A/N: Wow, it's been over two weeks since I last updated this. Shame on me! Anyways, I'm not going to waste anymore time seeing as I've got ideas for Chapter 30, and I want to get back to writing a.s.a.p. Thank you to: Cryptic Sarcasm, the. dead. addict., .o0Aurelie0o., Featherstrike, libaka, nehimasgift, LandUnderWave, Skavnema, Silver Tears 11, marauder'sbabe, AMistressMalfoy, The Almighty Cheez It, Charming-Lynn, Gueneviere, arushi, KoolAidNightmare (I think of Dane Cook when I type your name, lol), o0Dreamer0o, Lolaleddir, fizznsoot, Neko-Mitsuko, pottersgirl91, The daughter of Slytherin, and a special thank you to Vera-Sabe for repairing my brain from writer's block damage. Now, on to the story... enjoy!
Chapter 29 – Back to Baltor's
"Hermione?" Tom spoke softly into her ear. "Are you all ri-"
"We need to get to Baltor's," she interrupted, lifting her head from his shoulder and wiping her face.
"Baltor?"
"The man in town," she said as she backed away from him. "Now. We need to go now." She turned and started to walk away when he grabbed her wrist, preventing her from going any further.
"You're fine just like that?" he asked, still uncertain as to what was wrong with her in the first place and how she could get over whatever it was so fast.
"Yes, I'm fine," she replied. "So please don't waste anymore time, and let's get going." He released her wrist from his gentle grasp and started to follow her down the corridor, unsure if he should strike up a conversation as to what they intended to do. Opting to be quiet, Riddle began plotting out what he would do once he got to Bluffshire. They were in the entrance hall when Rodmilla's two dogs came running after them, barking and slipping some as they went across the highly polished floor.
"Not them again," he groaned as he turned and prepared to dodge the dogs, but he didn't need to work too hard as Hermione's ladies in waiting came running behind the tiny, hairy beasts.
"Get them!" Mary panted as she cut one off in its path so that it ran for Hermione, who stooped and grabbed the dog before handing it to Mary as Janessa dove across the floor, intercepting the other. Standing, she took the dog she caught to the other maid, who took them both into her arms.
"What on earth are you doing chasing those little nuisances around?" Tom inquired while glaring at the dog on the left as it barked loudly at him.
"The Duchess... asked us to... bathe them," one of the maids sputtered as she tried to catch her breath. "Where... where are you two going?"
"Just into town," Hermione answered vaguely.
"Into town!" shouted Janessa.
"Shh!" Riddle hissed.
"But you can't," Mary argued. "With those assassins still out there, they would be after you, too, Princess. You're not to leave the castle."
"They would have shot at me as well if they had really wanted to get me," Hermione spoke up.
"No, you're not going," Janessa denied.
"Hey, isn't that the Duchess right there?" Tom lied quickly, pointing somewhere behind the maids, which made them spin around in alarm. While they were distracted, Riddle grabbed Hermione by the arm and led her out the front doors. The pair raced towards the stables as the ladies in waiting called out to them. Knowing that Mary and Janessa wouldn't run after them, Tom and Hermione took the time to properly saddle the horses. Once mounted, they rode off quickly.
Tethering their horses at the post on the edge of town, Riddle and Hermione set off towards Baltor's shop. The streets were busy for this time of morning, but that only made it easier for the pair to get through the town unnoticed. They slipped into Baltor's shop; the clerk yelling from the back.
"Welcome! Feel free to browse around... I'll be out shortly."
"Baltor?" Hermione called back. There was no response from the clerk, but there was the sound of boxes shuffling across the floor and a moment later, his head poked out of the curtain to the back room.
"Oh, it's you... and you," he said as he looked from Hermione to Tom. "Nice to see you're feeling better. What of your father?"
"That's why we're here. I need you to take my friend to Bluffshire so that he can get some potions from the Healer," she explained.
"I'm afraid that's going to be a little impossible," replied Baltor. "The Healer left town... said he needed time away from the town and the mad people that wandered through it." Riddle gave her a pointed look from the corner of his eye and watched her shrink some as he spoke up.
"What about getting some ingredients for the potions and a book to tell me how to brew them?" he suggested.
"That might be possible."
"Will you take him there, then?" Hermione inquired.
