Title: untitled
Pairing: various
Author: Ellie (with the monsters)
For: Lovisa (lowi)
a/n: so, when I PMed Lowi to tell her that I'd be writing for her for the NGFs big fic-swap, I jokingly told her that I would write her anything she wanted, even a crossover where the Next Gen all live in Camelot and chill with the Merlin cast. Naturally that was what she wanted, which is the only explanation I have for this. Just… I don't even know.
Very AU. For the purpose of this story, the next generation are not all related. All sibling relationships stand (i.e. Molly and Lucy, James and Albus and Lily, etc). The Potters are the cousins of Rose and Hugo, and also Roxanne and Fred (this relationship is not acknowledged however, because Roxanne and Fred are illegitimate), and Victoire and Dominique and Louis are also vaguely related to Roxanne and Fred. Otherwise everyone is unrelated.
Since this is going in the big collection I'm entering only the first chapter and hopefully others will follow but on my profile because I really can't make people read a 20,000 word chapter without feeling like an absolute cunt.
FOR LOWI WHO IS THE BEST EVER.
LILY
The day Lily Luna Potter discovered she was to be married was, in all other respects, a perfectly average day. She was woken at a ridiculously early hour by her maidservant dropping her breakfast all over the floor, which did not put her in the best of moods to start with.
"Gods, Roxanne," she complained, rolling over onto her side and pulling a pillow over her head, "Not again?"
"Sorry, my lady," Roxanne apologised hastily, and Lily could hear the scuffles as she clearly knelt to try to clear the mess up, "I'll send down to the kitchens for another right away, I'll be right back with it."
"Urgh," was Lily's only reply, her tone muffled by the pillow that was covering her face. Groaning slightly as she realised that she was well and truly awake now, and would not likely be getting back to sleep any time soon, she shoved the pillow away and sat up in bed. Absently, she picked up a loose curl that had worked its way free of the rest of her hair during the night, and tugged it straight to examine the length of it.
"What d'you reckon?" she inquired of Roxanne, looking across to where her maid was on her hands and knees gathering up ham, "Getting longer?"
"I think so, my lady," Roxanne told her, squinting upwards to study the length more closely, "It has been – what, three months – since your brother cut it? In fact I would say it's growing extraordinarily fast."
"It's that stuff Gaius gave me," Lily explained, throwing back the covers and clambering out of bed, feet sinking into the fluffy sheepskin rug on the floor as she tugged her nightgown where it had become twisted overnight, "Thank the gods you keep remembering to put it in my hair, I'd forget in a second."
Padding past Roxanne, bare feet cold on the stone floor, Lily gave the other girl a broad grin before she disappeared behind the screen. Roxanne had already set out her dress for the day, and Lily discarded her nightgown without another thought, reaching for her petticoats and beginning to clamber into them. Absorbed in the task, she didn't hear the door to her chambers open and shut, nor the whispered conversation that evidently took place as the newcomer set down plates of food on the table.
Oblivious, Lily waltzed out from behind her screen, dress flapping all over the place, a command for Roxanne to come and lace her up dying on her lips as she encountered someone she was still furious with standing in the middle of her room like he owned it, his manservant hurriedly laying breakfast for two out on the table.
"James," Lily said, folding her arms and giving him a glare, "Didn't I tell you that I would make sure you regretted it if you spoke to me within the month?"
"Give it up," her older brother replied impatiently, rolling his eyes for extra effect, "You know you love me far too much to hold a grudge for that long."
"In your dreams," Lily retorted snootily, imperiously holding out her arms for Roxanne to come and lace her dress up as though her brother wasn't even in the room. Despite her clear disinterest in his presence, James stuck around with a smirk on his face, looking like he was really quite enjoying being so irritating. Then again, this was James, so he probably genuinely was enjoying it.
By the time Lily was fully dressed, breakfast was ready. She waved away Roxanne and James' manservant and the pair disappeared out of the door, leaving the siblings to bicker over their food. Lily seated herself, twisting her hair over one shoulder to tame it so she could eat without it going anywhere.
"Wouldn't make more sense to just tie it back like the other ladies?" James inquired from opposite her, picking at slices of apple.
"It would," Lily informed him in an icy tone, "But unfortunately some village idiot chopped it off a little while back so it's too short to do much with."
