A/N: Hopefully Logan isn't too OOC, still trying to flesh him out. Anyway, read and review.

And also thanks to the people who've favourited. You rock! x

A Garden of Weeds

"Why didn't you send word?" Logan asks, leaning against the ebony desk.

He is numb with shock. His muscles start to cramp after being tensed for so long. It could have been a minute since he last moved from his place against the desk or it could have been hours, the concept of time has somehow vanished. It's as if the world has stopped. He almost doesn't trust his own eyes, but no matter how many times he tells himself he must be mad or dreaming, the evidence is there in front of him. This is real. Her floral scent lingering in the air around him tells him so. She is really sitting there in front of him, holding an infant in her arms. Not just any infant either. Her child. His nephew.

He should feel overjoyed. His sister has a beautiful, healthy son and Albion an heir, yet there is an ache in his chest that he cannot ignore. Something inside him twists and coils, making him feel ill. This picture is wrong. It shouldn't be this way.

"I had no idea where you were." She counters.

He watches her rock the small child to sleep. Her formal court gown gone, replaced with a queen's dress torso and trousers. Somehow it makes her all the more beautiful. Her hair she has fashioned into a long braid over her shoulder, which her young son clutches onto as he falls asleep. He is a charming boy, the prince. His hair is only a shade or two lighter than Logan's and his face peaceful as he slowly drifts off. Everything about the child, right down to his small pout, is reminiscent of his mother. There is not a trace of his father in his little face, in fact it wouldn't be difficult to imagine there is no father, that this child is hers and hers alone. The Fallen King smiles at the thought. It would be easier for him to take in if that truly were the case. Because husband or not, he doesn't want to think that any man has lain with his sister.

Lucia is as good with a child as she is with a sword. She soothes and whispers her adoration in between warm smiles, and when the child finally falls in asleep in her arms, she sets him down in his crib, unable to tear her eyes away for too long. Hmmm. It seems there is nothing she can't handle. Yet he, much older and more experienced, manages to lay to ruin everything he touches. How different they are. If the world is as full of opposites as they say then she is the light to his darkness.

He is proud of her. She has become the woman he always wanted her to be. A strong, intelligent, kind woman with the power to command a nation. It pleases him to know she has finally embraced it after all these years.

Albeit, she learnt to become such a woman through standing against him. He didn't anticipate her betrayal, but in time he had come to realise that only cruelty would teach her to acknowledge the power she holds. Had he not had her dear friend executed, he fears she would still think herself less than him. Logan tells himself it was for her own good. That she would never have fought as hard as she did or become the great figurehead she has if he had let the boy live. It is the only way he knows to deal with the guilt of it all.

"What is his name?" he asks, carefully.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her sink into the chaise lounge as she sucks in a shaky breath. Logan doesn't dare look at her face. He doesn't need to be reminded of the anguish he has caused her. Or of the knowledge that she could never forgive him. Even now, he doesn't know what's worse; her pain or her ire.

"Walter."

He frowns. Walter. Not Elliot.

"But-"

"But what, brother?"

It is a challenge. A dare. The same kind of dangerous provocation he gave her when he demanded she choose between her betrothed or her people. She had made the choice he needed her to, the choice he himself would have made, and it terrified and reassured him in equal measure.

She juts her chin out slightly in defiance, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tries not to show her cards. Little does she know he has already seen every one of them, he has them memorised right along with the dimples that appear when she smiles and the way she flexes her fingers when she feels threatened –as though calling her magic in preparation for an attack. There is nothing about her that he hadn't taken in long ago. No-one will ever know her as he does. And, awful as it sounds, he owns her in a way. Lucia is his family. His blood. It only makes sense that she should belong to him.

He traces his fingers along the old globe on the desk, wanting to forget about damned Elliot.

"Preiga and the Further Lands consist mainly of mages and magic wielders, and while they are by no means Heroes, they should be able to weaken the creature enough for the other soldiers to move in."

He doesn't stop when, eyes glazed, she pours herself a glass of wine.

"Gaul can provide fifteen hundred men, Moravia eleven and Runne eight. Their numbers are nothing compared to Narcissus and Vrelali, but their men are stron-"

"I don't care, Logan."