"Aye, I will," Baltor nodded, gesturing for the younger man to follow him. "Can I trust you to watch my shop? There's a sign laying under the till that you can put into the window to keep customers out until we return." Hermione followed Baltor to the counter and took the sign he handed her, muttering her farewell to them as they entered the back room. She crossed the shop, locked the door, and placed the sign into the window. With that, she entered the rear of the shop to await their return.
Porthos entered the kitchen with a shifty gaze set on the cook as he stirred a pot of soup.
"Is lunch finished yet?" the young guard asked. The cook looked up at his words and shook his head.
"Should be in a few minutes, but it won't be served for at least another eighteen," the chef replied.
"Oh... would it be possible for me to get some early?" Porthos inquired.
"Certainly, young man," the older man answered, becoming annoyed with the presence of such an inquisitive little hindrance. The cook scooped out some of the soup, ladling it into a bowl and setting it upon a tray with a glass of water and some bread heels. He pushed the tray towards the blue eyed boy and forced a none too pleasant grimace that was meant to be a smile before returning to preparing lunch.
Porthos grabbed the tray with a snide smirk and left the kitchen. He stopped in the corridor, peering around suspiciously before turning and entering a nearby storage cupboard. Once inside the silent safety of the broom closet, he pulled out a small bottle from the inside breast pocket of his uniform. The edges of the bottle's label were worn and beginning to peel away, but the big, black, bold letters which read 'Rat Poison – Toxic' were still visible. Below these words was a skull with crossbones in the same black print, and anyone who saw them knew that the contents of the bottle were deadly. Porthos pulled carefully at the cork board stopper to unplug the bottle; he tipped it over the bowl of steaming soup, pouring a fourth of the rat poison into it. Replacing the cork, he sat the bottle of toxin upon a shelf, careful to hide it behind a mop bucket. He left the closet; his destination the King's quarters as he fixed a sinisterly sweet smirk upon his face.
Tom and Hermione came walking out of the stables. Riddle was in slight outrage, and she was looking paler than usual; it was like she had seen a ghost which predicted her emanate and early death. She was worried about something obviously, and as she fiddled nervously with the hem of her sleeve, they entered the castle in silence. He marched ahead of her in a stubborn manner as they headed for her room. On the way there, they ran into a rather unwanted sight. The Duke was standing in the corridor with Porthos who was holding a tray of food. The older man was seemingly commending the younger for being a 'caring young lad' as Porthos tried to excuse himself while saying something about the King and lunch. Tom looked to Hermione, but she was no longer beside him. Instead, she was approaching the two other males, a polite and graceful smile on her lips.
"Why, Porthos," she began. "Did I hear you say that you were taking lunch to my father?"
"Yes, he did," the Duke answered for him in a beaming manner. "Isn't that so nice of him? Shows upstanding moral value that he would care for the King of his country so. A terrific soldier who doesn't only give time to his country's military, but gives time to ensure that his country's ruler is safe and healthy."
"Most certainly," Hermione agreed. "But I was just going to see him for a private conversation, so I'll take that." She gestured to the tray, still showing a genteel expression even as Porthos narrowed his eyes on her.
"Ah, but let me carry it up to his majesty for you," came his sneering offer as an irritated glint sparkled in his eyes. "This is really too hot for you, and it wouldn't do to have you carry this up to your father like a mere servant girl."
"Not to worry, Aramis will be accompanying me, so he'll carry it. Won't you, Aramis?" she cued to Tom, who stepped forward with a superior smirk as he held out his hands for the tray. When Porthos made no move to give it up, Riddle stepped closer and grabbed the food and its platter. There was a second's pause as the blond's grip remained tight on the handles, both youthful men glaring at one another. Reluctantly, Porthos gave up the small battle and let Tom have it. He turned back to Hermione, triumphant and smirking cheekily as he spoke up.
"Shall we get going before this soup gets cold?"
"Absolutely," she commented before biding Rodden and Porthos good day. Riddle and Hermione walked around the corner and out of sight, pretending to be heading for the King's room, but they really went straight to Hermione's quarters. "That little bugger," she huffed once they were inside with the door shut. "It hasn't even been a full day, and they're already trying to do that man in." She walked over to Tom, who was still holding the tray, and removed the bowl of soup from the tray before taking it carefully over to the window. As she dumped it to the ground below, he joined her and threw the bread heels out the window as well. Birds flocked down from the roof and began fighting for the food on the ground while kicking up dust and twittering madly. Hermione grabbed the glass of water and tossed the clear liquid into the air as well before sitting the tray, empty glass, and bowl on the window sill. "I'll just have to have Mary and Janessa keep an extra close watch on what food goes to the King and tell them that I want it delivered by them personally."