"Hey," James protested, waving an apple slice in her general direction, "I resent that. I would say I'm certainly at least court jester level."
"You wish," Lily retorted calmly, beginning to eat in a manner that would have made her mother wince. Table manners were a distant second to the importance of getting food in her mouth as quickly as possible. For a while the two siblings ate in silence, but finally it appeared that James was not going to be able to hold back his secret for much longer. He'd been fidgeting since he'd arrived in that distinctly James manner that meant he was absolutely dying to tell her something but couldn't quite bring himself to let go of the secret just yet.
"So," he began, a note of pure childish delight in his voice as he leant forward, propping his elbows up on the table, "Guess what Father wrote to tell me this morning?"
Lily just looked at him, mouth full of pear, and gave an exaggerated shrug, accompanied by an eye roll to let him know that she wasn't really that interested – although she was – and went back to her food.
"He sent you a letter about it too but I read it," James confessed, looking not very sorry at all, and Lily privately resolved to have a word with Sir Leon later and get him paired up against the unbeatable Sir Lancelot in the next joust.
"Tell me then," she ordered finally, giving up all pretence of ignoring him and leaning back in her chair, hands folded onto her stomach, "And if this is just some news about your childhood pony kicking the bucket I can tell you right now that -"
"You're getting married," James broke in triumphantly, giving her the widest grin she'd ever seen him wear, his dark eyes glittering with that wicked sort of mischief particular to him, his whole body tense as he waited eagerly for her reaction.
Lily, unusually, found herself at a total loss for words. Oh, certainly, she'd been expecting to be married off before long; she was fourteen now, she'd been a woman for a year already – in fact she was the perfect age for marriage now – but she had definitely not expected to get the news from her brother over breakfast. Trying not to show how much she was panicking on the inside, she calmly reached for her goblet and inquired, "To whom?"
James was almost beside himself with glee, "Theodore," he announced, practically bouncing in his seat, "Lord of Dunmoore and Craister."
Lily tried and failed not to look delighted. Lord Lupin was most definitely a fine wealthy catch, and handsome to boot – she wasn't about to lie to herself that that didn't matter to her – and all the girls swooned over him whenever he came to Camelot to enter in jousts or tourneys. Add that to the fact that his lands bordered her father's, so she had even conversed with him on occasion... yes, Lily thought to herself with a small stab of satisfaction, her father had really done her proud this time. It was to be expected, of course – little was denied to the lord who had slain the greatest sorcerer of the age during The Great Purge twenty years previously, though he'd been little more than a boy at the time.
However, there was one small concern that Lily could not help from voicing, even though she knew her brother would mercilessly rib the small sign of weakness.
"Isn't he old, though?" she ventured quietly, not meeting James' eyes, "Like, as old as Sir Leon?"
James rolled his eyes over at her scornfully, shaking his head for added effect, "Don't be stupid, they're barely old at all. Gaius is old. Teddy's only twenty five, he'll be in his prime for years and years."
"He's ten years older than me," Lily told him morosely, pushing away her plate as her appetite fled, picking at her sleeve, "I mean, he's very handsome, but… what will we talk about?"
"Marriage isn't for talking," James replied impatiently, rising from his seat and sweeping his cloak about his shoulders, clearly deciding he had better places to be, "Everyone knows that. Marriage is for children and money and rank. You should count yourself lucky you're getting Teddy and not Lord Ulwic like Rose nearly did."
Lily shuddered at the memory of the man and the time he'd come to visit herself and her cousin Rose at court. His breath had stunk of ale and his belly had spilled out over his sword belt, and he'd leered at them both and let his hands linger on Rose's waist much longer than was appropriate and he had no hair anywhere on his head but thick wiry bristles growing from his nostrils. To both girls' enormous relief, Rose's mother had talked her father out of the betrothal despite the wealth it would have brought him.
As James moved to leave, Lily called after him, "Can you get someone to send Roxanne to me? I need her to do my hair."
"Don't look too pretty," James ordered with a wink, pausing in the doorway and glancing back at her, "You're not allowed to tempt boys now, you're to be a married woman."
He slammed the door shut before the cushion Lily threw could hit him in the head.
