Tristan looked at him evenly, "The king."
"Yes." Max nodded, squeezing Tristan's shoulder as if glad that he'd gotten through to him.
"I don't want her to marry the king!" he yelled, his face hardening as he jerked away from Max, "I don't care that any girl would be more than happy to marry the king. I don't care that any girl would do it without a second's hesitation. I don't want her to marry me because I'm the king. I don't want her to be honored to be with me, I want her to want to be with me." He twisted away from Max, pressing his hands into his hair, clenching it in his fingers, "But if what she wants is to go home…she'd never tell me." he whispered the last, his voice hoarse.
They fell into silence, Max watching Tristan as he pressed his hands against the stone wall, dropping his head tiredly. He opened his mouth hesitantly, tilting his head, "My lord, if I may speak?"
Tristan looked up at him, surprised, "Of course."
"You may not like what I have to say."
Tristan nodded once, his expression wary, "Alright. Go on."
"We all love Leigh-" he caught himself, "-Rory. We all enjoy having her here. We are all encouraged by the change she'd wrought in you. But Tristan…" he sighed heavily, shaking his head minutely, "she meant so much to you while she was here training the men…and maybe she should stay with their training. In the past." Tristan's gaze sharpened, his eyes snapping, but he stayed silent, allowing Max to go on. "If you won't marry her, which, in all honesty, I wouldn't recommend in the first place, then you'll have to marry someone else. And soon."
Tristan rubbed his chin tiredly, "Someone else?"
"Yes." Max nodded towards him, "You're twenty-two Tristan. You should have married long ago. Think about it, though, if you don't keep Rory in the past then how is this going to turn out? Even if you do find some other role for her to fill…she'll always be seen as your who-mistress." he froze.
Silence engulfed them, suffocating and thick as high summer heat. Tristan's gaze became stone. His hand slowly slid from his chin, his entire body tight and controlled. He stared at Max and cold, searing rage started to slide under his skin. It worked his way from his stomach up through his chest and arms and down his legs until every inch of him vibrated with it and it found its only outlet…his eyes, fixed on Max, where it swirled. He saw the shock on Max's face, mirroring his own. But his shock was drowned out by the fury pounding in his head. Every muscle in his body had tensed; his teeth were clenched so hard his jaw was already starting to ache. He balled his hands into fists at his side to stop them from shaking. "Whore?" his voice was soft.
Max flinched as if Tristan had struck him. He shook his head, opening his mouth to give an explanation, but none came.
Tristan's lower jaw flexed, his fingernails biting into the palms of his hands. Of everyone, Max was the last person he had ever expected something like that from. "Whore?" he repeated, his voice quieter than the first. "Is that what you were going to say? My whore?"
Max still shook his head, his eyes wide at the king's betrayed look, "No, Tristan, no. I didn't-"
"You." Tristan growled, his eyes snapping, "You are the one who sent her to me. You think I don't know that? You think I don't know that you told her to get close to me so that I wouldn't do anything rash on the anniversary of my father's death? And even after that you sent her to my bed on specific occasions to placate me and calm me. You think I don't know that?"
Max shook his head, holding his hands up in surrender, "Tristan, I swear, I didn't mean-"
He acted as if he hadn't spoken, "You are the one who fueled this the entire time and now you have the nerve to call her whore?"
Max spoke quickly, his voice soothing, "Tristan, you know I don't think that. It slipped out. I-"
Tristan cut him off menacingly, "Slipped out? Things like that don't just slip out, Medina!"
"Tristan, you know I care about Rory. You know I don't think that of her."
"Then how did you say it?" he growled, "Is that how you refer to her when you aren't talking to me?"
Max's shoulders fell, looking over at the young king sadly, "Of course not, Tristan. I have never called her that."
Tristan's eyes didn't soften, but his expression changed at Max's emphasis on the 'I', "Others, though?" it wasn't asked in a way that expected an answer. Max looked down. That was answer enough. Tristan closed his eyes, pained, "And not just servants?"
Max refused to meet his gaze.
Tristan sighed tiredly, pressing the heels of his hands back to his eyes as if he could erase it all from his memory, "Would it even make a difference at this point? Would any of it change no matter what I do?"