"In the meantime," Tom remarked in a biting tone, "we need to scrape up some money to buy potion ingredients."
"Oh, will you quit patronizing me?" she hissed, catching the edgy accusation of his pitch. "Getting the money will be no trouble at all."
"But getting the potions will be the trouble," he continued in the same angered way.
"Just stop it! Don't you think I feel guilt as it is?" she snapped.
"You bloody well should!"
"Well, I do, so shut up!"
"Don't tell me to shut up," Riddle objected. "It was you who punched the man. If you had shut up and kept better control of yourself, he wouldn't have decided he needed a vacation, now would he?" Hermione bit her tongue and pursed her lips; her eyes shooting daggers at the dark haired boy before her.
"Sometimes I wish I had cured the King instead," she grumbled.
"Sometimes I wish you had, too," he barked. "I would have rather died than put up with your stupidity."
"Bugger off, you great ignorant prat!" she snarled.
"Gladly," Tom replied in an uncaring gesture as he turned and headed for the door. "Your highness," he added in a mocking tone.
"Wait! Are you seriously leaving?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I welcome the chance to be away from you so that I can actually think without hearing your annoying little voice blabbering about how it's not your fault that we have to brew the potions in Baltor's shop," he explained as though she were an utter idiot. "And by the way... it is your fault." Hermione said nothing to this as he gave her no chance to when he left the room swiftly. She exhaled in exhaustion before turning to the window; the sound of the birds was once again dominant in the silence that enveloped her and the room. Grabbing the empty tray, she left her bedroom, heading to the kitchen so that she could really get the King something to eat.
Hermione sat in her room upon her bed, a book propped up on her thighs, but her eyes weren't scanning the words. Instead, her head was leaned back and staring at the canopy of the bed. Her visit with the King when she had took him his real lunch was eye opening for her. It had showed her that the King really was getting no better as he coughed and wheezed his way through the small talk that they made as she fed him; his own hand had been too unsteady to lift the spoonfuls of soup to his mouth. How long would he last? Would he last the week that she and Tom needed him to while they waited on the apothecary in Bluffshire to get two of the ingredients that was required to brew Murtlap Essence and an Invigoration Draught? She doubted it, but if he did, it was a pure miracle.
What then drifted into her mind again was something that the King kept talking to her about constantly. A choice for her husband. Never had she thought that this was the way things would be for her. She had always pictured herself in a white wedding gown; slim fit and simple to make it traditional. Her mother putting little pieces of white Baby's Breath in her curly, elegant hair before placing a veil on her head; then walking out of the bride's room to be greeted by her father, who would walk her down the aisle as the wedding march played. She had even pictured a red-headed boy with freckles and a broad, bashful, lopsided smile waiting on her at the alter. But it wouldn't be that way now.
Now she faced picking someone to marry just for the sake of being able to have a husband to ascend the throne with and not for love. There was no more imagining her mother putting her veil on for her. Mary and Janessa would more than likely take that place; if not, she would end up doing it by herself. There was no more picturing her father greeting her and walking her down the aisle to the traditional song. Instead, she would probably have some estranged person walk her down the aisle if anyone did at all, and it would probably be deadly silent with all eyes, which would make her extremely nervous. There would be no tears of joy, but tears of sorrow at how her dreams of a perfect, little white wedding had been dashed. No happy honeymoon after the ceremony, but rather another stiff, unwanted occasion to induct her as the Queen. And no lifetime of smiles and raising a loving family, but a lifetime of ruling a country that wasn't rightfully hers and producing an heir with a man that she couldn't possibly feel truly comfortable with.
Her eyes watered at the mere thought, and when she thought about who would replace that smiling red head at the alter, she surprised herself. Suddenly not everything seemed so bad. Maybe she could have at least half of that happy marriage she had planned. Hastily wiping away the tears that were just beginning to fall from her chocolate orbs, she climbed out of bed and raced off to the King's bedroom.
"I've made my decision!" she exclaimed as she burst into the room where his majesty lay in bed.
"Anastasia, please," a nurse sibilated. "You'll get him all worked-"
"Silence," the King commanded, though his tone was weak. "I want to hear what my daughter has to say."
"I've made my choice as to whom I'm going to marry," Hermione repeated.