SCORPIUS
Scorpius woke up next to Albus Potter again. He bit back a groan of pain as the banging in his head registered, and he gingerly levered himself up on one elbow to look over Al's sleeping form and take a glance at the table. As he'd feared, it was strewn with empty bottles and tankards, and now he thought about it there was definitely a hint of that sour stale alcohol smell hanging in the air. He'd come to Potter to discuss things that he hated discussing, namely what exactly they were doing here, but halfway between his explanation about his father and his ninth ale he'd found Albus' mouth doing amazing things to his neck and all rational thought had vanished hastily out of the window.
Now, clutching manically at his head and trying not to cry with the pain, he swung himself out of bed and reached for his trousers, having to carefully consider each movement before he carried it through for fear his head would fall off.
"Leaving so soon?" a low voice inquired from behind him, and Scorpius winced as it screeched against his ear drums.
"Why are you screaming?" he asked in a pained whisper, not turning around to look at Albus as he pulled his boots on, "Speak more quietly."
"I'm not screaming," Albus announced in an amused tone, making Scorpius' eyes swim with the pain. Albus, Scorpius found himself remembering, had consumed considerably less ale than him, and was obviously feeling rather pleased with himself now. To be honest, though, Albus was a smug little bastard in general, and Scorpius found himself regularly irritated with the other boy – and yet there was this certain smile Al would wear from time to time, and Scorpius didn't like the things it did to his heart.
Scorpius turned to find that smile creeping across Al's visage now, slowly and steadily and self-contentedly.
"Seriously," he whispered, unable to bear talking any louder, "I meant what I said last night. This has to stop."
"Okay, Scorpius," Albus replied with a fond eye roll, leaning in, sheets bunching sinfully around his hips and leaving Scorpius' eyes unable to decide where to look first, "Whatever you say."
When he kissed him, Scorpius didn't push him away. He hated himself for it later, but with Albus Potter there wasn't much Scorpius could do to resist.
A short while later Scorpius was wandering down the corridor that led from Albus' chambers to his own. He knew that he must look a sight, his hair a mess, his jacket flung carelessly over one shoulder, his lips bruised and moving absently as he muttered furiously under his breath. He was a prince, for crying out loud, he should absolutely not let some Camelot lord's son get to him like this. Turning a corner sharply, he was so absorbed in his problems he almost ran somebody down.
He clutched hastily at their arm to stop them from toppling, but released them suddenly like he'd been burned as he recognised Albus' little sister Lily. She reeled backwards into her maidservant who steadied her, and took a moment to dust herself off.
"I'm sorry, my lady," Scorpius apologised with less grace than usual – he was not in the mood for Potters today – and gave her a quick bow, "I didn't see you. The fault is entirely mine."
"Yes, probably, your highness," Lily agreed amiably, those green eyes sweeping him up and down in one swift unsettling movement, narrowing as they came to rest on the marks that littered his neck, "I trust you spent a good night?"
He could tell she was thinking of prostitutes and tavern whores, and while half of him wanted to shatter her silly childish façade of superiority and adulthood by informing her that it was her brother who was responsible, the other half knew exactly what would happen if he did. He did the sensible thing, and kept quiet.
"It was pleasant," he agreed lightly, inclining his head, "Now, if you'll excuse me, my lady, I have urgent business with Prince Arthur."
"He's in the lists," Lily informed him graciously, standing aside with a short bobbing curtsey, "Sparring with my brother. James," she added hastily, as if she had seen the flash of interest in Scorpius' eyes. Scorpius was well-trained enough not to make a face of disgust, although he sorely wanted to – James Potter and he were not the most amiable of acquaintances – but instead he gave Lily another quick bow and, without another word, swept on.
He discarded the idea of heading for the lists instantly. He could wait before talking to the prince. Instead, he headed down to the physician's chambers in search of something for his hangover. When he reached Gaius' quarters, the man himself wasn't there, but Scorpius did encounter Prince Arthur's manservant, Merlin, on his hands and knees scrubbing out a leech tank.
"My lord," the other boy said, banging his head on the glass as he scrambled hastily to his feet and wincing, "Can I help you with something?"
"Something for a hangover, if you have it," Scorpius ordered with barely suppressed impatience, seriously doubtful of Merlin's ability to aid him – Arthur was forever going on about what a nitwit he was. Merlin looked thoughtful for a moment and then, plucking a leech off his arm with an air of disgust, the boy strode over to a cupboard and began rummaging around inside it. He knocked four bottles onto the floor before he produced something green and foul-looking, which he proffered triumphantly to Scorpius.