Grinding his teeth, he drops his hand from where it rests on the man-made replica of the world before him. Does she not remember the Darkness?! The shadow children and the thick black liquid that dripped and oozed from everything around them. Has she forgotten the creature's maddening taunts or its hold on their minds? Perhaps she only sees her enemies as a threat when they are standing in front of her. But by then it will be too late! Though she may have Archon blood, she is not invincible. Nor will she ever be.

She is a fool if she thinks otherwise.

The creature that is coming, be it a brother of the Crawler's or not, its powers are not to be underestimated. He has heard the stories, how it has made even the bravest of men fall to their knees in defeat, and of the ones who have faced it and lived, most have taken their own lives. If the Crawler was Darkness incarnate, then this is Terror personified. Stories say its lifeblood is its victim's weaknesses, their doubts and their losses only serve to strengthen it further, and though his sister likes to think herself unafraid of anything, she is human. Somewhere, underneath all the valour and the armour, there is disquiet. No matter how deeply buried, the creature will find it. Just as the Crawler found his inner corruption.

A corruption he hadn't known existed until that very day.

While he stands there fearing for everything and everyone, she sits on the chaise lounge -an empty glass in her hand and wine staining her lips- absentmindedly thumbing through an old history book! Her expression is one of boredom. Earlier she had agreed to fight whatever creature this is, despite the fear that was evident on her face, and now she acts as though it is of little concern to her! Has she no regard for her own life?! For that of her son?!

"You will care," he says in a low growl, "when this beast threatens to take your son away from you."

Lucia glowers darkly at him and stands to pour herself a second helping, "I would die first!"

"And so you shall…if we do not start making preparations now!"

"I defeated the Crawler, didn't I?!" she asks, taking a sip of her freshly poured wine, "This is no different."

"That is not good enough!" Logan swipes his hand across the desk in outrage.

The globe and a pile of books come crashing to the floor with an unforgiving clatter. Tiny screws and bolts that held the globe in place litter the ground. The books sit bent and broken, overcome by his outrage. There is a twinge of pain in his abdomen. The blasted wound has torn open again! He will tend to it later. For now, he clenches his fists to keep from winching. Lucia says nothing, she does nothing, it is almost as if the last few moments never happened. As if there had been no outburst.

That is until Walter wakes with a bloodcurdling cry.

Logan runs a hand through his hair, willing his nephew back to sleep if only to stop the awful sound. He can hardly hear himself think beyond the young prince's screeching. It's maddening. He is half tempted to leave just to get away from it. But he forces himself to stay.

He will not go until the argument is settled.

Until his sister understands that without a plan, they are all doomed.

"You frightened him!"

So he has. A wave of guilt hits him. This child is not just anyone's, it is hers. Logan must care for him as if he were his own. He must hold him in the highest regard. For anything that she loves, he shall love as well.

The Fallen King crosses the room until he is no more than a few inches away from her. He makes to take the child from her, but she only grips the young boy tighter. Her hands clamped around his tiny frame as though clinging on for dear life. He notices a trace of fear in her eyes. There is a part of her, however small, that truly believes he would do him harm. She does not trust him. He is a tyrant and a murderer but this…this is a new low. To have his very sister edge away from him for fear of what he would do to her son! There is no agony like it. The wound in his side is but a small discomfort in comparison to the ache he now feels in his chest.

Even with his own nephew, he is to be doubted.

"Let me." he implores, having to raise his voice to be heard over Walter's cries.

She remains stubborn, trying to sooth her son herself as best she can. Only when the screams get louder does she finally give in.

He sways back and forth gently, humming the old lullaby their mother used to sing to them as children. No, he doesn't have her elegant tone or wonderful singing voice, but he manages ease Little Walter's sobs all the same. He feels eight again, holding Lucia in his arms for the first time. By Avo, he knew even then that he would love no other woman as he loves her.

Not even Maya, the Narcissan beauty he had come to bed during his travels, could tear his thoughts away from his sister. Perhaps it was their father's doing. He had lost his own sister long ago and he did not want the same fate to befall his son. Nonetheless, he is sure their father only meant for them to protect their family. He did not mean for Logan to become as…obsessed as he has. Or perhaps, he may be ill. The Crawler penetrated his mind much too easily those nine years ago and he fears he may have been by then depraved already. Whatever the reason for the demons that plague him, he will put them to rest soon enough.

