First off: The 50th was freaking amazing! I got to see it in 3D and it was just epic XD
Second: Its almost winter break so I can update quicker and stop making everyone wonder if i've died or something.
Third: Happy Thanksgiving! Go eat lots of pie ;)
That's it! Enjoy!
P.S. I totally failed at NaNoWriMo so to make up for updating every other week I wrote you an extra long chapter
~Love and War~
The rest of the evening is a blur. Harold leads her around the market, his arm firmly wrapped around hers. Clara hardly notices what would normally piss her off; her mind is too focused on what has just taken place. These people need a princess. They need someone who actually cares about them. Their King is a puppet and their Queen is a self obsessed bitch, neither of whom will lift a finger if it isn't in their own interests.
"I think it suits you." Harold says breaking into her thoughts.
"What?"
He holds up a velvet collar with pale moonstones. Clara hasn't even noticed they are standing at a jewelers stall. Harold's genteel mask is up again daring her to make a scene. If she publicly refuses his gift there is no way it won't get back to Viola.
"It's lovely." She moves her hair allowing him to wrap it around her throat. His breath is hot against the back of her neck making Clara's skin crawl. The collar is constricting and she can just imagine the invisible leash attached to it. She fights down bile.
Harold steps in front of her to admire his handwork. "Oh yes, this suits you well."
Why is she putting up with this? She isn't a victim, but all she wants to do is cry. She wants to be like the heroines in her books. Reality is so much harder.
They ride home in silence. Clara can feel the self satisfaction rolling off Harold in waves. He thinks he's already won this game. She will show him. She will.
They say goodnight in the entrance hall. Harold bows formally to kiss her hand. It is all a show for the guards lining the hall, one of whom is Rory. They won't suspect anything even when he straightens up then steps forward to whisper words that made her blood run cold, in Clara's ear.
She stiffens when he leans in; afraid Harold is going to try to kiss her. "I don't care what you do with him now, you little whore. You will belong to me."
Clara gasps as he steps back all smiles. He knows. He knows about John.
Inclining his head, Harold says, "Goodnight Princess."
She turns and runs. It doesn't matter what anyone thinks Clara has to get out of there. She runs all the way to Oswin's room, blindly rushing down the corridors. Clara slams the door behind her then sinks to the floral carpet sobbing brokenly. What is she supposed to do?
"Clara? Clara let us in!" Amy bangs on the door behind her. The knob rattles as her friend tries to force her way inside.
Clara squeezes her eyes shut breath coming out in shuttering gasps. She needs to get control of herself. Her whole body is trembling, her hands shake and her chest is painfully tight. No one has ever spoken to her like that. Nothing in her life even comes close. How is she supposed to react to something like this? Screaming and breaking things sounds like a really good idea. But she can't move.
I'm going to kill him. I'm going to wipe that smug look right off his fucking face.
Oh god, she has to warn John. He's in danger and it's all her fault. Will Harold really ignore them assuming he'll control her eventually? Who even thinks like that? Over confidence doesn't even begin to cover it. He is insane. Truly asylum worthy insane.
"Clara what's going on? Why won't the door open?"
The fact that her friends are out in the hallway pounding on the door finally registers. How long have they been there? She may have run right past them in her panic. When did she lock the door? Clara doesn't think the door even has a lock on it.
"Alright." Clara calls, voice cracked. "Alright."
Pushing off the carpet she scrambles to her feet when Amy all but falls through the doorway. The door bounces off the wall as she stumbles forward into the room right into Clara. The girls grab each other for balance managing to stay upright. They blink at each other then look back at the door. The scenario would have been funny from anyone else's perspective.
Clara's right. There is no lock. She must have slammed it so hard it stuck. Yeah, that's it.
Amy bites her lip, her grip still on Clara's upper arms, obviously warring between asking about the door or why she's crying. Concern wins out when Clara doesn't say anything immediately. Vastra and Jenny slip in behind Amy glancing around the room before focusing on her tear stained face.
"So are you going to tell us what's going on or what?" Amy demands impatiently.
"He knows." The words are like ice freezing everything in the room. Their looks of dawning horror match her own. "Harold knows about me and John."
Clara relates the evening's atrocities as quickly and dispassionately as she can. Her voice toneless and robotic. She stares at a point just past Amy's shoulder, eyes vacant. It is only when Clara comes to Harold's last words to her that she stumbles. A disgusting mixture of guilt and anger pools in her gut. She shouldn't have let her feeling cloud her judgment. She is a fool.