Max's voice was soft when he spoke, repentant, "The past wouldn't change…there's nothing you can do about that. But Rory still has a future. If you really want to do what's best for her, then that is what you need to think about when you make your choice."
~*~
Tristan came to bed late that night, having paced around the castle for hours trying to figure out what to do about Rory. Max was right, of course, she had her own future. But he wanted it with him.
He entered the room quietly to find that Rory was already asleep, curled up like a cat on her side of the bed, clutching his favorite pillow to her chest. Light from the fire in the hearth played off of her skin, making it glow and dance as he moved closer to watch her. She breathed evenly, her face relaxed and her hair coating her pillow in a wave of silk. It smelled like wildflowers. For the love of God, he would never be able to get that scent out of his sheets and clothes.
He turned to change and caught sight of Duke, Rory's mastiff puppy, curled on the floor in front of the hearth. He was staring at Tristan, barely awake with his head resting on his paws, his tail thumping the ground heavily as it wagged at the sight of him. The dog was only a few months old but already did whatever Rory commanded it to, ignoring everyone else. Sometimes it listened to him because it saw the way Rory treated him. Sometimes the dog followed him when he left the room in the mornings and it would go with him to his study, curling up by the fire or sleeping next to his chair as he worked. It would bark and growl if anyone approached the door; already it stood between him and people he came into contact with, meaning to protect him. Sometimes when he'd been working so long he thought his head would cave in, the dog would suddenly jump into his lap and try to lick his neck, whining if he didn't pay attention to it.
He even liked her dog. What was happening to him?
He slid out of the clothes he'd worn that day and slipped on a loose pair of cotton sleeping pants, ruffling his hands through his hair anxiously as he came closer to the bed. He could still hear Max's voice in his head, telling him that Rory felt trapped; that she had her own future. He pulled the covers back and slid into the bed, trying not to jostle Rory in her sleep. Apparently it didn't work, though. As he relaxed down into the mattress she turned over without opening her eyes and buried her face against his arm, wrapping her arm around his chest and snuggling closer to him. He smiled down at her sleeping form, overwhelmed by his affection for her, and slipped his arm around her.
Her eyes opened thickly and she tilted her face towards his, "Did you finish your work?" she asked, her voice deep with sleep.
"Never." he kissed her forehead tenderly, his voice soft, "But there's always tomorrow."
Rory slid up his body so that they were even, their heads on the same pillow, "Yeah, but aren't you supposed to be doing things for the Christmas Eve Ball?"
"No." the hand that wasn't holding her against his side slid across his body to wrap behind her upper thigh, bringing her leg to wrap warmly around his waist. He turned his face towards her, close in the firelight. His fingers skimmed up the back of her thigh and then down, where they traced along to the front of her leg to slide up her inner thigh where they ventured dangerously high. His gaze snapped up to hers, "Why do you ask?"
Rory shivered. And not one of the small, excited ones, either. It was deep and she didn't even try to push it back; it was a shiver that came from knowing what Tristan's light, almost innocent touch meant and knowing where that touch was going to lead them. It wasn't excitement she felt; it was a slow, burning anticipation…a need within her that he both awakened and satisfied. She bit her lip, her gaze raising to his, "Why?" she asked, her voice light, unfocused, "I don't know. I guess because so many people will be there. From all over. It could become a madhouse…" She kept rambling but Tristan's hand stilled. It had been in the process of sliding under her skirt, his entire body now aching to feel her like only he knew. But now it stopped, only a breath from its destination. His eyebrows drew together and Rory let out a shaking breath, her hand flexing on his chest, "What?"
He gave no answer, but looked at her curiously, his mind working. He felt her shiver again, her body pressing against his unconsciously. A madhouse? Rory blinked rapidly, watching his expression as if she could see into his mind. She was torn between asking him what he was talking about again and climbing on top of him. That much he could see in her. A madhouse.
"Tristan." she whispered finally.
His gaze focused sharply on hers, his expression unreadable. A madhouse. His hand came from her leg to wrap around the side of her face roughly, his fingers tangling in her hair as his lips descended onto hers. He kissed her deeply, possessively, as he pushed her back onto the mattress and lowered himself on top of her. Though it surprised her she reacted instantly and enthusiastically, her arms coming to wrap around him. But they never made it. He caught her wrists in mid-air, never breaking or lightening the pressure of his mouth on hers, and pressed them down to the bed on either side of her head, lacing his fingers with hers.