"That'll be two silver pieces," he said once he'd given it over, with a hasty air like he'd almost forgotten to ask, and added with an apologetic shrug, "Gaius says I have to remember to get payment immediately."
Scorpius, not in the mood for any more talking, dug around until he found the requisite money and handed it over without another word. He spun on his heel and left immediately, not even looking back at another crash from behind him as Merlin evidently knocked something else over.
He drained the bottle in three swift gulps as he climbed the stairs outside the physicians chambers, and left the bottle sitting on a windowsill for a maid to pick up. The effects began to kick in almost immediately, and, feeling much more cheerful, it was in a much more pleasant mood that he halted a passing maid. He knew her by sight – she was the missing Lady Morgana's maidservant, with soft smooth skin the same tone as Lily's maid Roxanne's.
"My lord," she said, curtseying hastily, and Scorpius offered her a quick, rare smile.
"Could you possibly send my manservant to me if you see him?" he inquired charmingly, running a hand through his messy blonde hair as he spoke, "I need him to clean my chambers and polish my armour."
The maid looked like she was biting back a smile, although Scorpius wasn't entirely sure why, but she just curtseyed again with a nod to indicate she would do so, and without another thought Scorpius marched on. He would get dressed into something cleaner, he thought, and then mayhap head to the archery range for some practice. Perhaps Albus would come and practice with him.
With that thought in mind, Scorpius sped up a little, heading down the corridor towards his chambers.
VICTOIRE
Victoire got the news first from her sister. Dominique rushed into the brothel where Victoire lived, pushing her hood back from her face to reveal pretty features smudged by soot where she'd clearly been busy cleaning out kitchen fireplaces.
"On fireplace duty again, Dom?" Victoire inquired with a fond eye roll, pushing her sister into a chair and heading over to her basin, wetting a sponge and returning to clean her sister's face. Irritably, Dominique twisted away from her sister's deft fingers, trying to escape the sponge.
"I came to tell you something!" she announced, writhing to no avail since Victoire had grasped her chin firmly to stop her moving so much. Dominique tried once more, "Don't you want to hear? It's about that lord you're so fond of, the one that visits you a lot. What's his name – oh, Dunemud or something? James did tell me—"
"Dunmoore," Victoire replied calmly, determined not to let herself be interested until her sister was presentable again, "Lord Theodore of Dunmoore and Craister. What about him?"
"He's—" Dominique began, putting in one more wriggle, and then fastened her hand around her sister's wrist to keep it away from her face while she imparted this important news, "He's getting married, Vic."
Victoire did her best not to react. Proper ladies didn't, she knew. Proper ladies kept their emotions well hidden. She'd become better at it, but Dominique could read her better than anyone and she clearly saw the shock in her sister's face.
"I'm sorry," Dominique said quietly, looking at where her sister was kneeling on the floor in front of her, sponge in hand dripping unnoticed onto the floor, "I know how you—"
"To who?" Victoire interrupted calmly, rising back to her previous position as though she had suddenly got control of herself again, grabbing Dominique's chin again to finish cleaning the soot off. Dominique didn't wriggle this time.
"James' sister," she announced apologetically, brown eyes searching her sister's face for the reaction, "Lily. He told me himself."
"But she's a child," Victoire protested despite her better instincts, wiping off one last smudge from Dominique's jawline and rising to her feet again, wanting to hide her face until she could get control of it again, "She's—"
"She's a woman now," Dominique reminded her gently, leaning forward in her chair but not otherwise moving, for which Victoire was grateful, "She's fourteen, she's bled. You know usually they get married off even earlier than this, these ladies."
"She won't hold him," Victoire decided finally, dropping the sooty sponge into the basin and turning back to face her sister, confidence beginning to reappear, "She's a silly child. She doesn't know anything about him or… what he likes, or who he is. He'll keep coming to me. I know he will."
The pity in her sister's face cut very deeply.