"Come then... tell me," he urged, barely able to get the last part of the sentence out as he coughed. Hermione grinned and blushed slightly as she gave her answer, making the King smile fondly through his wheezing as he nodded his approval.
Tom stretched as he let his feet touch the cold floor. It seemed to have no effect on him as he rose from the sheets without so much as a shivered withdraw from the cool touch and headed towards his wardrobe where his uniform hung pressed and ready for the day. Adorning the attire, he sat on the bed to put on his newly shined boots when a knock sounded at the door.
"Come... in," he said as he shoved his foot into the boot. Mary peaked into the room with her timid face gazing at him in a somewhat bashful manner.
"The King would like to see you, sir," she announced as she opened the door fully and stood stalk still in the doorway.
"What for?" he asked, not really thinking about the response before it slipped from his tongue.
"He didn't say," she replied. "He just said that I was to go fetch you and take you back to him so that he could speak with you."
'Fetch me?' Tom thought somewhat angrily. 'I'm not an object that you throw for an animal. I'm a human being.' Shaking his head slightly, he rose from the bed and followed her out the door. They walked along the corridor in a quiet pattern; the only sound trailing them was the clop of his boots and the labored breathing of Mary who had apparently ran to his room to get him.
"Here you are," she said as she turned to face Riddle. "Congratulations by the way," she added as she walked away.
"Congratulations?" he repeated. "For what?" She never answered; she just walked away to go back to her chores or whatever she had to do. His brow knitted, but he shrugged it off and straightened himself, putting on an emotionless expression before knocking on the door to the King's room.
"Enter." Tom opened the door and stepped in, waiting for the bed-ridden man to address him. "Shut the door, son, and come here," he instructed as he nodded to a chair where the nurse usually sat. Riddle came forward, taking a seat like the King wanted him to. There was a moment's pause where the only sound that could be heard was that of the King's was labored and uneven breathing and the distant footsteps of someone out in the hallway. "Well," sighed the King before clearing his throat. "My daughter has-" The door opened, interrupting him. He cleared his throat again as a nurse entered the room carrying some fresh bandages in her arms along with two bottles of medicine.
"It's time for your tonic and some salve for your wound, sire," she informed.
"In a bit, Natalia," the elderly man spoke softly, pausing to take a calming breath. "I need to talk to Aramis for just a moment."
"But-," she began to object when his majesty gave her a gentle look that had a slight edge of finality. "Yes, sire," she mumbled before inclining her head to him and leaving the room. Once the sound of the door lightly thudding shut ended her presence, the King coughed again and proceeded.
"Now, where were we?"
"You said something about your daughter," Tom answered.
"Yes, yes, I remember," he picked up, inhaling deeply. "I've noticed since my Ana has come home that the two of you are quite close." Riddle nodded, showing his understanding as the King paused for a second. "Ana informed me last night that there's a reason for this." Eyes narrowing, the younger, dark haired man was sure to pay close attention to what the older was about to say. "She's pleaded my approval for your marriage."
"Our what?" Tom choked.
"Your marriage, boy," the King repeated. "Don't act so surprised... I'm sure you would have liked to have talked to me first, but she felt it necessary to inform me in a prompt manner." Riddle gaped; that's all he could do. Hermione had told the King that should would marry him! How could she? Why would she? Was she suffering some brain illness, or had being in the past finally made her go barking mad? Whatever it was, he was sure that he would get to the bottom of it and hex her doing such a thing without his consent. "Jaw broken?" the King joked with a chuckle, but soon regretted that chuckle as he choked a bit. His face reddened as he tried to calm himself, wincing at the pain it brought to his side. "I see that maybe... this was a surprise to you after all... Either way, my Ana seems to be pleased with you, and I've approved the marriage... Now that doesn't mean you can run all over her and my country just because your future king. Treat her with love and respect... and treat my country with the utmost responsibility. Do only what's right for the good of my Ana and my people."
Closing his mouth, Riddle swallowed hard. It was like someone had put a desert in his mouth; his tongue and throat had gone unbelievably parched. He merely nodded, unable to speak, at least without yelling or going into some kind of fit.
"You're free to go," his majesty announced quietly before watching Tom rise from his chair and walk like a man headed for the gallows toward the door. Once it was shut behind him, his face turned an odd shade of crimson. Whether it was from anger, embarrassment, illness, or a mixture of the three was yet to be determined. One thing that was for certain was that Riddle was going to strangle Hermione when he found her.