Rory would have gasped but her mouth was otherwise engaged, and so she inhaled deeply through her nose, her chest arching into Tristan's. He broke his lips from hers to trail them down her neck to her shoulder and her legs reflexively locked around his hips, pulling him closer to her.
He released one of her hands so that his could trail down the side of her body, running over every curve and dip until he came to her leg, which he pulled away from his side. A small sound of protest bled from Rory's lips but instantly his had released her neck and covered hers once more, swallowing the sound as he spread her legs wider. He sucked her bottom lip between his, scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin as she arched into him again, her whimpers no longer of protest.
Tristan felt himself grin against her lips. To make her cry out. To make her scream. To make her melt beneath him. To see the way she looked at him when she woke up curled against him. To feel her around him and under him and raking her nails down his back, her skin slick and hot against his. To feel her, warm and strong and solid, her head on his chest as they fell asleep, laughing and whispering as her fingernails traced patterns across his chest. The way he felt weight slide from his shoulders when she entered a room. The way she could look at him and know what he was thinking without either of them saying a word. How she was able to calm him, comfort him without having to say anything. Those were the things that were real. Those were the things he would…miss.
Because he knew now what he had to do.
~*~
Rory looked at herself in the mirror as Anna plaited her hair, twisting sections of it into a series of tiny, elegant, flowing braids woven throughout the majority of it, which was left down in waves. She'd told Anna that on this one occasion she would wear powder and rouge and the old woman had nearly fainted from shock. Rory had laughed at her but it had been quickly cut off, seeing as she'd been laughing at the woman who was lacing up her corset. She was already in a tight fitting slip as well as a separate corset much tighter than she usually wore, but her designated dress for that evening was much tighter than she usually wore as well. She glanced over at the dress she was to wear to the Christmas Eve banquet and subsequent ball; it was full skirted with a low neckline, tight bodice, and long sleeves. It was dark red and velvety to the touch, trimmed in gold and accented with cream. She'd heard tale that it was made to match what Tristan was wearing. The ball was starting…now, actually. She was going to be late. There had been an issue earlier, Anna had somehow managed to tear the corset Rory was originally to wear…after she'd put it on and laced it completely up. A feat that took ages. And then Anna had insisted they take it off just as slowly so as not to damage it farther so that she could repair it.
Anna finished her hair and stood back, looking her over for a minute, "You don't need powder, not with how dark that dress is. But rouge on your cheeks will bring out your eyes."
Rory just nodded, glancing at her hair in the mirror, "Okay."
Anna reached for the container that held the rouge but before she'd even touched it there was a quiet knock on the door. "Ah." She pulled her hand back and turned towards the door, speaking in response to Rory's confused look, "That must be the girl to help me get your dress on. That's a feat, that is. We can't do it with just you and me."
Rory said nothing but leaned over, trying to get a look at the doorway around Anna. The maid opened it only a sliver. She had a brief, hushed conversation with the person on the other side before pulling it completely open. To Rory's unparalleled shock it was Logan who stepped into the room. He held a pack under one arm and a bundle of clothes under the other. If it had been any man but him, and Tristan, of course, she would have blushed and felt the need to throw something over herself to shield her undergarments; as it was she just stood sharply, effectively exposing more of herself, "Logan?"
He looked over at her, "Hey."
She shook her head lightly, looking him over. He was dressed for the party in a dark green shirt and pants tucked into heavy brown boots. She eyed the bundles in his arms, "What are you doing?"
Logan glanced over at Anna, "Sorry to interrupt you." He turned back to Rory and came closer to her, holding the clothes towards her, "These are for you. You won't be needing that corset."
Rory stared at the dress and cloak he held out towards her, not moving to take them. Her eyebrows drew together, "No, I don't think that outfit will go over well at the banquet."
He sighed, holding them closer to her, "Come on, we don't have much time. Just put them on and I'll explain on the way."
She clicked her tongue, "Logan Huntzburger, last time I followed you somewhere without knowing where I was going I landed in the East Tower. Start talking."