"That Nightmare!" Vastra spits.
She aggressively smoothes down her smock as if that will do anything. Perhaps it makes her feel better, a minuscule part of the world she can control. That's the way with most people. They cling to the little things in life because having control over something, no matter how small, makes them able to bare the rest.
"That's why Oswin 'ated 'im so much." Jenny says in her hushed voice. "'e must 'ave gone after 'er too."
"Probably why the asshole didn't even bother pretending to be anything other than a totally fuck. He'd already played that game with her." Clara's mask crumbles. "I have to warn him."
Vastra frowns. "It's too late for you to be wandering the palace without suspicion. I can tell him."
She turns on her heel and leaves with Jenny before Clara can argue. Not that she has a good argument, but this is too important, too personal to leave to a messenger, even Vastra. She needs to see John, she needs to hear his voice and tell him that she's going to find a way to save him. That everything is going to be alright, even if she doesn't believe it herself. Clara's chest aches at the thought of him hearing this from someone else. How could she have let herself become so attached?
"Come on." Amy murmurs. "We have to get you out of this dress."
Clara feels strangely numb while she helps unlace and remove the constricting gown. Wow you never really appreciate how much your lungs expand until they can't anymore. She takes her first full breath in ages, pulling a nightdress over her head. Screw dealing with her smeared makeup or even brushing her teeth. It's all too much and isn't that just pathetic? This is what one stupid man reduced her too?
Clara climbs into bed and is only mildly surprised when Amy slips under the covers next to her. She entwines their fingers and moves so their bodies are press together. Amy really is like Nina, she knows when Clara needs something without it being said. Now it's simple human contact.
"You're kinda awesome, you know that?" she whispers.
Exhaustion pulls at her mind dragging Clara towards the sweet realize of sleep. Amy hums the affirmative rubbing soothing circles on the back of Clara's hand with her thumb. Her warmth and companionship wrap around Clara like a cocoon. This is what best friends are for.
Amy is gone when Clara wakes the next morning. Disappointment tugs at her heart though she understands Amy has far more responsibilities than keeping her company. Maids have to clean and sew and manage all the other daily affairs no one else can be bothered with.
Sighing, Clara rolls over and finds her nose pressed against a piece of paper. Raising her head off the pillow to examine it she recognizes Amy's loopy handwriting.
I didn't wish to wake you but I am needed downstairs.
Remember the Queen wants to meet with you in her lounge
before midday. In case I am not back in time to say it myself,
good luck and remember what Vastra taught you.
Love, Amy.
Oh great. Clara groans, she hates meeting with Viola which can really be summarized as threats over tea. Seriously, the bitch needs new material. Though after the date from hell last night, she just might have some. Great, just flipping fantastic.
Climbing out of bed she stumbles towards the bathroom. Clara winces when she catches sight of herself in the mirror above the bowl shaped sink. She looks like a raccoon that got into a bar fight. Hair tangled beyond all reason, makeup smeared under her eyes, and skin a chalky white. Lovely.
It takes all of her not so considerable skills to even look passable by the Queen's standards. As she slowly works out her tangled locks Clara considers her options. Last night she was freaking out, today she can think.
The people of this world are relying on her to do the job of a princess, because that's what this is: a job. No matter who was in the position the same duties needed to be performed. The princess has to put the peoples' needs before her own. And that means Clara has to marry Harold because no one else is going to.
She will have to break things off with John if she goes through with the marriage. It doesn't matter how much it hurt, she isn't going to put him in that position. John deserves someone who can truly be with him. Someone who can give the whole of herself to him. That can't be her.
Clara stares at the girl in the mirror. Her reflection is a stranger. A different girl wearing her face. How could she have changed so much in such a short amount of time?
'Two lives and one face'
Is this what the oracle meant? Clara thought the line was talking about Oswin, what if it isn't? What if it's about her and how much she's changed?
'Your love shall surly die'
This is it. Clara will breakup with John and he will move on with his life. He will find happiness and forget he ever knew her. For his sake she can watch it happen.
Shoving away these thoughts Clara finishes in the bathroom and heads to the closet. She runs her fingers over the hanging garments marveling at their softness. The amount these clothes must cost is staggering in a world where things are done by hand.
Clara extracts one of the few dresses she can actually put on without assistance. Long deep plum fabric with a gold cincher that belted at the front. That plus gold sandals and a simple gold chain will have to be enough for the Queen.