"Vic," Dominique began gently, rising and approaching her sister cautiously, "You need to be careful. He's a lord. He can keep visiting you but you know that nothing can happen—"
"I could give him a child," Victoire cut in hastily, the idea appearing in her head just that minute. She clung to it ferociously, shaping it, strengthening it, "He's an honourable man, certainly he'd—"
"Refuse to acknowledge it," Dominique said, doing the interrupting this time, voice firmer now, suddenly the mature one, "He might send you a bit of money now and then, but to be honest there's no way you'll be able to prove that it's his – and, besides, what good will it do you to carry a lord's bastard?"
Victoire sorely wanted to strike her sister then, but refrained. The girl was telling the truth, she knew, and it frustrated Victoire that her silly younger sister was so often the one being sensible when it came to Theodore.
"I can't bear to be without him," Victoire whispered, giving her sister a desperate look, sinking to sit on her bed, "I can't do it, Dominique, I really can't."
"Shh," Dominique replied, crossing the room hastily to clamber onto the bed next to her sister, wrapping her arms around her and holding her tightly, "It'll be okay. Men come from all over the five kingdoms for you, you know that. James said the other day that he'd met a lord from the Northlands who had heard stories of the most beautiful maid ever to live who was right here in Camelot – and he was talking about you, Vic, James said he was. From the Northlands! Can you imagine?"
Victoire smiled slightly at that. Dominique was forever dreaming of travelling, of just taking a horse and her few belongings and going where the wind took her. North to beyond the old Roman wall, south to where the land ended forever. Anywhere.
"Have you saved up enough for a horse yet?" Victoire inquired with a smile, jolting her sister out of whatever daydreams she was clearly indulging in. Dominique made a face and shook her head sadly.
"James says he'll get me one for my birthday, but—"
"I wouldn't hold your breath," Victoire said firmly. She worried about her little sister's friendship with the Potter boy. He was a lord, far too high above her station, and it did Dominique no good to dream of impossible things. Victoire generally kept her counsel, however, for as far as she could see the friendship was honest and there was no hint of any deeper feelings on either side.
"He never breaks his word," Dominique was protesting when Victoire tuned back in to what she was saying, her brows drawn over her pretty brown eyes, "He's the most honourable person I know. If he says he'll do something then he will."
"Okay," Victoire replied soothingly, wrapping her arms around her little sister in return and smiling into her hair, "I believe you. But just, you be careful, okay? You can never be sure what these little lords really want."
"I'm not like you, Vic," Dominique said stiffly, removing her arms pointedly, and Victoire knew that an insult was coming and realised that she never should have touched upon the subject of this friendship at all, Dominique was too defensive about it, "I don't give men sex just because I can."
"It's a job," Victoire replied, dropping her own arms away, shifting apart on the bed, "It's an easy job. I have a nice place to live and people who take care of me."
"So do I," Dominique shot back, "I have people who love me and they don't love me for the way I look or what I can do for them, they love me for me."
Victoire gazed steadily at her sister, long enough to make her feel uncomfortable, but Dominique's stare wavered no more than her sister's did. They had both inherited their father's stubbornness and their mother's short temper, which made for pretty explosive fights.
"Grow up, Dominique," Victoire whispered eventually, the words needles sent shooting at her sister as hard as she could manage, "Forget whatever fairytale you think you're living. This is the real world, and it's cruel."
"I hate you," Dominique retaliated swiftly, almost leaping to her feet and crossing the room swiftly, heading straight for the door, "You have to be so cynical about everything."
"It's not my fault we're servants, Dom," Victoire said wearily, watching her sister sadly, "Don't keep blaming me for it."
Dominique made no reply but a rude hand gesture, and then she was vanishing in a whirl of roughspun skirts and blonde hair. With a sigh, Victoire collapsed backwards onto the bed, trying to fight the tears that arguing with her sister always brought unbidden.
She was given a bare four minutes to wallow before there was a soft tap at the door from Halla, the little girl who did the running around for the woman who ran the brothel.
"Yes, Hal?" Victoire called, sitting upright and hastily smearing away her tears, trying for a bright smile as the little girl popped her dark curly head around the door.
"Mama says you have a visitor," Halla announced shyly, not stepping any further into the room, "He's a lord, this one. Paying good. She says wear the red dress."
Victoire wearily inclined her head to communicate that she had understood, and without further ado got up to change.