"Here, you change and I'll talk." He threw the clothes to her and she caught them reflexively.
She looked up at him, nodding Anna in the direction of the changing screen to help her get out of her corset. She followed the maid behind it, glancing at Logan before she disappeared, "Go."
"You aren't going to the banquet." He started simply.
"Since when?" she asked through the screen. Anna had already started undoing her corset in the back, her hands much faster than they had been before. She could hear Logan walking around the room.
"You're going to be joining your brother."
"Oh yeah, in the cottage of seclusion?" she asked sarcastically, her voice waving as her body rocked with Anna's steady and solid rhythm, already halfway done unlacing the corset. She'd been stalling before. She'd probably even ripped the first one on purpose.
"No." he said quietly, his voice close.
"Then where?" she asked.
No response. She looked down to the dress he'd brought her. It was dark brown trimmed in lighter brown, thick and warm and sturdy though fitted with a tight bodice and long sleeves. And a thick riding cloak. She turned back to the screen as Anna pulled the leather strap completely from her corset, allowing it to fall off her body. She hadn't even taken a breath before the maid threw the other dress over her head and started lacing up the back. Something solid soared around the side of the screen and thunked heavily to the floor next to her. She jumped, surprised, and glanced down to see that Logan had thrown a pair of sturdy riding boots to her. She slid her already stocking-ed legs into them, waiting for Anna to finish securing her dress before she leaned over to tie the boots that covered her entire leg up to the knee. She was done in a matter of moments and stepped out from behind the screen to see that Logan was shuffling his feet, staring at the ground.
She came to stand next to him, tilting her head, "What's going on?"
He turned to look at her sharply, as if he hadn't realized she'd come out. He didn't speak for a moment. Then his lip quirked in a ghost of his usual humor, "I don't think I've ever seen a woman get dressed so fast."
Rory ignored his attempt at humor, "Logan." He said nothing. She crossed her arms over her chest, "Where am I going? Does Tristan know about this?"
Logan sighed heavily, picking up the cloak she'd thrown on the vanity chair and securing it around her shoulders, "Come on." He grabbed the pack and reached his other hand out as if to guide her along but he stopped, his hand frozen in mid-air. He glanced over at Anna.
The maid nodded gently, her eyes cutting to Rory for a moment before she came closer to them. She touched Rory's arm gently and leaned in to kiss her forehead, whispering something in a different language before pulling back. It sounded like a prayer.
With that Logan's hand was on the small of her back and she was whisked from the room, the door slamming shut behind them. She looked over at him, "Did Anna really just kiss me?"
"That's what it looked like to me." He answered without looking at her, a pent up sense of urgency pushing them along.
"Okay then, now I'm worried." She dug her heels in, forcing him to stop.
He swore quietly, turning, "Leigh, we don't have time for this."
"Why won't you tell me what's going on?"
"Because I knew you'd want to stop and talk and we don't have time." He said anxiously, tugging on her arm.
"Tell me and we'll keep going."
Logan looked at her, sighing, "He's sending you back."
Her eyes narrowed fractionally. She shook her head lightly, confused, "What?"
"Come on." His hand was once again on her back, propelling her forward. He went on, "Tristan. He's sending you and your brother to Stars Hollow. He's letting you go."
Rory opened her mouth but no sound emerged. Her mind was still working to catch up, "What?"
Logan glanced back at her but didn't stop walking, "Tristan is sending you and Richard to Stars Hollow. You'll both be free. He thought you should go during the banquet because everyone will be so preoccupied with the celebration the guard is less likely to notice you two leaving from the stables-"
Rory froze.
Logan took a few hurried steps before he realized she wasn't with him anymore. He turned back to her, annoyed, "What is it?"
She didn't answer…didn't even see him. It was as if she were falling. A madhouse. That was why Tristan had looked at her like that.
"Rory." Logan grabbed her arm, towing her forward, "We don't have time, come on. No one knows that Richard exists, so there wasn't really any other way to get the two of you out."
"To Stars Hollow?" she asked slowly, coming out of a daze.
"Yes."
"Me and my brother? He's letting him go too? Why?"
Logan shook his head, pulling her down a side corridor, "I don't know, Leigh. I guess he feels like it's better than letting him live out his life alone in that house."