The whole way down to the Queens lounge Clara keeps looking around for John. She wants to see him, to know he is okay. At the same time she dreads it. The sooner she sees him, the sooner she has to say goodbye. Clara swears her heart is dissolving in her chest, there is acid eating away at her insides.
"Come in." Viola calls when she knocks on the door.
Clara pushes open the carved wooden door and steps inside the web of her own personal spider. The tea service is set out on the round, silver burnished table in the center of the room like it always is when she gets pulled into these 'meetings'. Clara puts on her poker face and takes her customary place on the settee across from the Queen.
"You wanted to see me?" Clara prompts not wanting to drag this out. She can only fake politeness so long.
Viola doesn't respond. Instead she smiles demurely - yeah as if that is fooling anyone - and pours them both a cup of tea from the rose patterned pot. Delicately selecting a tiny sandwich from the tiered tray Viola sits back in her plush chair.
Clara waits.
"I am glad to see you have developed a sense of restraint." The Queen sips her tea. "You managed a whole evening in Harold's presence without resorting to violence."
Okay… that isn't what she was expecting. She blinks at Viola in surprise.
"Oh surely you did not think I is unaware that the man is little more than a thug with a crown?"
"And you want your daughter to marry him?" disgust and outrage colors Clara's voice.
"The Gray Kingdom will surely make a move against us eventually. Wither tomorrow or a hundred years from now, the war will happen. Yet if the blood lines are merged it would halt such decisions. I did not obtain this throne only to lose it to a group of barbarians."
Stony expression back in place, Clara takes a bite of sandwich spread with a spicy cheese paste. Swallowing she says, "So it's all about you."
"Undoubtedly." Viola's teeth sparkle as much as her jewelry.
"What is stopping me from refusing?" She gauges the Queen's reaction, watching for some tell or weakness.
Viola's lips twitch, smiling around her cup. Slowly she sets down the China keeping her bemused gaze locked on Clara. "For answer to that just check your right thumb."
What? For a second Clara is sure she misheard her, but Viola's eye flick down to her hand. It goes against preservation instincts to drop her gaze from the Queen but she manages. Turning her thumb upwards Clara finds a small puncture wound in the center of the soft flesh. She didn't feel anything. When the hell did that happen? More important: what does it mean?
"It is astounding what one can accomplish when someone is not looking." Viola smirks, holding up a long silver needle tipped in what Clara realizes must be her own blood. "Now you cannot leave to confines of this palace unless I say so. You are bound to me now. There is no escaping this."
The Queen quietly sips her tea letting that sink in.
The courtyard is silent and empty. Clara finds herself there before she even knows where she's going. Everything after seeing the needle is a daze. How did she even get out here? It makes sense though, this - despite what happened the first time she sat on this bench - this is Clara's favorite place out of the whole palace. This is their place, their bench. Hidden from prying eyes behind a circle of fur trees. Though now she has reason to doubt that security.
"I hoped you would be here." Her pulse speeds up at the sound of his voice.
This is going to be impossible. "John we need to talk."
He catches her grave tone immediately and sits down beside her. "If this is about what the Prince said -"
"No it isn't. Not exactly." Clara hesitates choking on her words. "We - We can't do this anymore."
John grips her hand squeezing it when she won't meet his eyes. "I'm not afraid of him. We can leave! We can cross the Border Mountains and leave both of these damned kingdoms behind. We can start a new life somewhere else."
There's a desperate edge to his words that tares at her. Clara's vision blurs with suppressed tears. This really is going to kill her. But she has to do it.
"The Queen has me bound. I can't leave." She finally looks up at him. "And what about these people? I can't run away and leave them to a war, what kind of person would I be then? I have to go through with this, I'm sorry."
Clara springs to her feet intending to run away and never look back, because if she does she won't be able to leave him. John won't let her. He jumps up catching her arm and spinning Clara to face him. There is sorrow and determination in his eyes.
"No. I'm not giving up that easily." John says before capturing her mouth with his in a searing kiss.
It is rough and desperate, begging her not to leave him without words. Clara's resolve shatters when she feels his pain. And no matter what her brain is screaming at her to do, she kisses him back.
Their lips break apart but John doesn't let her go. His hands cradle her face as though Clara is the most breakable, precious thing in his world. "We will find another way, I promise. I love you, Clara, and I am not giving up."