LYSANDER
Lysander was the first to spot Lily Potter entering the room. He was hovering a few metres behind Sir Leon, the knight he squired for. He gave a low cough to indicate to his master that he needed to pay attention, and Leon broke off his conversation with the knight next to him to angle his head around and see what Lysander was trying to tell him. Wordlessly, Lysander inclined his head towards the doors where Lily was hovering, looking a bit nervous. Leon caught sight of her and hastily cut through the crowd to warn his friend Sir Theodore.
Sir Theodore cut off the joke he was in the middle of telling to those around him and stepped forward instantly, heading towards Lily. Someone apparently gave Lily a firm shove from behind to get her moving, because she stumbled slightly before shooting a death glare at whoever was behind her, and then tried to gather her dignity back together before moving up the room to greet her husband-to-be.
They came together just in front of where Lysander was standing. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Lily, just like always. His twin brother Lorcan was always telling him how pathetic it was that the minute Lady Lily walked into a room Lysander's eyes were following her around like a lost puppy. Lysander did not like being described as a lost puppy, but neither had he found the willpower to stop doing it.
"My lady," he heard Sir Theodore say, as he bowed low to his betrothed and kissed her hand, "You look beautiful."
Charming git, Lysander thought to himself moodily, resisting the urge to throw his hat – the nearest thing to hand – at Sir Theodore. Lily flushed slightly and curtseyed in return, eyes not meeting the older man's as she straightened up again.
"My lord," she murmured, and Lysander's mood grew darker when he saw the silly little smile on her face clearly caused by Sir Theodore's presence. Sir Theodore, ugh, he brooded morosely, the one that all the girls love and all the boys want to be like. The man was everything a knight should be – tall, strong, handsome. He wasn't as talented at the sword as some but he could joust better than almost anyone except Prince Arthur and he was the finest horseman in Camelot.
Lysander hated him so much it almost hurt.
Unable to bear another moment of watching the girl he loved with the man she was to marry, Lysander risked punishment, abandoned his post, and slipped out of the throne room in a haze of angry mumbling. He got about three corridors away before he heard pattering feet chasing after him, and his name being called by a familiar voice.
"Lysander!" the girl said, grabbing his arm and yanking him to a forceful halt. Lysander let himself be tugged around and found himself looking down at his friend Roxanne. She was breathless and flushed, chest heaving, and looking quite cross with him.
"What?" he inquired grumpily, pulling his sleeve out from her grasp, "Aren't you supposed to be with your mistress?"
"Ly," Roxanne said gently, laying her hand on his arm again, but not grasping this time, "It's not her fault, you know that. She can't choose who she marries. And, besides, she has no clue how you feel about her, I'm sure—"
"That if she did she'd just avoid me," Lysander interrupted firmly, gaze downturned, "I'm not stupid, Rox. I know nothing will ever happen between us. She's a lady, and I'm just a squire."
Roxanne didn't bother to try to reassure him. Lysander knew that she didn't believe in telling lies and everything Lysander had said was the truth. Lily Potter was a nice enough girl, but her station and reputation were of immense importance to her and she'd never do anything to tarnish them. Sighing, Roxanne withdrew her hand and then, as almost an afterthought, darted up onto tiptoes to press a kiss to Lysander's cheek.
"You'll find someone else," she promised, drawing back, giving him a quick smile, "Someone who'll see how great you are. I promise."
Lysander just rolled his eyes and scuffed one foot along the ground, not believing her for a second.
"Yeah," he said moodily, not meeting her gaze. Roxanne sighed again and then regretfully moved backwards a few paces.
"I'm sorry, Ly, I have to get back—"
"Yeah, yeah, go," Lysander replied, waving her off, "Lily might need an apple carried from her plate to her hand, you never know."
"Don't be bitter," Roxanne teased with a quick smile, gathering up her skirts with a giggle, "It doesn't suit you."
Lysander didn't know where her sudden good humour had come from, but meeting her dancing gaze he couldn't help a quick smile of his own, and at that Roxanne beamed even wider and then turned on her heel and dashed back to where her demanding mistress was sure to be waiting. Lysander watched her go, her dark frizzy curls bouncing around her shoulders, and with another small smile shook his head fondly and then turned to head out to the yard. He was sure Sir Leon would have plenty of jobs for him to do, and hopefully that would keep his mind off Lily Potter. Hopefully.