She didn't say anything else but just followed him, her mind still too muddled to really process what was happening. She was torn, her mind warring over whether to focus on the fact that she and her brother would be together or the fact that she was leaving Tristan. That he was letting her go.
Logan brought her to a corridor that eventually led outside of the castle in the back, a seldom used servant's pass. "Here." he pulled her down it, grabbing a torch from the wall. Rory caught sight of two men in the darkness, one in party dress and the other in a riding cloak like hers. "Max!" Logan called softly, guiding her towards them. They came forward as well.
Richard's features melted from the darkness and she saw that he was beaming, his eyes dancing. "Rory!" he grabbed her shoulders, holding them tight, "Can you believe it? We're free. We're together! We can start new."
She smiled weakly, wanting to feel his enthusiasm. And part of her did. "I…" she trailed off, biting her lip. She was going to be with him, after all this time. After he'd been dead. But having her brother back, really having him back, meant she'd lose Tristan. He was letting her go. "I…" started again quietly and broke off. All three of the men looked at her, waiting for her to go on. She sighed, looking at Logan, "I need to talk to Tristan."
Logan shook his head, "He's in the banquet."
She nodded, "I know, I know that. But Logan, I have to…" she didn't finish, unsure of what she would say.
He still shook his head, "Leigh, I wish you could but there's no way we can get the king to leave the banquet as soon as it starts-"
She cut him off, "I'll go in myself."
His head cocked back, "What?"
"I have to talk to him and if you don't go get him out I'll go in and see to him there." He said nothing and she sighed, grabbing his shoulders to push her point, "Logan, I'm serious."
He sighed heavily, muttering darkly, "Fine. Let's go." He took off down the hall at a rapid pace, his footsteps heavy.
Richard walked with her, speaking quietly, "Why do you need to talk to Tristan?" She shot him a look but said nothing. He licked his lips, going on, "Come on Ror, do you really think this is the time to risk making him mad?"
"He won't be mad." She whispered back confidently, jogging up to come even with Logan.
He slowed suddenly, stopping behind a large hanging tapestry. The wall next to them was solid stone, just like the rest of the castle, but this one had gaps where the stone was removed and the space was covered by a series of thick tapestries for servants to go in and out of. The hall they were in connected to several others leading back to the kitchen, making it easier for the help to move around. Rory could hear background music and the sounds of a large crowd on the other side of the tapestry. It was the main banquet hall. She'd seen it before but had never eaten there. After dinner the celebration would move to the adjacent ballroom. Part of her was sad that she would miss it.
Logan stood still, staring at the tapestry as if he could see through it. They stayed like that for a stretch, Richard and Max having caught up with them. The other three just stared at Logan. Finally he exhaled lightly, his forehead scrunched in thought, "I probably should have told you before." He spoke quietly and didn't look at her, but Rory knew he was talking to her, "Part of the reason that Tristan wanted it done this way is because he doesn't do goodbyes." He glanced over at her, speaking so quietly she doubted Max and Richard could hear, "You remember what I told you about you and him? You're the only one he's afraid of losing, Leigh. And now he has. He's letting you go so you can have a better life and in doing that he's losing you and it's his own fault." His eyes were solid on hers, burning, "He doesn't do goodbyes with anyone. I don't think he could stand the thought of watching you walk away."
Rory's jaw dropped, speechless. She wanted to say something but nothing came, and before she could form a thought Logan had darted around the tapestry and he was gone. She bit her lip, turning away from the hanging barrier. Max and Richard were watching her, both obviously curious as to what she and Logan had been saying. She noticed that her brother was holding the bag Logan had brought her, both of them slung over his shoulder. Max held the torch Logan had grabbed. She turned away from them as well, wrapping her cloak tightly around her. She sensed movement behind her and whipped around to see Logan ducking back through the tapestry, followed closely by Tristan.
Her breath hitched at the sight of him, probably from the realization that this might be the last time she would see him. Their clothes had been made to match. He wore a red dress shirt of the same shade and material of hers, trimmed in gold and tailored to fit him perfectly, his pants were cream and tucked into heavy black boots. Her gaze trailed back up to his face to see that he was watching her expectantly, his expression guarded.