Tomorrow he will set course for Grimmhaven, where he will speak to an alchemist about a range of deadly potions. He needs to know if there is any way to control them. If they may brew such a poison that would kill only those they wanted it to while leaving all other's unharmed. Then in the following days, he will travel to Obsidian to see if there is any way to unlock a dormant Hero's magick. He will focus on the coming battles and keeping Albion safe. It is the only way to keep his mind away from her. To temporarily cure himself of this perversion. Only when he has rid of himself of this disease will he finally be able to be by her side once more. He may never be the kind of man she is proud to call her brother, but he will sleep easier when he doesn't have the bear the guilt of loving her.

Logan rubs his thumb across Walter's temple in tender, repetitive strokes. The screaming fades to a small whimper. Tears stain his nephew's face as he slowly drifts off to sleep a second time. Without a word, Logan hands the child back to her, a small smile playing on his lips. Lucia takes her son eagerly, eyes wide with disbelief.

"How did you…?" she trails off, staring down at her son in wonderment.

"You were a child once. As your brother, I took it upon myself to settle you when no-one else could."

Her face softens. Not as much as he would like, but enough.

Enough to understand that what he does he does out of love and nothing else. He doesn't want to frighten or anger her, he doesn't want to push her further away than he already has, however, he would much rather have her alive to hate him and call him a tyrant than he would have her stand beside him and die.

With their father gone and his former kingdom against him, she is all he has now. She is all he wants, all he has ever wanted, and he will not cut corners where her life is concerned. He will make her bend to his will if it means keeping her safe. War, politics, ruthless dealings with equally ruthless men -she will learn it all whether she wants to or not. When it comes to matters such as these, he doesn't care that she is queen and her words are law, he will make her understand. He has to. Without her, his life would be meaningless. Without her, he would have given up long ago.

"You used to care for me." she says, looking through him as if replaying some long forgotten memory, "Now all you care about is war."

He wants to hold her, to prove to her that nothing holds more of his heart than her, but it is an urge to which he must not yield. If she ever learns the truth, she would turn him away in an instant. It would only wreak havoc on their fragile relationship. He has done enough damage already; if he is going to ruin them further it will be to protect her rather than to ease his own pain.

Logan sighs, "The wars I fight I fight for you, sister."

"But why?!" she hisses, keeping her voice low so as not to wake Little Walter, "What is the point if you're not here at my side?!"

"I am always at your side."

For the first time since he first saw her in the throne room, he can see how tired she is. Dark crescent half-moons encircle her eyes, the same faint purple of fading bruises, and feather-light frown lines rest between her brows. Albion has demanded too much of her already and Lucia, being who she is, has no doubt given in. He does not mind that the burdens of his rule aged him so, but she is still young. A woman her age should not look as weary as she does.

Logan wonders if she is too good to be a queen. She has raised this country from the ashes in which he left it, fed and educated men, women and children of all ages and has defended again and again with her life. But, who defends her? Now that he is gone, who protects her?

He can't help but think if he had been around these five years things would be different. Firstly, she would not be left to wither away like a dying flower in a garden of weeds, any demands made upon her would go through him, and he would decide what to trouble her with. Secondly, they would face every battle together, they would share the weight of the kingdom and the scars they received protecting it. But, deep down, he knows that is little more than a fancy. A good monarch does not rest; they forever place the needs of their country above their own. One will always thrive while the other wanes, and that is the end of it. It is why he never wanted her to take the throne. Under his rule, he could protect her from the evils of the world while also running his kingdom –for a time, anyway. Now that she is queen, his old burdens are hers, and they will wear her down as they did him. This, he decrees, is punishment for his crimes.

For which there must be a lifetime penance.

"I thought, after everything I had done, you would have welcomed my absence."

Holding her son in one arm, she presses her hand to his face. Lucia caresses the scar on his lip. Despite his mind telling him to leave, his body remains rigid. Reluctant. One touch, one brush of her skin on his, and she has rendered him helpless. He is deaf and dumb and blind to all except her. By Avo, he knows it's wrong, she is his sister and she has a husband, yet he cannot deny that he wants more. He will always want more.

"No." She shakes her head. "I want here with me."

Logan takes her hand in his and gives it a soft kiss, "Very well."

After all, who is he to refuse the Queen of Albion?