Rory bit her lip, looking up at him, "What-" she broke off, pressing her lips together as she glanced over to see that Max, Logan, and Richard were all watching them intently. She grabbed his arm and pulled him further down the hall so that they were out of earshot. She turned to face him, "What is this?"
He shook his head, "Didn't Logan tell you?" She didn't answer but just pressed her lips together, staring up at him expectantly. He stared back at her for a stretch, neither of them speaking. Slowly she saw him cave, his shoulder falling. His hand came to trace the tips of his fingers along one of the braids that ran behind her ear, "I like your hair." he said quietly, distractedly.
"Thank you."
His eyes shifted to hers. He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip gently, his voice soft, "Go to your friend's wedding, Rory. Go back to your family. You never have to fear anything again. Your family name is safe now."
She felt her eyelids flutter, "Tristan-"
He cut her off, his other hand coming to twist a lock of her hair lightly around his fingers, "Your brother is restored to you and I swear, nothing that is in my power to do or prevent will ever separate you again, I've given back the things that I could from what I took." He leaned down to brush his lips gently against hers, his expression still carefully guarded, "It's time to go home."
She shook her head, her eyes narrowing in confusion, "Why didn't you talk to me? You've been planning this…Logan said that you wanted it during the banquet because no one would notice us leaving. You had to have known for days. Why didn't you tell me?" she asked.
Tristan sighed, "Rory…"
"Why?" she repeated, her voice cracking.
He dropped his head to look her in the eye, his fingers coming to tuck under her chin, "Rory, I can't--I can't have this conversation. It's too hard. Don't you see that?"
"You should have told me." She whispered, her shoulders falling.
"Don't you want to go back?"
She bit her lip, looking up at him for a moment before speaking, "…yes, of course I do, but-"
He put a finger over her lips, cutting her off at but, "Then go." He whispered.
Rory stared up at him for a moment in silence, unresponsive, before she threw her arms around his shoulders, burying her face in his neck. She felt his shock reverberate through him for a moment before his arms came around her, slowly pulling her against him until he couldn't hold her any tighter. She felt one of his arms around her, his other hand held the back of her head comfortingly. His face was turned into her hair, breathing her in. "Thank you." She whispered against his skin, "Thank you, thank you, thank you." She tightened her grip on him, clutching the back of his shirt in her hands. She wanted to say more. 'Thank you' wasn't what she'd meant but her voice refused to let anything else out.
He loosened his grip on her, starting to pull away, but when she lifted her head from his shoulder her lips connected to his as if of their own will. She kissed him hard and deep, fusing her lips against his and pressing her body into his and she didn't care that Logan, Max, and her brother were all down the hall watching them. She kissed him like she needed him to breathe, to feel, to live. And she wondered, now, after losing him, how she would be able to do any of it. It was there in the middle of a servant's corridor right outside of the Christmas Eve banquet; standing on her tip toes, Tristan's arm wound tightly around her and pressing into her back so hard it hurt, his other hand tangled in her hair, his lips moving deeply and fully against hers; it was there that she realized he had become everything to her. It was true, what she'd said when she told him that she hadn't realized she was empty until he'd filled her. That he was the only person who had ever made her feel that she belonged. She wondered how she could possibly go back to her life before him.
Rory felt him start to pull back slowly, the pressure of his lips on hers lightening though his grip on her didn't. She wanted kiss him harder again; she never wanted to stop kissing him. But she refrained and their lips gently broke, her eyes still closed. Tristan's hand slid from the back of her head to brush his fingers warmly across her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open to find that he was looking down at her. "Come on." He whispered, releasing her hesitantly. She felt it like one of her limbs had been ripped off. His hand went to the small of her back to guide her back to the others. She felt numb. They came to the others and stopped. Tristan slipped his hand off of her back.
Richard held his hand out to Tristan, "Thank you. For taking care of her."
"You have nothing to thank me for, trust me." Tristan's voice was without inflection, his face emotionless, but he took the offered hand and shook it, "Live well, Richard."
Her brother nodded, "And you."
Tristan turned to Rory, but her head was down, unable to look at him. He crooked his fingers under her chin, tilting her face up slightly. He laid a warm kiss on her forehead, "Ride safe." He whispered, his voice nearly pained. And with that he turned and ducked back under the tapestry, out of sight. She, Logan, Max, and Richard stood in the silence that followed, no one moving.
Rory inhaled deeply, already feeling the lack of him. A warm arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her against a solid body, "Come on, Ror, let's go home."
She looked up at her brother's understanding grin. His eyes crinkled around the edges when he smiled. Just like Logan's. She nodded lightly, slipping her pack from his grip, "Let's go."
Max went into the banquet and Logan led them back through the castle to the inconspicuous exit they'd planned on using. They followed him to the stables, the fresh snow crunching underfoot. "There's a compass and map of the night sky as well as the land in one of your packs. There's also food and water, a flint stone and steel to make a fire if you need it. We'll get you bedrolls and extra riding cloaks at the stables. You can get to the village of Stars Hollow by tomorrow evening if you ride straight through and the next afternoon if you stop to camp for the night, which, actually, I might suggest with this snow." They reached the castle's stables and Logan pulled the heavy door open, letting them enter in front of him. He followed and closed it behind him, cutting off the wind. He nodded towards the far end, "Your horses are down here." they trudged after him. He opened the stalls and fitted two horses with saddles, bridles, and reins, tying Rory and Richard's packs on the saddles before letting them out. They stamped in the cold, neighing heavily. Logan led them out; Rory and Richard following him. She pushed the door closed behind them. Once they got outside Logan turned to them, illuminated by the nearly full moon, "Tristan doesn't want either of you to worry about being discovered, no harm will come to you if it happens, but he does want you to be cautious, you understand. Neither of you are even supposed to be alive so he'd prefer if you just kept it quiet to avoid complications." Logan broke off as if realizing how cold he sounded, his gaze on Rory. He sighed, his shoulders falling, "You understand?"
She smiled weakly, "Of course we do, Logan."
He nodded, glancing back at the bright windows of the castle, "You two should probably get going then." He crouched next to Rory's horse, lacing his fingers, palm up. She smiled in thanks and stepped in his hands for leverage, throwing her other leg over the horse's back to settle into the saddle. Richard slid easily up onto his own horse without assistance.
Rory looked down at him, "Thank you Logan, so much, for everything." He shrugged nonchalantly, patting her horse's neck heavily. Her hand moved to cover his. He looked up at her slowly. "I mean it." she whispered, smiling warmly, "I wouldn't have survived all of it without you."
Logan's lip quirked, though it was as sad as it was amused, "You would have been alright." he turned his hand over to hold her fingers gently. He raised the back of her hand to his lips, brushing a light kiss over it, "Ride the wind, Leigh." He whispered.
She smiled sadly back, squeezing his hand, "God keep you."
Logan stepped back, his hand slowly sliding from hers. He looked to her brother, "Richard, it was good to know you."
He nodded, "It was good to know you."
Logan tucked his arms into his cloak to warm them, his gaze falling on Rory. He nodded once. She bit her lip, nodding back. And then he turned, walking back towards the castle. They watched him go, neither speaking. Rory looked up at the castle, the ground floor illuminated brightly with fires and people and decorations. She thought for a moment she heard laughter as a distant Logan opened the door, his now tiny frame illuminated in the rectangle of light. But she knew she couldn't. It was too far away.
"Rory." she turned, surprised by her brother's gentle voice, "Is this what you want? To go back?"
"Of course."
He shot her a look, "Tell me true, Rory. If it isn't what you want, if you want to stay here with him, then tell me. We won't go if you don't want it."
"I do want to." She whispered, glancing back up to the castle, "I'll just…miss him. That's all."
*~*
Logan came back into the castle, blowing into his hands to try to warm them. He walked back towards the main part of the building where the festivities were being held, shedding his cloak along the way. He entered the main banquet hall, going straight to the head where Tristan sat. As he passed Madeline and Stephanie, sitting halfway down the table, he heard them complaining about how Leigh wasn't there and when they'd be able to see her again. He hoped futilely that they hadn't said anything to Tristan about it. He went to his cousin and dragged over a chair, to sit facing him at the narrow end where there wasn't a second place setting. Tristan's food sat untouched in front of him. The people around him weren't even bothering to attempt to pull him out into conversation anymore. Logan sat staring at him for a moment, lost for words. Tristan ignored him.
"I am…confused." He said finally, speaking quietly so no one around them could hear. Tristan acted as if he hadn't heard. Logan went on, "You sent her away. You love her. And you sent her away." He fell silent, waiting for Tristan to respond. He didn't. His only reaction was to clench his teeth, his jaw flexing. Logan leaned towards him, speaking slowly, "It comes out that she's a noble. That means suitable. You could marry her if you just said the word. And you sent her away." Tristan closed his eyes as if in pain, pressing his fingers into the corners of his eyes. Logan leaned back, shaking his head in disbelief, "Am I missing something?"
"Logan." He spoke slowly, clearly, "I am not in a state for arguing tonight. What's your point?"
He shook his head, staring at Tristan as if he were an idiot, "Have you completely lost your mind? How many times have you told me that you would marry her? How many times have you told me that you wished she weren't common so that you could be with her? You love her, Tristan, you've been in love with her since the moment you first saw her. You want her more than you've ever wanted anyone in your life. I mean hell, given how torn up you were when you two weren't speaking I'd go as far as to say that you need her. And now you have the chance to have everything you want and you just sent it to some back woods village to marry the local farmer!"
Tristan let out a long sigh, "You're saying these things as if I'm not already painfully aware of them. What is your goal in this conversation, Logan?"
He widened his eyes lightly as if his point were obvious, "Go after her. Bring her back."
"No." he said simply, pressing his fingers into his temples, hoping pressure would push down his growing headache.
"What do you mean, no? She'll come, Tristan, she loves you."
"Logan," he started quietly, calmly, turning to his cousin, "I am not going to ask Rory to marry me. The entire time between me and her, everything that happened? She was a prisoner through all of that-"
Logan cut him off, "What are you even talking about?"
Tristan shook his head, "She couldn't leave, Logan. Granted, she had a large cage and a lot of freedom, but essentially it was still a cage. She was a prisoner. And I realize that that isn't why she did the things she did, and I realize that she does…care…for me." He faltered at the end, "But that doesn't change the fact that she was trapped. She wouldn't have thought she was allowed the option to say no. And I'm not going to ask a cornered girl to tie herself to me forever."
"Tristan-"
His cousin spoke over him, his voice quiet enough that no one around them heard, "And not only that, Logan, but she is a Hayden. Yes, noble. But forget not, oh brightest cousin, that I had her family massacred. Whatever Rory feels for me will never get rid of the fact that I destroyed her life before it ever started." He shook his head, scoffing, "Can you imagine the things people would say to her, Tristan? What people would say about our children? Her father killed mine so I had her entire family executed. She escaped and now we're getting married?" he attempted to mask his pain with derision. It didn't work.
Logan watched him, his eyes narrowed in thought. "Do you still want her?"
Tristan's eyes widened slightly, "Excuse me?"
"Do you even still want her? From the way you're talking…" he trailed off.
He stared at him for a moment as if considering whether or not he was an idiot, "You are honestly asking me if I want Leigh? After everything you're really going to question whether or not I want her?"
Logan shook his head, "I wouldn't if you weren't talking like this."
Tristan leaned his head back, "Logan I spent weeks and weeks worrying that she only slept with me because she thought she was obligated. I am not going to do that for the rest of my life."
"So then that's it? It's over?"
He cracked his jaw, staring at the table, "I have taken so much from her, Logan. I can't be around her and not take everything. I don't want to hurt her anymore." He licked his lips thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing in concentration, "If she can go back to her village and marry someone and be happy then…that's what I want for her." He struggled through it. Neither of them believed for a second that he would ever wish her into another's arms, even if that was what she wanted. He spoke slowly, almost painfully, "If somehow she and I find each other again…" he trailed off, "…and enough time has passed, if once she's out of the situation she still wants me…" he shrugged, shaking his head lightly, "then we'll figure something out, I guess."
Logan watched him as he finished, his face expressionless as he listened. They sat in a silence for a moment, the room chattering around them. "Tristan?" he said finally.
"What?"
"You're an idiot for letting her go."
He bit the insides of his cheeks, staring at the table, "I had to."
Logan didn't answer at first, but stared at the table as well. After a stretch he nodded slowly, his voice muted, "I know."